“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

9.05.2008

Things fall down

Leaves leave the trees. They fall from their homes on limbs to the foreign earth below.
Flowers drop from branches & stems, sprinkling color across the ground.
Rain falls upon us, sleet, hail, snow - the storms are many & varied. They all fall down.
Down is they way they come, down is the direction of their travels, down, down, down.
Alice down the rabbit's hole. Down, where magic awaited her. Down.


Does magic wait for all of us?


I sit in the evenings with a woman I love, who tells me she wants to die.
Who tells me she is sad to want that, but want it she does.
She is falling down, and I cannot stop her.
I want to find a magic rabbit hole & help her in,
to visit with The White Rabbit, to eat, to drink (she'd love that), but I can't find it.
I dream of looking. Is it here? Hidden by lavender wisteria vines?
Her favorite color, I think, it must be here. But nothing.
It is night, but the color of the wisteria is bright & beckoning,
a wave to me to search just over there, but no, that's not the place. In the cannas perhaps? No.
I search the backyard next to Bob's grave - how perfect that would be, I think,
Bob will be waiting, but nothing. Nothing, nothing.
I cannot help her.
There are clouds in the night sky, bright stars behind them,
a moon illuminating the yard - each blade of grass is sharply outlined
& I can see there is nowhere to go, nowhere to search.
I pass by her window & Charlie the cat stares at me from his perch atop the couch,
the house dark, but moonlight slanting in to light the room.
Suddenly I remember the owls.
They are in all the trees around her house - I realize I've been wrong, that they're not guardians, that they're there to take her not down, but up.
That they're waiting. Just waiting. I can't see them, but I feel them surrounding the house,
and it makes me sad. And it makes me love them, and it makes me angry at them.
All this time, I think, all this time I thought you were here as gifts, but you are here as guides.
As messengers. I stare & stare into the darkness of the hovering tress, but I cannot see them. They are silent.
Waiting.
hovering, the bastards

13 comments:

  1. Oh Debi. My heart is so sad for you and your Mary. If you can believe that people you will never meet hold a space for you in their hearts, then perhaps that is also a little bit of the magic you talk about.

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  2. this is so beautifully written, so touching...

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  3. My heart breaks for you and Mary.
    Ther are no words to make you feel better. Just be there.

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  4. Tango - You are so kind. I believe this & hold the magic of all in my heart.

    E - Bless you.

    Michelle - There are NO words. Being there is all there is, and truth be told, I've been in this place before. It's an amazing process to be near, and despite the sadness, it's a place I would not give up.

    I will take these thoughts with me tonight. Many thanks to all 3 of you.

    Debi

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  5. Such a beautiful piece of writing, dear Debi. It makes me want to just sit here in silence and think about the people I love most in this world. Our time here is so fleeting, just like the beautiful lavender wisteria... luminous, even in the darkness.

    My thoughts go to you two beautiful women and the precious bond you share.

    Warm hugs and caring thoughts.
    xoxoxo

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  6. What a beautiful post. Sad, but very touching.

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  7. it makes me sad. it must be painful to witness this transition to the next stage of her journey.

    i think you have watched the Lord of The Rings right? Remember the scene in the last movie, Return Of The King when Gandalf is talking to Pippen as they await their own death atop the tower of Minas Tirith. Pippen is so very frightened. he looks at Gandalf and says:

    Pippin: I didn't think it would end this way.
    Gandalf: End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path... One that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass... And then you see it.
    Pippin: What? Gandalf?... See what?
    Gandalf: White shores... and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.
    Pippin: [smiling] Well, that isn't so bad.
    Gandalf: [softly] No... No it isn't.
    and then he nods at Pippin signifying to have courage as the doors burst open with the orcs pushing through. and pippin nods back.

    i have gained comfort from this simple image of white shores and a far green country. i don't know what you believe or what Mary believes but i send you this image to contemplate, to dwell upon during the days ahead.

    i love you debi. i do.
    xo

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  8. Its so beautiful I don't know what to say.

    May the owls allow both your hearts to soar with their soft silent feathers.

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  9. Jaime - Time IS fleeting. Like they say, hold a true friend with both hands. Thank you for your thoughts & hugs.

    Carol - Thank you. It IS sad & I get angry about it sometimes. Most of the time I'm able to be just accepting & actually - not pleased, not flattered, not happy, but privileged, maybe - to be part of this process for her.

    Robin - I love this scene from the movie. I love the acting - I love the way Gandalf's eyes soften & twinkle at the same time, I love his smile. And how it really seems to help poor little Pippin. I just saw this a couple of weeks ago, and remember this scene so well. Thank you for giving it to me as a way to view this time with Mary. Love you back!

    And Hele - I feel the same way; sometimes I just don't know what to say. Perhaps the dream said it for me. Thank you.

    Debi

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  10. Oh Debi...I'm holding your hand from afar...and so understanding how difficult this must be for you. I am not good with words in these circumstances...but know you are both in my thoughts...

    xo

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  11. Celeste - It means so much to know that. Thank God for this little blogging community!

    Debi

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  12. "The leaves are falling,falling as from far,
    as though above were withering farthest gardens,
    they fall with a denying attitude.

    And night by night, down into solitude,
    the heavy earth falls far from every star.

    We are all falling. This hand's falling too-
    all have this falling-sickness none withstands.

    And yet there's One whose gently-holding hands
    this universal falling can't fall through.

    (Rainer Maria Rilke)

    I think her poem says it all for me in this case...

    Hugs,
    P

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  13. Paula - This is incredible. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Wow!

    It almost makes me cry, but in a good way.

    Love, Debi

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