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An arid soul, parched of aqua vitae
In the dusty lab of a mind increasingly abandoned,
And with body failing,
May wonder about meaning.
The creaks of aging
Recognize their place in the inevitable metaphors
Of geological time descriptions
Of rocks and flesh
And cyclical forces of erosion
And demise of form
One is left holding love
In cupped hands
To offer to familiar eyes,
Looking around for familiar eyes,
Family eyes,
Forgiving eyes
All was a dream anyway,
A dance was it?
Or wallflower nightmare
Waltz of prodigious proportion,
Or a race to a mirage
Diminishing finish line
Always beyond the panting effort?
No matter.
Glory (or at least Peace)
Glows
Just the other side of the threadbare fabric
Of the last act, capital letter experiences,
Offering the Grace of Atonement
To those left behind.
No small thing,
This final gift to the living
In Reply to: All That Is Left To Give posted by Jim H. [9945.4141] on September 24, 2007 at 08:11:55:
bittersweet.... thank you for this moment to reflect.
In Reply to: All That Is Left To Give posted by Jim H. [9945.4141] on September 24, 2007 at 08:11:55:
Your poem, of course, is beautiful and again directly personally relevant. My current despairs over aging and lack of blood extended family are etched into it. I talk to my dad in a one-sided way a lot before sleep comes. Last night I talked at him in fully fluent Russian, to my surprise. I found myself asking him that when my time comes, will he please be there, and will he please have his side of the family there, waiting for me (don't worry, I don't have any desire to or premonitions about dying soon). My grandmother, who traveled on her dad's ship from Vladivostok to California and back several times in her early childhood. My great uncle the linguist and professor, who spoke something like eight Asian languages fluently. My great aunt Bebe, loved by all, who died in childbirth in her late teens or early twenties. My great-great grandfather, general and chief of the Imperial Russian medical corps. My dad's uncle Joe and aunt Nellie, who left Vladivostok to start a cigar store in San Francisco during the California Gold Rush. Uncle Joe was apparently inconsolable when he caved to the pressure to return home to Vladivostok. His heart was truly in San Francisco. Yet another great uncle, a fur trapper in the Aleutians, who married an Aleut woman from Sitka, who I only know of as Elizabeth. All the sea captains and explorers of my Siberian heritage. It's their roots and yearnings I'm imprinted with. When I traveled to Siberia in 1988, as a razzberry to my brain surgery in April of that year, I found myself in the right climate, and in the right flora and fauna. I love the taiga. On an elemental, soul- and soil-deep level, I was at home. I took a boat trip across Lake Baikal and climbed up the far bank, looking out across the endless water. It was known, home water. I was alone, but not alone, and happy. I found a few opportunities to wander in the taiga alone, but not alone. That was the trip when the Virgin Mary appeared to me in a hypnagogic flash of a vision in my Irkutsk hotel room late at night as I was dropping off to sleep, arms outstretched to me. Her clothes were painted in odd but lovely off-shades of red and blue. The next day, Sunday, I went to a Russian Orthodox church in Irkutsk, at the prodding of Al, one of my travel companions. And there she was, the Virgin, exactly as I'd seen her, but now in an icon high on the outside of the church dome. It occurred to me as I stood with the worshipping crowd inside, holding a beeswax candle that like all Russian Orthodox candles melted too fast and dripped all over everything, that my family had prayed here. Again, I felt at home. Then I gave an impromptu speech in Russian to the Russian contingent of the transactional analysis psychologists I was simultaneously interpreting for on that trip. My largely snarky, uptight traveling companions were mostly displeased that I'd broken with protocol, but I didn't care. I was happy to be acknowledging genetic heart home in it's own language to what in a symbolic way represented my symbolic tribe of belonging. I got a standing ovation, and there were tears in peoples' eyes, including my own. Last night I started reading 'Dersu Uzala' in Russian, from a copy of that extraordinary biographical book by the Siberian explorer V. A. Arsen'ev based on his Siberian expedition of 1906. Kurasawa's old film of that name does it full justice. I found this gem among my dad's many books. It occurred to me then that I'm an ancient relic myself now; one of the few people who knows the names of some of the Russian Imperial ships engaged in the Russo-Japanese war of 1906 and can read about them in Russian. Or even cares. My dad's legacy to me.
I'm feeling my years today. I pass along a relevant link:
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by oldtimer [6689.4274] on September 24, 2007 at 12:02:11:
Oh good grief...just input the link manually in your URL line. It's worth it.
http://www.break.com/index/the-front-fel...
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by oldtimer [6689.4274] on September 24, 2007 at 12:05:11:
One more try...
http://www.break.com/index/the-front-fell-off.html
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by oldtimer [6689.4274] on September 24, 2007 at 12:02:11:
Hi oldtimer,
Yes, that's the way it goes I guess.
but I think you are more fortunate than most to have had the opportunity to go visit Russia and experience your roots in such a fabulous way.
Thanks for sharing your story with us.
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by oldtimer [6689.4274] on September 24, 2007 at 12:02:11:
Oldtimer:
Your great-uncle was an adult during the California gold rush???? That would have been back in 1848......which is 159 years ago. That would make you exceptionally old.
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by PhillyLady [5444.2761] on September 24, 2007 at 13:03:19:
I'm not much on dates. Maybe it was a great-great uncle. I'm 52, and my dad was 95 when he died; i.e., I was the late-born kid of a man born in 1910. I hope I'm not too exceptionally old yet :-)
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by oldtimer [6689.4274] on September 24, 2007 at 12:02:11:
Hi oldtimer,
What a wonderful legacy and memories your father and other ancestors left you! I wish you many journeys, both literal and imaginery, to the landscape your heart calls home.
Nutmeg
In Reply to: All That Is Left To Give posted by Jim H. [9945.4141] on September 24, 2007 at 08:11:55:
Beautiful, Jim, and so appropriate, too, for the passing of summer into autumn.
Nutmeg
In Reply to: All That Is Left To Give posted by Jim H. [9945.4141] on September 24, 2007 at 08:11:55:
Thanks, Jim.
As usual, your poetic presentation of the truths of our mortal coil is wonderful.
Namaste`
Walt
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by michele [2503.4164] on September 24, 2007 at 08:49:17:
Thanks, Michele. The dictionary says "bittersweet" is "sweet with a
bitter aftertaste." So, I'd say the experience I'm trying to express here
is should more rightly be called sweetbitter for the sweet gift
(aftertaste) of reconciliation that death offers the living.
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by oldtimer [6689.4274] on September 24, 2007 at 12:02:11:
A most amazing story, Ancient Relic.
It is so not fair to be robbed of one's heritage by national or petty
familial politics. In the kinship way, I mourn your grandfather and the
granddaughter he did not know.
You will be a grandmother soon, and will one day contribute to your
sons' atonement. It is how we have it.
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by Nutmeg [4785.74] on September 24, 2007 at 23:55:08:
Thanks, Nutmeg, for pointing that out. Cycles within cycles...or "coil"
as Walt says.
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by Jim H. [9945.4141] on September 25, 2007 at 09:25:10:
My gratitude to your sagicity and perspicasiousness, oh Gracious Geezer. You are, as ever, admired and loved by this ossifying Ancient Relic.
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by oldtimer [6689.4274] on September 27, 2007 at 12:09:25:
Thank you fossilized one...I think...excuse me, I have to go get my
dictionary.
In Reply to: All That Is Left To Give posted by Jim H. [9945.4141] on September 24, 2007 at 08:11:55:
So,Jim, you planing on checking out soon???
Silver Fox!
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by Steve [5592.3308] on September 27, 2007 at 14:04:06:
We've been through five deaths of parents in the immediate family
and among close friends in the last year and a half. I've noticed a
healing in the aftermath of the experience, even when the passing
occurs in less than graceful circumstances, even after years of
turmoil in the relationships; a sort of reconciliation with wishful
thinking and self-delusion, and hope and disappointment, and a
certain maturity and emotional depth that develops when
helplessness, regret, or resentment is supplanted by acceptance...or
maybe it's something else, I don't know.
Our own personal experience of demise may not turn out to be so
great, Steve, so it's nice to know that our passing can have an
emotional or spiritual uplifting or freeing effect on our family. This is
not startling revelation, I know, but new to me.
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by Jim H. [9945.4141] on September 27, 2007 at 15:40:20:
Things that you thought were so important, mean nothing when death is knocking at the door. So take the time to look at that sunset. Wait the extra 30 minutes while your wife lingers in some gift shop. Ew and ah over the dumb little nick-nack she just had to have. Now where can she put it??
Silver Fox!
I am alowed to buy toys too..I got great big blue truck sitting in my driveway now. My toy for this year. What did you get??
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by Steve [5592.3308] on October 01, 2007 at 13:47:02:
I got a nice shiny bike that's super light and super smart! :-)
Gets me to work and back. What do you use your truck for?
In Reply to: Re: All That Is Left To Give posted by ukchris [1400.4275] on October 01, 2007 at 13:58:54:
There are times I can use a truck. I fliped a house this summer and could have used it them. But mostly its a toy. You know the saying. " The only difference between a man and a boy are the size and cost of his toys." I like the feeling of power it gives you..:)Besides I need to keep up with Vince.
Silver Fox!
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