Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Dirty faces & far away places
We had crossed paths with other survivors before. Some trying to stay alive but staying alone. But most, like us, have banded together however chance fated. Hodgepodges of ages, sizes, colors & shapes, dirty faces & tales of far away places - such are life's visitors now. We offer welcome, friendship, what little we have to offer. Some stay & travel alongside us, while others keep on in their own chosen direction. But each new face offers hope for a future we often question inside ourselves.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Elder Mother
We found her around dusk, slowly rocking on the porch swing of a house half fallen down, her memories dancing far away from her as her legs gently moved her out of habit. When she finally returned from thought and noticed our noise nearby, her eyes were clear and calm, a rarity to find.
“We are friends” spoke Peter softly, with the quiet voice of trusted healer that had so often calmed a fearful stray. Her lips curled in a warm smile, though she would not tell us her name. She did say that her husband, children and children’s children did not survive, only she. And that she believed she was completely alone, here only to wait her turn for death’s arrival, but then we had arrived instead.
She stood with relieved purpose at the sight of us all, dusted her hands on a comfortingly patterned apron, and walked through her front door as she turned to say “You are so very welcome here. And you all must be quite hungry.” Shortly after, we shared our first ‘family meal’.
She, to this day, has never spoken her name to us, or not in any way we can decipher. But we no longer ask, for it would matter now, and because her wishes are to be someone new.
“My life before is over. All that I built around me has come down, and if it is my God’s will, then I shall rebuild it again. But this time on new ground, with new stone and new mortar, and for new purpose. My life and my name are no more, for with my family I died, but when you came to my door that day I was reborn. I saw that my purpose was not over, even if the only life I had ever known was over, it had simply changed. Now, I wish to be everyone’s mother, to do what I can for all of you who saved me, and for the children, for the new world they will build, with whatever time we each have left.”
And so we have come to call her “Elder Mother”, mother and grandmother to us all. When a child needs comfort, to Elder Mother does he turn for the arms of safety and love he so craves. When an adult needs an ear, a shoulder or a sweet word of hope, to Elder Mother does one turn. Disputes in our group are mediated and resolved with objectivity and kind fairness, if Elder Mother is asked.
And she, like a true mother, demands that at least once per week the whole community we have gathered all sit to eat together at one time - our ‘family meals’. Elder Mother is our glue, holding us together in so many different ways.
Many evenings, Elder Mother tells stories. ” To help the children always remember who we were, and to help them see who we are capable of becoming.” In her stories, she never reveals which are her own stories and which are simply those she saw around her. But her stories weave us into a tapestry of dreams and hope and pride in our ancestry. She reminds not only the children of who we are capable of becoming, of how vital love like hers is in this new world. I aspire to one day hold within me the unconditional love and wisdom with words that she carries for us all.
“We are friends” spoke Peter softly, with the quiet voice of trusted healer that had so often calmed a fearful stray. Her lips curled in a warm smile, though she would not tell us her name. She did say that her husband, children and children’s children did not survive, only she. And that she believed she was completely alone, here only to wait her turn for death’s arrival, but then we had arrived instead.
She stood with relieved purpose at the sight of us all, dusted her hands on a comfortingly patterned apron, and walked through her front door as she turned to say “You are so very welcome here. And you all must be quite hungry.” Shortly after, we shared our first ‘family meal’.
She, to this day, has never spoken her name to us, or not in any way we can decipher. But we no longer ask, for it would matter now, and because her wishes are to be someone new.
“My life before is over. All that I built around me has come down, and if it is my God’s will, then I shall rebuild it again. But this time on new ground, with new stone and new mortar, and for new purpose. My life and my name are no more, for with my family I died, but when you came to my door that day I was reborn. I saw that my purpose was not over, even if the only life I had ever known was over, it had simply changed. Now, I wish to be everyone’s mother, to do what I can for all of you who saved me, and for the children, for the new world they will build, with whatever time we each have left.”
And so we have come to call her “Elder Mother”, mother and grandmother to us all. When a child needs comfort, to Elder Mother does he turn for the arms of safety and love he so craves. When an adult needs an ear, a shoulder or a sweet word of hope, to Elder Mother does one turn. Disputes in our group are mediated and resolved with objectivity and kind fairness, if Elder Mother is asked.
And she, like a true mother, demands that at least once per week the whole community we have gathered all sit to eat together at one time - our ‘family meals’. Elder Mother is our glue, holding us together in so many different ways.
Many evenings, Elder Mother tells stories. ” To help the children always remember who we were, and to help them see who we are capable of becoming.” In her stories, she never reveals which are her own stories and which are simply those she saw around her. But her stories weave us into a tapestry of dreams and hope and pride in our ancestry. She reminds not only the children of who we are capable of becoming, of how vital love like hers is in this new world. I aspire to one day hold within me the unconditional love and wisdom with words that she carries for us all.
Lost but no longer alone.
There is no way of knowing how many of us remain, wandering. But as JRR Tolkien once said, "not all who wander are lost".
Sometimes I wonder if our previous lives weren't in some way a preparation for all of this. Struggles making each strong enough in one way or another, to keep us alive when so many others have died. Some would call it "luck", but our little group over time has shown an exaggerated variety of unexpected but crucial abilities, experiences, skills and strategies that, without, we'd never have made it so far.
Is it our genetically coded instinct to survive that reminds each of us just how much a mind really can retain and blend into creatively cunning ways to fix whatever is thrown at us? Our desire to win a challenge, to prove life wrong in its assertion that death be imminent?
We find ourselves relearning what resilient creatures we humans can be when properly motivated. We are unafraid, though often unwilling at first, to fight; but fight we will when survival is threatened.
That's more than likely part of why we have become the adopted family to so many children. In our travels, we find them - alone, barely fed, dirty, cold and afraid. But so many come to us with their tales of parental heroics in the face of insurmountable odds. Tales of sacrifice, barters with the world for the life of their young in return for their own.
We all seem to share that human value that puts our children's lives above all else, especially in these times. I am proud (yet saddened of course), but always deeply and soulfully indebted to those who have come before us and passed into the unknown after this life, to hear their stories of a child saved in the direst of moments by the love of a mother or father or both. To hear of another human, holding onto a faith in the rest of their human race, that this sacrifice would not be in vain. Holding onto a hope that these children, so dearly loved, might be found, saved yet again by the next who is able, to live and to love, and maybe even laugh again one day.
And to carry the lesson of love and survival to the next generation to come. That we shall stand, and we shall sing, and we shall wander, lost for now, but no longer alone.
Sometimes I wonder if our previous lives weren't in some way a preparation for all of this. Struggles making each strong enough in one way or another, to keep us alive when so many others have died. Some would call it "luck", but our little group over time has shown an exaggerated variety of unexpected but crucial abilities, experiences, skills and strategies that, without, we'd never have made it so far.
Is it our genetically coded instinct to survive that reminds each of us just how much a mind really can retain and blend into creatively cunning ways to fix whatever is thrown at us? Our desire to win a challenge, to prove life wrong in its assertion that death be imminent?
We find ourselves relearning what resilient creatures we humans can be when properly motivated. We are unafraid, though often unwilling at first, to fight; but fight we will when survival is threatened.
That's more than likely part of why we have become the adopted family to so many children. In our travels, we find them - alone, barely fed, dirty, cold and afraid. But so many come to us with their tales of parental heroics in the face of insurmountable odds. Tales of sacrifice, barters with the world for the life of their young in return for their own.
We all seem to share that human value that puts our children's lives above all else, especially in these times. I am proud (yet saddened of course), but always deeply and soulfully indebted to those who have come before us and passed into the unknown after this life, to hear their stories of a child saved in the direst of moments by the love of a mother or father or both. To hear of another human, holding onto a faith in the rest of their human race, that this sacrifice would not be in vain. Holding onto a hope that these children, so dearly loved, might be found, saved yet again by the next who is able, to live and to love, and maybe even laugh again one day.
And to carry the lesson of love and survival to the next generation to come. That we shall stand, and we shall sing, and we shall wander, lost for now, but no longer alone.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
A Patience in Particulars
We are no longer restrained by the dogma of religion in this new world of ours, as all the leaders of faith have been recalled to their masters. Those who remain are confronted by current events, life defying us to believe that all this is for some worthy purpose. The idea of a Divine Design is harder to hold onto now, but many who never believed before, do now.
It is difficult to understand why "God would allow all this to happen" and yet at the same time, grasping the a hope that some end will indeed justify these means we have survived so far is a desire that has grown within each of us over time.
But within that, an new clemency of discussion, a patience in particulars, a grace in the unknown, is developing among us as well. Perhaps the mistakes of our past, the dissolutions of unity via vain attempts to answer all life's mysteries, will refrain from regrowth in this new era we are creating.
In the loss of so much, so much more may now grow. I am enticed by the wonder of it's coming bloom.
It is difficult to understand why "God would allow all this to happen" and yet at the same time, grasping the a hope that some end will indeed justify these means we have survived so far is a desire that has grown within each of us over time.
But within that, an new clemency of discussion, a patience in particulars, a grace in the unknown, is developing among us as well. Perhaps the mistakes of our past, the dissolutions of unity via vain attempts to answer all life's mysteries, will refrain from regrowth in this new era we are creating.
In the loss of so much, so much more may now grow. I am enticed by the wonder of it's coming bloom.
My ears assumed it a Dream
They came upon us from both sides, in the dusk of a setting sun, dressed in darks, intimidating and broad. Their number was about that of ours, but only if you count our children, and so equality in the encounter was impossible.
Immediately, instinct echoed ominously through each of us, and without speaking, the strongest found ourselves wrapping around the weakest, a circle of the forsaken, still desperate in the hope of survival.
But when the tall leader spoke, with eyes and face mostly hidden from sight, my ears first assumed it a dream. Hearing a voice from another life, a voice from a past I barely believed real any more, and my heart released it's fear for just a heartbeat. I risked breaking our circle of deceptive defense, as I stepped just a breath closer to hear. To believe.
Can coincidence follow us even this far? Or has purpose reared her head once again?
I breathed in the anticipation of this twist, this quake in my soul, as my own life too is redesigned like the unwilling earth I travel upon.
Immediately, instinct echoed ominously through each of us, and without speaking, the strongest found ourselves wrapping around the weakest, a circle of the forsaken, still desperate in the hope of survival.
But when the tall leader spoke, with eyes and face mostly hidden from sight, my ears first assumed it a dream. Hearing a voice from another life, a voice from a past I barely believed real any more, and my heart released it's fear for just a heartbeat. I risked breaking our circle of deceptive defense, as I stepped just a breath closer to hear. To believe.
Can coincidence follow us even this far? Or has purpose reared her head once again?
I breathed in the anticipation of this twist, this quake in my soul, as my own life too is redesigned like the unwilling earth I travel upon.
Quakes Unbound
The ground trembles beneath us almost daily now. Small tremors, and now and then, larger upheavals of land, changing the earth in ways we know we have yet to discover. As if the world itself quivers in the fear of a new future, as our own fears quiver in the eerie silence between the shaking.
Each time the ground quakes, the adults pass worrisome glances, but hold a feigned courage and confidence about our safety for the sake of the children cowering below, frantically clasping onto the legs of idyllic parental stability.
Ripples of pavement like waves along the road, concrete scarred with delicate cracks like glass, dirty water flows cutting new highways through a landscape slowly redesigning itself; signs the quakes both follow us and precede us. The ground seems to shake no matter where we travel to avoid it. The boundaries of the tremors seem never to be reached, and so we walk on.
Each time the ground quakes, the adults pass worrisome glances, but hold a feigned courage and confidence about our safety for the sake of the children cowering below, frantically clasping onto the legs of idyllic parental stability.
Ripples of pavement like waves along the road, concrete scarred with delicate cracks like glass, dirty water flows cutting new highways through a landscape slowly redesigning itself; signs the quakes both follow us and precede us. The ground seems to shake no matter where we travel to avoid it. The boundaries of the tremors seem never to be reached, and so we walk on.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Lost should mean "able to be found". But not always.
We lost Elaine today. She was expecting a child, so the loss was exceptionally difficult for most of us to conceive. Each soul still surviving in these days is a blessing, and a new birth is cherished above all else. To lose any is a devastating truth none of us wishes to accept.
A fever had swept in overnight and put three to bed in hours. Our medical focus was, for obvious reasons, on the children first. Peter suggested we make a separate camp for the weakest members of our group; it was the first "quarantine" since we left our "lives" behind, months ago.
Because two of the children are mine, I was asked to help at the quarantine camp with others. Peter stayed at the main camp to attend the sick, of course. Elaine and child were the only ones lost in the end, helped by Peter's quick thinking to isolate low immune systems from exposure immediately.
The void of Elaine's presence lingers still, almost a fortnight since her passing. Quieter evenings, less laughter, but I witness hints of healing grow in number with each rising sun. And we have grown more aware again of the risk we face with disease, in this new world of without many of the pills we once took for granted to save the day.
At least we have Peter, a former physician's assistant. He has blessed our wandering community with his decent mind for diagnosis, knowledge of many prescriptions and some surgical experience. I do not think so many of us would have survived without him.
He has truly stepped into a leader, a role he seems to only begrudgingly accept. But I believe those who wish it least tend to achieve much. Yet I wonder, do we make him our leader because he is so essential to us as our doctor, or because he is actually the wisest choice to lead. Does one guarantee the other? Are they even related?
Perhaps we put in him our hopes for a future, to survive and one day flourish in this new world we are discovering. For without him, such hopes darken in fear. With him, destiny's chance to manifest can yet again be a dream.
I suppose it is, as anything, a mix of many such reasons. His skill, his demeanor, his strength, and belief that a doctor's purpose is to "fix", that feed our confidence in him. Footsteps I have grown to have faith in following.
And often, as is Peter's way, to create my own directly beside.
A fever had swept in overnight and put three to bed in hours. Our medical focus was, for obvious reasons, on the children first. Peter suggested we make a separate camp for the weakest members of our group; it was the first "quarantine" since we left our "lives" behind, months ago.
Because two of the children are mine, I was asked to help at the quarantine camp with others. Peter stayed at the main camp to attend the sick, of course. Elaine and child were the only ones lost in the end, helped by Peter's quick thinking to isolate low immune systems from exposure immediately.
The void of Elaine's presence lingers still, almost a fortnight since her passing. Quieter evenings, less laughter, but I witness hints of healing grow in number with each rising sun. And we have grown more aware again of the risk we face with disease, in this new world of without many of the pills we once took for granted to save the day.
At least we have Peter, a former physician's assistant. He has blessed our wandering community with his decent mind for diagnosis, knowledge of many prescriptions and some surgical experience. I do not think so many of us would have survived without him.
He has truly stepped into a leader, a role he seems to only begrudgingly accept. But I believe those who wish it least tend to achieve much. Yet I wonder, do we make him our leader because he is so essential to us as our doctor, or because he is actually the wisest choice to lead. Does one guarantee the other? Are they even related?
Perhaps we put in him our hopes for a future, to survive and one day flourish in this new world we are discovering. For without him, such hopes darken in fear. With him, destiny's chance to manifest can yet again be a dream.
I suppose it is, as anything, a mix of many such reasons. His skill, his demeanor, his strength, and belief that a doctor's purpose is to "fix", that feed our confidence in him. Footsteps I have grown to have faith in following.
And often, as is Peter's way, to create my own directly beside.
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