Dream Within A Dream

Words of praise,

Professions of love,

Ease of movement,

Sense of belonging,

Joy of being:

Gone forever it would seem,

But not so--

In life's recurring dream.

Pogo says....

We have seen the enemy and he is us.   I say I can see the future and it sucks. 

Finale

If there is an afterlife where questions are answered and issues resolved, everything will be all right.  If there is not, then at the end she felt deserted and hopeless because no one would help her.

The Notebook

I found a red 3-subject notebook among my sister's things. The notebook was one of many. She was a note taker of the first order, chronicling everything that she did or owned or had to resolve. She kept records of the proceedings of the dissolution of her marriage; she wrote down every step she took and the hurdles she had to overcome to sell her first home, and then to purchase a new one of her own. Every appliance, home repair, insurance issue, warranties---all duly noted and preserved in writing for future reference. I found pages filled with her struggles which documented her early, and futile, efforts to conceive a baby. She wrote down every step she took to find the best treatment for the horrible disease which came into her life; even when things did not look promising, she detailed all the research at the time which indicated there might be some alternative measures. She wrote pages to various agencies when her disability was first denied and, once gained, later withdrawn from her, even though logic would have dictated otherwise. And through all the events which occurred in her life, her notations were true to the facts of whatever the matter was. She was not one to color her observations with emotion or even opinion---just the facts. The red notebook I came across appeared to be empty, no dates or name or labels on the cover and the pages unwritten on----until I rifled through it and on the first page of the last of the 3 sections found these words written in her handwriting, and curiously, in a little larger script than was usual for her: God can Heal-God can Heal me-

We discussed the disease and we discussed dying, or at least not being alive anymore. She and I both knew we couldn't live forever, and that her time to go might come before mine. But we did not want her to die of that horrible disease. We wanted to be free of it, and knowing that could never be the case, we wished for something else, the lesser of however many evils. It's stupid of me, I know, and seems unfeeling and reeking of self serving cynicism, but I find myself wanting to ask how big should she have written her plea, or her prayer, or her wish. Maybe not in a notebook hidden in her dresser drawer, but on a banner being pulled by a plane over a beach somewhere........

Never

I never thought that I would be placing roses on your grave.

The Notebook

The Cry
Pages and pages of entries
Detailed documentation
Of visits, proposals,
Queston after question,
Hope, despair, choices
All written in her hand.
A journal, a diary, a quest,
All so objective
As if the writer were observing
Rather than enduring.
Dispassionate observer--
Except for one brief plea
Midway through that first year.
A plea, or a prayer, or maybe
Only a hope:
"I know God can heal me--I know that God heals--with You watching over me." 4/2/97

Religion and Old-time

I always used to believe that growing older and definitely being old would strengthen one's religion. As the end of life grows inevitably nearer, one would seek the reassurance that there is more, right? But my so far rather limited insight into religious beliefs and old age has not sustained that way of thinking. Oh, this is way too deep and depressing for me to be thinking about now. It reminds me of that woman reading the poetry of her lost life to her churchmates, who kept waiting for the epiphany which never came. Cripes, if you're disillusioned with your life, why should the onus be on you to cheer others up. Who ever called religion a victory march?