Skip to main content

Take a Moment


On this anniversary eve of 9/11.

Yesterday I was deep in grief. It came on suddenly, surprised me. I have all kinds of reasons, but I want to say first that it was not a dreadful thing. Grief happens because we are ALIVE and feeling deeply, because we love and realize that we have this moment, and everything in it.

Somehow, if you stand still and get that, you can become overwhelmed by so many feelings: gratitude, joy, wonder, mystery, humility, and bittersweet sorrow.

Photo from Zamnar.com

I wanted to get this candle up in time for the surgery of three friends, a wellness vigil for the others who are getting diagnosed or starting up treatment, to honor those who lost their lives on 9/11 and those that loved them, for those who were displaced by the hurricanes and may be by the next one, for all the troops (not just ours but ALL of them), for the politicians who I hope can stay clear on why the are running and what they really stand for, and for all those who are so blessed as to be in good health, who are happy, well-fed, well-rested and safe right here and now, in the moment.

That would certainly include me.

Even if today is a bad day, there's gotta be at least 10 things you're grateful for, including that you're here to go through it.

And in this moment, as you're reading this, know that whatever's going on, whether "good" or "bad," you never know what the next moment holds. So Trust. 

The trick is in seeing that it's all a gift.

******************************************************************

Transferred from an old blog:  Here was a comment:
Joaqin said...
As you know me and my family were in NY on 9/11, just 1.5 miles away from the WTC site. Up to last year I caught myself tearing up about it from time to time. Unexplainable and sudden. This year I heard somebody cracking a joke about it - a tad tasteless, but nevertheless I laughed about it. So time heals. Here in Hawaii they had to get over Pearl Harbor. Think they did. Still the Arizona Memorial is a solemn place to visit. So is Buchenau and Srbeniczka and Bhopal and Hiroshima.

But all of those souls probably waving us to go on, not to mourn for too long. Just a bit. And fewer tears each years.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Excerpts from Notes from Paris: A Work in Progress, Part One

When I turned 30, I went to Paris for the first time, under circumstances far from what I'd envisioned when, sprawled across my bed as a teenager, I dreamt up a romantic vision of my adult life that included going there. But... I went, and it felt like home from the moment the plane wheels met the tarmac at Orly.  Soon after, I made a decision to put all my spare hours into  writing, to see what was there. Though I had written almost every day since I was 10, I wanted to try my hand at all it's forms in a disciplined way, and set the stage to discover once and for all if it was my calling.    I was living in Hollywood then and so ripe to leave, but I had a few commitments there, keeping me from a wish to move to New York. To cope, I began to go to Paris on a regular basis, even rented an apartment for the span that a long-stay visa would allow (6 months), to see where it took me. By the time I arrived, unexpected developments caused me to cut that plan short. But ...

This Poem, A Song

"Bones" by Libby Roderick I come from a long line of dead people I come from a tall pile of bones My people lie sleeping all under the world Their souls turn to roots, leaves and stones. My grandpa went by whiskey in an L.A. hotel His dad died of Ohio coal And before him, and before that, they slipped under the ground Fewer bones walk above than below. My great grandmother's eyes stare out from my face Her skinny bones dance around in my clothes You can almost hear the whisper of her sweet southern song In this voice I've been calling my own. A toast to the living, walk us walk down the aisle So these bones can be married to the flesh for awhile. A song, a song for the living, though the flesh worries when These bones will be leaving to join family again. I come from a long line of dead people I come from a tall pile of bones My people lie sleeping all under the world Their souls turn to roots, leaves and stones.

From The Childhood Files: Growing Powder Trees

When I was a kid, we lived in a nice ranch house in a nice neighborhood. Directly behind our house was a bridge that crossed a double set of railroad tracks that came and went as far as I could see. Often the open cars would be carrying coal stuffed to the brim, and every jostle would litter blocks of it onto the ground. My main playground in the days before abduction was a concern, were those tracks. I'd climb through a hole in the fence to the left of my back yard and slide down the steep embankment, skidding in my Keds. Occasionally grabbing on to the hand hewn beams supporting the bridge to steady myself, my fingers might get sticky from the tar on the wood, but it made it easier to collect the coal. I brought them back and my mother would put the coal in a saucer, mix up some solution with amonia and food coloring and we'd pour it over. Before long there'd be a fantasy garden of pastel colored powder that had grown on the coal. Did you ever do this? CLICK HERE ...