Sunday, March 6, 2011

Addressed to Unkindness and the unforgiving

Oh tis nice to see crocus shining purples; the daffodils and their fantastic joyful colour nodding as you pass...spotted here on the curbside, there on the patch and again when one clanks the gate firmly shut a solitary one is a-nodding by the purple door of No. 2.
 so with Spring should come a springing, a gamble as the lambs speak so.  There should be an uplift of spirits after the dark and icy winter, the snow feet high all around and silence.  Silence replaced by birdsong in glorious splendour.  the Blackbirds are glistening orange beaks and glossy black-shine coats and sipping a drink in the water barrel; preening too for the show to the lady, who skirts around pecking and perky.
when you see the dance amongst the natural world, an eagerness to have the say of 'we shall live on' in our little offsprings, we shall live on to see this summer and hopefully sleep gently next winter to awaken to beauty again, you sigh.
Its heart felt and sore.
a dash against stones, the soul dark and silent and hollow.
you are now in fear of the most feared of all, the end of life silence, the solitude never wanted or asked for.
an alienation in a world you never fully understood but so wished to embrace.
You can embrace the living that speaks in signs and sings you do not understand nor can truly belong, you can help it so and be cheery for the day that is in it.
when you are a human animal the fulfillment of being human is being with humans.
to chat and banter, to support and aid, even in little ways.
if old and sad to chat about better times and how it was so, with full curiosity for past and what is to come.
what can we do to awaken the new dawn of the final grey days?
can we sit and ponder a new plan.
If the world doesn't want you who else is not thought of or no longer feels needed and who can you share the worthlessness of close knit families who are not there through the indignity of utter abandonment?
How many times have i seen this now?
in the nursing homes, the dying cages which awaits us all, i still see it.  I saw it as an eighteen year old and i see it again at 58 years old.
I try to bring joy to those in their eighties and younger who have been abandoned like useless debris.
you despair that it will never be any different.
the Chinese seemed to understand in a bygone year, mostly the asians understood that the elderly are the wise elders to be cherished.
the little ones where brought to the huts of the wrinkled to learn the lessons of living and contemplation.  to learn tolerance and understand that what starts with birth and youth ends in grey hair and crinkled lumpy fingers.
Oh, and pain.
Whilst one sits it out there, and another here.
Whilst a group sits it out in an old fashioned lounge of lines.
And yet others lie it out in cots and cradles in utter abandonment when at all costs their lives much be kept going as in pumping blood, but their souls have been shot the arrow long ago, so what is the use in staying for the dreary long haul of neglect?
when i am settled i shall gather them like beautiful flowers, i shall sit them by the pond, with the golden fish, under shades of umbrellas in comfy groups.  they shall have a cup of tea and chat and there will be chihuahuas and woolly mammoths  running around, with chickens in the corner's eye and colour aplenty while the sun is long.
in the resting days of winter the groups shall regroup in the lounge, warm as toast but not too much, there they shall sit in armchairs, with their feet up and a smile on their faces.
we all shall talk and banter and be as much needed for each other as should be, no neglect or pain - in that precious hour, no pain, no lonliness and no neglect.
the tea pot shall sing, the biscuits dance in fingers of age.
the chis will catch the crumbs and make many laugh.
I hope my nephew will come now and again and sing to us with a song and voice of a good human who cares too.
I hope my niece will come with wee baby and play the tin whistle and flute as so accomplished is she as well.
Will Maggie B come and take the images for old time sake to record not a lost soul but a beautiful one.
and who will document the lives?
who will hold the pen and say it with words.
"i do not deserve an end of life sadness and lonliness, remember this my son and daughter; and remember this my son and daughter i never was so priveledged to have."
to be a friend and a friend in need reaps the reward that is God's intention of 'being human,' a human being is a reflection of what it is to be a part of the grand plan.
not a wasted leaf floating in a stagnant drain of emptiness in the effluent of discharge to a sea of nothing, a pond of smell and dankness and utter darkness.

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