Keeping the Dream

…there is a garden. Really. Pulling back long runners of wild greenery, I find a garden, or at least a piece of one – variegated leaves of contrasting green planted as a part of someone’s vision of their home.

Could have been my Kenny. I can see him hastily digging a hole and planting his latest addition from the nursery. Got to do it NOW, you know.

Or maybe it was our son, doing one of the many chores assigned to him at the drop of a hat by his dad. Or perhaps Kenny’s parents, who in their turn, had passed away from one form or another of cancer, too.

But there it was, a little garden growing underneath the weeds.

Healing is like that. No matter how deep it gets buried, whether smothered or strangled, there is that life force within us that perseveres.

And do you know what else can be found under the weeds?

Space. That’s right, space. In some places, clearing the weeds away I found nothing – well, not exactly nothing. There were scrambling crickets and long wet earthworms hurrying to burrow back into the rich earth. But there was no garden, not even a remnant of one. Everything had been smothered away.

I looked at the uninterrupted brown – a wide open invitation for more weeds…unless I planted something in their place.

And healing is like that, too. Not enough to do the work of clearing things out and letting go. We need to choose what to bring in. We have to embrace.

And then I come back in, pleased with my mind’s pondering, and I check my email. There’s the Daily Word from Unity. It reads,

“My thoughts are like seeds in the rich soil of my mind…If thoughts of fear or lack pop up, I release them just as I would remove weeds from my garden.’

Of course.

And healing’s like that, too – coming to you with multi-layered meaning for your multi-layered life.

You know, sometimes with the passing of my sister and Kenny, I feel like an orphan. I know I have family through my children and grandchildren, and I can’t begin to tell you how blessed I am by them.

But when I look to the left and look to the right, there is no one standing beside me anymore. And it’s been a long time since I looked behind me, for I know there hasn’t been anyone there to lean against from my family of origin and theirs for more years than I care to remember.

But it’s days like today, when Life seems to speak to me through weeds and dirt and half buried flowers, and then taps me on the shoulder to whisper another delicious thought using those same images, that I realize just how not alone I am.

And I think maybe I’m not such an orphan after all.

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.

Yesterday, Stacey and I were in the studio actually recording! We do that so infrequently these days, but that’s, definitely, changing this year.

The song, The Last Farewell, is based on a poem written by the father of a young student killed in the Tiananmen Square Massacre. The father passed away not too long afterward. I’m not sure of what, but I believe, in part, he must have died of a broken heart.

I’ve had this poem for quite a while and put, what I felt, was the essence of it in lyric form. Originally, I wanted to sing it over a traditional Chinese lullaby, but a melody kept insisting itself upon the phrases, so I acquiesced. We laid down the initial tracks last year and only returned to them now to put in the finishing touches. Stacey will do a tad bit more of his magic arranging and it will be done.

I’m looking forward to singing this song at the 20th Anniversary of Tiananmen Square Massacre Candlelight Vigil this year in Washington, D.C., May 30th. To me, going to the vigil has always been about offering healing.

I hope this song will be a vehicle for that in whatever small measure.