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It’s a fanciful name, I’ll give you that; but at times you just look at your life and wonder what it’s all about. The past is always there for all of us. You may wish you could have walked a straighter line but it didn’t turn out that way. So you deal with it. If you find some daily practice that allows you to look within; that helps. We tend to lead distant lives and it doesn’t matter if those ties are of blood or the families we’ve created for ourselves, but we still struggle with saying to each other what should be easy. We need to hug each other and say I love you more often.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination…

Mary Oliver

High above the clouds, I am a traveler from another time. I go where the wind blows and carries me. It is not something I can predict; the wind knows and the clouds know. My heart knows the hurt of a lack of a pulse between us and I wonder, “How can a heart not relate to another heart?” You gave me life and yet now you’ve forgotten how to give it back again. Sometimes, it’s a sad world in which we live.

I try to understand and see you for who you are. It would be too much of a burden to me to simply say you are not a part of me and there is nothing left to say. One day we will be apart and the memories will come flooding back that you were always a part of me and I a part of you. So I wonder, why does separation exist? Why is the distance so far that we have forgotten how to hold each other? Life passes by with each second of each passing day, and leaves us like one breath that escapes from its shackles but knows that it wants to come back in and be renewed again.

My eyes cloud over and I cannot see for the mist before them. I have tried to see all things and understand their nature overcoming my sense of hurt, sadness and, at times, even anger. And yet, I am still that traveler who is lost in the skies behind the clouds and still looking for understanding that must lie somewhere beyond the horizon.

Take me with you O’winds of life to that place where my eyes cease to sting from the air that affects them; to where my tears of joy are and where love exists. I long not to have to interpret if love is hiding its face, but rather that I can see each wrinkle and crease of her smile looking back at me.

The heart needs blood to run through it, nurturing it, or it will die. It shouldn’t be hard to understand that human relationships depend on constant care too. It would be nice if we could see differently, think differently and understand that we have to want to make the heart stronger or it will grow weak from neglect. Pump me full of your love and caring and I will give you back a stronger heart, a heart that knows little of what it cannot do and what it cannot feel. It shouldn’t be difficult.

The clouds become majestic and I am in awe of their beauty. The higher you go, you will see more white for you are actually above them, and the whites and blues there are etheric and lay lazily forever. Sometimes when I look, I see only the dark side of them and they remind me of who I still am; my past and all that I have lived. It is memory that intertwines with the larger memory of the clouds and the sky; forever there and forever part of all things. It is the wisdom of the ages and I know it will never go away. My question now is: why can’t I accept my life for what it was? For what it was, was just the prelude to what it is now; the main part of a grander symphony where the complexity and blending of voices is so incredibly beautiful, rich and powerful. And I realize that too is part of me.

In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.

Abraham Lincoln

How I see the clouds is up to me. They can seem dark and blanket my world or I can rise up and see their whiteness. There is always a tinge of white found high upon their mountaintops. Now I am so much more interested in knowing the reasons for their movement, and why the sky wants to continually show me something new. Isn’t it my own vulnerability that serves to remind me of who I am and who I have become? For I cannot hope to understand all of the movements of the sky or why dark and white still exist before my eyes. Yet, I am a voyager on this cosmic path and I love to listen to the wind and the rain and the stillness of the calm after the storm.

1 Comment

  1. Bettina Ji

    You’re cool! Even with your beard and turban! Grateful and proud you being my teacher.
    All love!
    Bettina Ji

    Reply

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