One knows that a day can be beautifully redeemed upon reception late in the afternoon of a heavy heart rock of petrified wood, found and sent priority post by a beloved son all the way from Colorado. The first thing I did after cutting through the two inch thick layer of bubble wrap was to lift the heart to my nose and deeply inhale; it smelled of earth, and hearth, and also of all things Colorado: my son, deep love, fresh air, ancient stone, red earth, evergreens, bristlecone, deep blue sky. rolling plains. kind gestures. kindred dreams.
Taped to the outside of the wrapping, a tiny heart rock was secured for safekeeping while it made its way across those many states. Robin and his sweetheart, Mary, had adventured one recent weekend from their home on a mountain above Durango over to Moab, i believe, in Utah. The desert there, Robin said, was scattered with petrified wood stone as large as boulders, as small as something to hold in the palm of one's hand.
These gifts from my sons have made their way to me ever since they were both quite small, and searching for rocks on the shape of a heart on the grounds where they played in pre school. I have saved them all, and place the tiniest ones inside a glass cupboard display, lest they be shuffled or knocked inadvertently off a tabletop, vacuumed and lost for eternity.
You can see how I continue to hold on to these treasures, to be inspired by that simplest of cookie cutter shapes which reminds us all of the emotions we hold within our chests, of the memories that we hold sacred and want never to forget. I have scoured lake edges for slabs of mica in a loosely shaped heart, fathered shell and tumbled glass remnants that, when turned this angle or that, suddenly reveal themselves to have the shape that had til then not reminded me of something meaningful. I have cut the shape from glass and stone, have sawed it from flat sheets of sterling silver; i have woven fine silver wire into a netted shape to protect and suspend those shapes so that they hang warmly at the naked throat or over the chest, at the heart.
those shapes inspire, and then lead me to other bits of treasure that have been squirreled away in tiny drawers in quiet wait for the right time to present themselves with serendipity. Old becomes new again, and the journey travels on.
wing becomes sacred, weathered and frayed like the best of wise things. stone is tumbled, carved and saved; sticks are whittled by beaver and washed ashore by rushing flood waters, plucked from the sand or the silt and stood in a tall studio jar, ready five years after to take on new life as ornament, as talisman, as keeper of a dream.
we are reminded of life's fragility, and of its strengths, when we suffer the inevitabilities of loss, and our own strength of resolve reshapes itself into an expression of deepest unabiding love.
(agate stone cut from a slab by Robin, then shaped by him into a cabochon that he sent as a gift to my ailing, grieving mother upon the passing of our dear Callie).
and somehow, i discover the shape of that valor coming through as the shape, once again, of purest unconditional love: a flame in a stone that is shaped like a heart, a dog's ears that when relaxed in final days and memorialized in silver, take on that very same form.
This has been the most difficult 18 months of my sixty two year old life, thus far. i've temporarily shifted and lived for the past 12 months away from Heartrock Hill cabin life in the isolated mountain woods of western NC down here to my mother's home in Alabama to offer her daily comforting visits, company and conversation that involves listening - quietly listening! , multiple daily phone chats, upkeep of grounds and financial affairs, and deepened love and care of her corgi Miss Callie, with whom i made frequent visits to see my mother in her room at a nursing home. i've made extremely difficult solo decisions, suffered two devastating internal home floods upstairs and down, nearly lost Walter (who has beautifully survived), had to carry my mother with Callie to the vet for that final and very sorrowful visit. I live here in my hometown and spend as much time with my precious dwindling mother as i possibly can. my own health took a deep unexpected dive these past four months, when i spent Christmas sick and all alone with the pups for a solid two weeks, for better enough to take a trip to ohio to be with close friends for a long weekend of closeness and joy.
i have carried my mother to have eight hours in a reclining dermatology surgeon's operating chair while they whittled away at her cancerous face; i have held her hand this past tough week as we go through the painful steps this all over again, just after being told myself by ENT doctors that i will most likely require surgery to clear a sinus cavity that has become completely blocked, ever since those wildfires that surrounded the ash-filled areas just over the mountain ridges beyond my cabin back door 2.5 years ago. All of this feels like wave after crushing wave hitting us both from behind, before we ever have a chance catch our breath, gasp for air, to stumble back to an upright position. through all of this, though, i feel the powerful love of my boys, my mother, my walter and my close friends, who all love me without condemnation, judgment, condition. this is the meaning of family, then, and this is expression of its purest distilled form, a medicinal balm that i remember with gratitude at long day's end.
my final words today to you are simply this: love one another. love with fierceness and authenticity, and by all means with expression. do not wait to be asked for help; simply help. be there. be real. and love, with passion and without ending. remember outside of yourself the ones who love you, who are suffering, who are sad, confused, weighed down by all the things that life and age will bring. tell your mentors you are grateful. reach out and touch. listen. see through the the ugly swaddling and the bandages that protect the injuries, the cuts and bruises underneath. what is contained within a withering shell is what pines to be gently and genuinely loved, and be seen. live with an aim to live for others, outside of yourselves - something for which i myself am constantly in need of checking my own flawed ways for authentic upkeep and repair. Treat with kindness. curb anger, and ugliness. love your creature children with crazy, reckless abandon. love them even as you fear the day that comes when their short lives will end. love them for loving you, as hard as they do. and most of all, really, be grateful for grace from outside of yourself, and love thyself, love this life, live each day as if it will be a separate package all on its own, a work of art with feats and flaws and tied with tattered thread from one gift of a day to the next.
(it has been so long since i last posted, that i've lost my editing skills for photographs and column content. i've sat here on my iphone for three hours and worked on these images and words, only to see that some photos have inexplicably decided to post sideways. time is short these days, though days are long, and other things need my attention. Forgive the mess here, the upside down, the unedited words, the unintended sideways glances. be well, and thank you for being here if you stumble upon me here again one day. xox