write to me…

Morning arrives.

Yesterday is done and done.

This day that beckons to me,

Never before has it been lived…

Bird song and light footsteps on a woodland path, carry me.

Bejo,

loved flowers, oceans and woodland walks even though she spent much of her life behind office walls that bear the weight of busy concrete cities.

My ever sassy grandmother…

She baked a tender biscuit…brought order to an unruly boardroom full of men where she was the only woman…grew fairy roses like magic…and tended the loving spirit of a sister soon to depart the world…

She laughed brilliantly with her head thrown back in joyful abandon.

She cried the tears of heartbreak that linger in ways that others will never know…because one pushes them aside to keep on….

My brother arrived first in the family so, he bestowed her with her grandmother name. Bejo was one of a kind…

Mike, Suzanne, Bejo

She gave me libraries, woods, old photographs, art and writing….we explored a thousand things when I was a little girl…

Bejo wore a cotton dress with her sensible boots, even in the wilderness. A walking stick accompanied her, just in case. No adventure would dare to escape her!

I can hear her still –

One must tend to oneself no matter where one might be in life.

Sit up straight.

Please and thank you.

Use a soft voice.

There is always time for beauty.

Paint just because you want to.

Write to me…

Thoughts on the circle of time, travel with me wherever I go…

I wander the forest with them…every day.

A Celtic knot returns unto itself.

Just as my walk circles and centers me.

When I return home, then I have completed another circle, albeit an off kilter messy one.

As long as it comes round to its beginning, doesn’t that make it a circle…

A Celtic knot spread is a circle.

A heart pushed in all directions to its outermost is a circle too.

I wonder over why a moment or an image or a thought takes hold of me.

I am helpless to let it go until I move through it mindfully

And make it my own somehow.

I write and write to clear my head and cleanse my heart.

always…there is more.

Bejo and her love

Souls don’t want to be told what to do…not really.

Bejo certainly didn’t!

She was the teller, never the tellee!

I think there is enough of that in the world already. Telling, I mean.

Perhaps, instead a soul wishes for a reminder that life can somehow bear sorrow and that love will always find a way…

At the age of 19 my grandmother married a man from New Orleans

who played minor league baseball by day

and a jazz fiddle by night…

She left him

Never to return

When my father was only three years old

They took a train back to her home in Texas

Hungry in both body and spirit…

I love mornings like this one…

If only I could be still for the whole long short day.

The whir of the fan, curtains drawn, soft light, quietly absorbed in transcribing the stories of my dreams. Breathing them into life.

Someone may read them…perhaps, no one ever will. Either way…it is ok.

Bejo with Dad

How much I take in! Every day…All the time! Even as I sleep I gather notions in the reflection of my nightscape. Gather and tend. Gather and tend. Sometimes it is too much. I cannot hold it all at once.

Some of it falls in the lined pages that hold my thoughts.

Letters slanting to the right, edge to edge becoming words, one beside another until a page is filled and my thought comes round in an ever widening circle.

What then…

Do I feel better…that I have taken time to listen.

For a few moments I have stopped the whole busy world, except for my hand.

I give myself over to a thirsty pen, rich with ink, making every last thing bright with possibility!

Some mornings I have a tight grip that fights its way, leaving me with a worn feeling up and down my arm. Those thoughts come painfully. Soreness follows them. Sometimes those are just the sorts of words that need to be written. Some days are like that.

But, this day is soft,

Sky and heart and words…

I don’t know what it will become.

Joyful or crowded or silly…only time will tell.

for now…

….the edges are blurred in a lovely disarray that leaves me hopeful.

There is the comfort of listening….to music, to my heart, to that which carries me backwards and forwards and everywhere at once…to take out of nothingness and make something worthy of an eager pen.

Bejo as a little girl on the farm in Bryan, Texas

Bejo lived more circles than I have ever tried to count…and loved deeply, often unnoticed.

A woman who changed her name when that wasn’t done.

And worked as many hours as they would let her to provide for an extended family during the Great Depression.

A woman so formidable that she had Two birthdays!

To be honest, Bejo was not overly fond of me when I was a child. That was just her way. We came to know each other when I was well grown. Then, she took me into her heart and showed me the depth of herself that she seldom shared. How grateful I am…

Bejo wrote…

Professionally with precision

Advisingly with a sharp tongue

Personally with a woman’s heart

And she did it All without the benefit of the Internet!

She wrote letters longhand

She taught me to write letters longhand

We lived far away from one another for most of my life

She kept my childhood letters

And I kept hers

I have them all now, tucked safely away.

She loved me I think…as I did her…

I often feel her close in spirit

Reminding me…of many things…

So when I pause

to wander my thoughts

and gather brilliant images

to create a new old story

one that I so long to share…she is with me…

another lovely circle coming round in beauty and grace

Write…she dares me…all that you live and love and dream and are…write to me…

****

ellie894 January 19, 2019

Happy Birthday Bejo, all my love always, suzie ❤️

Bejo 1929

Advertisements

If you would have a heart to love

I retrace my path of yesterdays, a step and two and three

At the edge of where the ocean comes to land

And where my heart is free…

*

I pause in awestruck wonder…

An enormous hourglass of wood and clearest crystal

Suspended above the terra firma, afloat in a cloudy sky

I cannot see you within, my love

But, my heart knows you are there and I am lost in why…

*

The sands of a thousand days and more

Have flown and settled here one simple grain by one

*

A life they make, full and rich with much of this and that

Yet, as I stand outside of it and gaze at the towering mountain within….

*

I know in my very depths…

My love…he cannot breathe…

For the weight of it all upon him now, he has never any ease

*

The sands of time are closing in with each and every passing day

They tighten so about him

He cannot rest, or find his way

*

Infinitely it swirls upon itself letting not a single thing escape

My thoughts, they spiral in a pleading search

Hoping for an answer robed in grace

*

I am very small…whatever can I do…

*

Within my reach a gleaming sword stands ready

In silence does it wait

I fear it will be too much for me to wield

I fear I will fall short…

But, for my love

I choose and try

To take it firmly by the hilt

And raise it high

I swing with all I am

And although the glass is met…it trembles only slightly

Over and over I brandish the blade

Against the clear enclosure

Yet, to no avail…

Worn and weary…I fear that I have failed

I drop the steel,

Watching as it crashes to the ground

…my heart begins to weep…

…to cry without a sound…

*

This trap of holding time

How smooth and cold it is, and heavy with the world,

I close my eyes

While my fingers, feather soft reach forth in gentle touch…

And, with such as that, in less than a whisper

I hear the echo of a break begin…

A tiny fissure runs along the side…

*

What ray of hope is this!

*

One single grain of sand slips out

Racing through the air to solid earth

Another follows…and another still…

Until it becomes a healing stream of letting go…

*

The sandy scars of days that have been crushed upon each other

Swiftly fall away…

The rhythm of my heart begins to beat anew

As the melody of life does play

*

Soon enough the weight on him will lighten

My love will breathe once more

The morning air of a hopeful dawn

Fresh and simply pure

*

Time is neither linear or by a circle bound

*

One needn’t have an hourglass

To forever turn

And so command the moments

Within your heart to always burn

*

As the minutes and the hours fall

Joy and sorrow, both therein

We seek to collect them each around us

In a vain attempt to hold too many all at once

It is a fearful thing, this holding

And we begin to suffer from the force of it

*

Let the sand slip easily through

And come to rest where it belongs, upon an open shore

Caressed by tender winds

Kissed hungrily by ocean waves of evermore

*

If we would have breath to live

And heart to love

We cannot carry the entirety of our days

We were never asked to…

*

Like the sturdy world beneath our feet,

Moments are intended to hold Us…

Not us to hold them…

*

Mark the days if you must, my love

But only live them one by one

And let each of them gently go when their now is done…

*

Time was never meant to be contained within a glass

No matter how beautifully crafted it may be

*

So, I offer you this…

*

Gaze sweet and long into the endless ever blue

Warm yourself in the fire of the golden rising sun

Wish for wisdom from your guiding star

Dream deeply in the night for all the beauty yet to come

*

And last but mostly this, I hope for you to fly…

And breathe in ease and knowing love

I shall always be nearby…

****

ellie894 January 2, 2018