Keeping the Dream

I will not be so afraid anymore.

This is one of the things I have learned. That despite all my assertions to wanting to share my writings and music, I am actually afraid to do so. Sabotage in all its forms from procrastination to just plain stupidity provides me that false sense of safety over and over again.

And the closer I get to actually stepping out into the spotlight, as it were, the more desperate my attempts to prevent that.

Not that I actually succeed in that all the time, mind you. I’ve performed and written articles and what not, quite a number of times. But I hold myself back from what I could do and travel to where I could go.

I travel at a snail’s pace, and recently, it’s been brought to my attention that I would even hurt myself than to become who I am meant to be. Crazy isn’t it?

But it’s not all that uncommon. Too many people who have so much to offer hold back.

But I will not be so afraid anymore. I am looking this beast in the eye. I won’t fight it. That’s another act of sabotage. I will look upon this part of my being with compassion.

Then perhaps, it will choose to come along with me as the healthy sense of survival and discernment it’s meant to be.

It’s amazing who you can find to be your teacher. Everyone can teach us something, but sometimes someone so unexpected can change your entire world, how you see yourself, what you thought you always knew.

These are usually not the ones who hold degrees or positions in institutions of great learning, although we can learn a lot from them.

They are usually life’s teachers, the ones life sends your way when you least expect it.

I have met such a teacher. I can be a hard head. One of the hardest things to break through can be our own self image. I am no exception.

We are usually not that grateful to the one who challenges our comfortable notions about ourselves. I wasn’t. But in these early morning hours, after letting my thoughts ponder these new realizations…slowly, at first, but growing in depth over time…I wake up realizing that I have been blessed by the presence of a truly great spirit, someone the world would not acknowledge, but is, nonetheless.

I am still reeling from the loss of Kenny, but in wandering through my grief, my path has brought me to one who has delivered me a big dose of awareness and opportunity for growth, for which I am now truly grateful.

Today my beloved Kenny passed away. My heart is too full and tender with sorrow to say much more, except that I miss him.

I miss you, Kenny. You were such a big part of my life. This house seems cavernous without you and there’s a big piece of me missing.

But I will write, Kenny, and I will sing for you in a way I have never sung before. I promise. You are a part of me. Even as I grieve, I know I will never be without you.

I love you.

He wants the chemo. They’re sending him home, maybe today, at the latest tomorrow. He’s to recuperate while here the rest of this week and weekend. Next week, he’ll see his oncologist and the situation will be assessed then. The plan is to start the R.I.C.E. treatment on him as soon as possible.

It’s amazing the look of peace that came over his face, when he knew he’d still have a chance to fight. He totally understands the risk, but to him, if he has one chance, no matter how small, he wants to take it.

My sister told me when she was battling her cancer, that she had always thought, that there would be a point where if she could no longer live with dignity, as she perceived it back then, and if she became more of a drain on other people’s time and resources, she’d want to quick fighting and gracefully let nature take its course.

She could not understand nor agree with people who hung on for so long, and seemingly futilely…until it happened to her, until it was her life. And suddenly, just one more sunset, just one more moment with her family, one more ice cream cone or beam of sunlight streaming through the window was worth fighting for.

So there’s no hospice for Kenny at this time. There’s the “Bridge Program”, where he will come home with continued medical treatment with the intent toward further treatment and recovery. It’s what he has set in his mind, his goal to accomplish.

There’s no judgment for those who say “enough”. But there’s no judgment for those who refuse to take that path, either.

A disease can take many things away from you. What it should never take away is your right to choose. It’s such a fundamental part of being human. And cancer doesn’t change that.

It is morning. My child is still asleep on this quiet morning. I am thinking of my friend who lies in the hospital.

Six weeks ago, I discovered the passing away of one dear friend. Today I face the task of going into the hospital to tell another dear friend, one whom I have known for over half my life, with whom I had my first two children, his options. I spoke with his oncologist Friday. They are not what he wants.

Nor I. Nor the ones who love him.

And I don’t quite know how to feel at this time. My thoughts are so focused on how he feels, and how I can be there for him.

I did weep after leaving the doctor’s office. Actually, it started in his office. But as I found myself driving down strange streets in a fog, I knew where I had to go. I went straight to our local health store to get some ideas of how to take care of him should he come home for hospice.

They may send him home to die, but I and his family will welcome him home to live and receive whatever gifts each present moment gives to us.

We don’t know everything.

But though I don’t judge everything by what I see, I do not deny everything I see either. And what I see now weighs upon my heart with a sadness. His hands were so cold as I held them last night. I am not blind to that spectre that hangs before us.

Even still, I hold open a space for that which may confound me and everyone else.

He deserves that. I will not withhold hope under the pretense of protecting my own heart from disappointment. Nothing will spare this heart from splitting in two when he leaves. So I will not hold back anything I can offer now.

I don’t know what he will do, but I do know what I will do. I will be there for him no matter what. I will be there.

Happy Mother’s Day to every mother and every person who has ever given birth to anything - whether it be a living, breathing person or a dream that insists on a life of its own.

Yesterday I learned of a dear friend’s passing away. My heart was filled with sadness all day, but tonight, it’s anger that wakes me up.

This is a man I had met in the early 90’s. He gave me assistance and friendship. He never asked anything of me. He was never anything less than a gentleman and a true friend.

I met Rod Smith at a business where I used to pick up work for data entry. I was a single mom, my two oldest were young kids, and I was homeschooling them. I often brought them in with me. Sometimes he’d be in the office working on their computer system. We’d say hello.

One day he overheard me tell an employee my keyboard had broken, and he immediately offered me one. He wouldn’t take money for it, saying he often had spare parts and he was happy to help.

He said he respected me for what I was doing - homeschooling and providing for my children. Rod put together a computer for me, gave me software I needed to promote my music, and most precious of all, he gave me a true friendship.

Since Rod never took money from me, I’d sometimes have lunch ready for him when he came over to work on my computer. More often than not, we just had tea and conversation.

Rod listened with full attention. He enjoyed hearing about my dreams for my music, my desire for peace in this world, the steps I took to contribute in my own small way. He supported me not only with the computer tools he provided me with, but encouragement and insight.

We also talked about personal stuff, relationships, heartache and hope. He blessed me with his insights. He gave me lots of wonderful advice that I never followed. But he was patient and unconditional in his acceptance and respect for me as a person and the path I chose to walk.

He was working on a software that would be a big help to businesses. I was working on a CD and dreamt of one day dancing on the Great Wall of China.

Rod believed I could do it.

Over the years, we saw less and less of each other, as life and its demands made our paths cross fewer times. But we kept in touch, even irregularly, and even as long periods of time went by.

Too much time went by. And then yesterday I learned it was too late for me to ever hear his voice again.

And tonight, I wake up in the middle of the night, angry. Angry at myself for letting him slip away from me like that. Why didn’t I call him sooner? Why did I let so much time go by?

Angry at the nature of reality for taking him. I wonder why beautiful people like Rod, like my sister, like so many others who have so much to give have their lives cut short, and some others who do nothing but take and inflict suffering live to ripe old ages?

It’s not always like this, I know. But tonight, it feels like it is.

I don’t understand. I had come to a place where I don’t need to. But not tonight. Tonight, my heart rails against the injustice, the unfairness of it all and it demands to know why.

I understand life isn’t fair. But tonight, I don’t care. I want it to be fair. The emptiness in my heart, the pain that opens like a great chasm wants it to be filled with fairness and truth and justice. Tonight I want to understand, I want to know there’s some meaning to all this, some purpose that will finally make sense.

But the only light I see tonight is this cold gray light from my computer screen, and the only thing I understand at this moment, is that I will miss my friend for a very, very long time.

Stacey showed me the “final” version of The Last Farewell. I put “final” in quotes, because he said he wants to make one more mix with a little less reverb on the voice, to see if the lyrics will a little clearer.

But I love, love, love what he has done with the arrangement and production. As usual, he has managed to capture the emotion and intent of the song. It’s beautiful. You know you’ve done good when the song you wrote, the picture you’ve painted, the sculpture you’ve created touches you as if you’re experiencing something someone else has created for the first time.

That is why I believe, in some way, the song, the work of art seeks the artist. No art is ever made from scratch, as if put together by nuts and bolts, but as a soul seeking to be born.

It feels so good to be able to record. It feels good to do something for someone who grieves. It’s really all I want to do with my music. To offer comfort and a little hope. Little is all you need. That’s how powerful Life is.