House Painting

The house is 95% finished. Green trim around a basic white house. The outstanding difference being the doors; garage, and three exterior entry doors are now green as opposed to white like the body of the house. It's funny to watch the garage door rise or close. The white strips between sections of door stand out in stark relief to the darker color of the door.
Today is Christmas Eve. The painters return to finish up. A second coat of paint where needed, cleaning up the yard, replacing plant and out building moved to accomodate the painters. Also, our yard man will show up to get in the last mowing and lawn edgeing of 2009.
To you and yours, the very best of holidays and good cheer throughout 2010.

Sunday morning thoughts...

Sunday morning. Mary and her dad are gone to church. I'm alone with no back ground noise. Its quiet, very quiet. The fan gently pushes some hanging cards around. They rustle together as they move.
The greatest pleasure I have in life is seeing the sparkle in Mary's eyes as she laughs, or we are teasing each other. This generally happens in the car, or late at night in bed when we are at last alone in our haven. Not much fantasy involved to see our bed as a magic carpet taking us to 'happy land.' Around the house it's too somber, too dark. It's difficult to overcome the 'wet blanket' feeling which lays draped over the roof, spreading ooze into every room.
Back to Mary's eyes.
Mary and I look alike to a large degree (no pun intended.) About the same height, grey hair, and twinkling eyes. Hers are emerald green. When she's happy, those eyes flash rainbows, when she's sad, or touched - a rain of tears.
Her smile brightens a room, or yard, or car, or store, or where she happens to be. Her laugh is angels breath, soothing and caressing every sensor in my body. I've never met anyone who did not have a good or kind word to say about her.
How very blessed I am to be her partner in sharing life's up's and down's.

Sweet Reverie

I'm not exactly sure when I wrote this piece. I found it this morning in a poets blog at TUT.com. Through the magic of cut and paste here it is; another reflection on passing.

Sweet Reverie;


I'd been sitting for hours, his hand in mine - soft, the frailness leaching through into my quavering fingers. This is the first time in a long time that I can remember just sitting, holding hands. Not since being a little boy, dependent on this hand for guidance and safety.

There are so many memories wrapped up in this touch. Kites with tails, hands around mine gently tugging - "this is the way to get it up real high," frogs from a stream being placed in my hand - "oooh, so slimy." The laughter shared, the lessons learned, these memories I hope will never fade.

Out of my reverie I realize the weight of his hand has increased. I see now that his chest is not rising and falling back into his so slim body. There is no need to push the emergency call button - this moment has been discussed many times; promises asked for and given, now to be honored.

Suddenly I am surrounded by care givers; nurses - a Doctor, who makes a pronouncement, giving a time. Gurney pushers who will take him away; he is in death still a giver, a donor.

Against his wishes, I allow myself a few moments of sadness. All the family and friends wait down the hall. We've invited everyone who provided care to come and celebrate - join our party of gratitude.

Noise makers, bells, sparklers, and a huge round chocolate cake. Large enough to hold all the candles that reflect the life lived well; joyfully, with purpose. How did he know that his last earthly day would be his birthday? How did he know so many things? Naturally? Spiritually?

I open the door and see that the party has already begun. Hugs and smiles all around. Stories, anecdotes, readings of his poetry, essays, excerpts from his books. A wonderful expression of love, and loving. More than being missed, he will be appreciated for the "presence" he shared. Shared with everyone. jdc

The Witness

Seemingly out of place the lone man stood in the heavy down pouring rain, clutching a single white rose,

None the less a broad smile filled his face as his eyes over flowed with tears. No one else had come. Not surprising given the weather.

He stood like a statue oblivious to the torrent of rain. His heart full of joy for the life she had given him.

A shadow crept before him. Looking for the source he saw a person clothed in rain gear holding one white rose had stepped up next to him. He nodded in greeting.

The next half hour brought a lessening of the rain, an untold number of people like ants swarmed around her. All quiet, all respectful.

Someone began singing her favorite hymn, all joined in.

As the sun broke through the clouds a rain of white roses lay aground, covering her, loving her, completely.

No one left without a joy filled memory.

jdc 10/15/2009

I’ve hurt so long.

I’ve hurt so long I know no other
Feeling

I’ve wept a billion tears
Cried out in search of
Healing

This heart within my chest
Seeks quiet, peace, and rest

And when I knew it least
My hurt soon be released

Be still my heart and
Know this a time to grow

To learn, to live, to be
The love I’ve wanted so.

Love in conflict

In loving there is conflict
Which causes frustration
Leading to anger that needs
Be resolved.

Resolution is found in commitment
Through an act of forgiveness which
Allows us to continue loving.

All of the above is captured in
“I’m sorry.”

When your heart is locked

When your heart is securely
locked against all intruders

communication is the key
understanding the handle

and acceptance the hand
which releases the power
of your loving.

Speak To Me Gently

SPEAK TO ME GENTLY
IN WORDS SAID CLEARLY;
YOU TOUCH MY MIND.

SPEAK TO ME GENTLY
IN WORDS SAID DEARLY;
YOU TOUCH MY HEART.

SPEAK TO ME GENTLY
IN WORDS OF LOVE;
YOU TOUCH MY SOUL

YOU ARE A SPIRIT
BREEZE; TOUCHING
ALL OF ME!

A Wounded Heart...

A wounded heart has no boundaries, is limitless in its pain and endures suffering beyond measure; because it wants to.

A wounded heart gets stale, becomes fragile and fearful in its grand effort to keep beating out life, even though life has somehow lost its meaning.

A wounded heart seals itself around the arrow of hurt that forever is lodged, unforgettable, but not unredeemable;

A wounded heart heals itself, goes on, adjusts, learns new life
skills and becomes, sometimes without realization;
a healing heart.

A healing heart makes choices, sees possibilities, creates
opportunities all the while recognizing that yesterday’s
pain – belongs to yesterday.

A healing heart expands in strength and courage, sees and accepts the challenges of life and risks being wounded once more.

A healing heart is wiser, has better vision, can calculate
risk and protect itself from life’s pit falls, all the while it is
becoming a healed heart.

A healed heart embraces what has been, experiences the present
yet prepares for the future, recognizes it’s own strength, temerity, boldness, compassion, wisdom and yearning.

A healed heart loves and allows love to happen, once again.


jdc 2002, revised jdc 2009

Father, Coming and Going

LIFE IS PRECIOUS, YET TAKEN FOR GRANTED.
DEATH IS A DISCOVERY YET UNPREPARED FOR
WHEN IT SEEMS TO US, THE LIVING THAT DEATH HAS
TAKEN FROM US IN TRUTH WE ARE GIVEN A GIFT.

IT IS THE ACT OF LIVING THAT HAS ENDED. THE LIFE
WE MOURN AS LOST CONTINUES TO LIVE WITHIN US
AND, BEYOND. FOR LIFE IS LOVE; AND LIVING IS AN
EXPRESSION OF LOVING;
DEATH IS THE FRONT DOOR TO HEAVEN:

I SEE A PICTURE IN MY MIND OF A HOUSE WITH MY FATHER
STANDING IN FRONT WAVING GOODBYE AS I DRIVE AWAY.
I AM SAD AT MY PARTING. YET IN MY HEART I KNOW HE WILL
ALWAYS BE THERE, WAITING FOR MY RETURN.

I FEEL BETTER.

I SEE A PICTURE IN MY MIND OF A HOUSE WITH MY FATHER
STANDING IN FRONT WAVING GOODBYE AS HE FADES AWAY.
I AM SAD AT HIS PARTING. YET IN MY HEART I KNOW HE WILL
ALWAYS BE THERE, WAITING FOR MY RETURN. WHAT A
WONDERFUL REUNION WE WILL HAVE.

I FEEL BETTER.

BOTH LIFE AND DEATH ARE EXPRESSIONS OF LOVE.
WE COME, WE PARTICIPATE, WE EXAMPLE, WE LAUGH,
WE CARE, WE GRIEVE. We learn.
WE BECOME SPIRIT AGAIN

IN EVERY BIT OF GLADNESS; SOME SAD. IN EVERY BIT OF SADNESS;
SOME BAD. IN EVERY bit of BADNESS; SOME GOOD.
IN EVERY BIT OF GOODNESS; SOME GLAD.
IN EVERY CIRCLE AN ARC, THE END ALWAYS COMES
TO THE START.

IN EVERY DREAM, LIFE’S NOT WHAT IS SEEMS;
THE HORSE ALWAYS DRAWING THE CART.

THOUGHTS OF YOU MAKE MY FACE MUSCLES CONTRACT
INTO A SMILE.

You are a continual blessing to me,
be at peace.

My Father, My Father...

My eyes leak tears,
my mind is seared with pain,
my heart aches with loss.

Will our last moments together
over shadow the life time we
shared? They can not.

Will what has been left unsaid
over power the memory of his
voice, his words of wisdom
to me? I think not.

Will I forget his face, his
smile, his touch? Will the
memories of being together,
sharing, being comfortable
in our enduring love ever
diminish? I know it will not.

My Father, My Father.
physically gone;
spiritually free;
emotionally mine, forever.

jdc 7/4/2009

On The Horizon

An infant lay quietly in a play pen. So many un-named, un-nameable toys around him. The pleasure of touch and feel, grasp and release, soft or hard, sticky and smooth; all new, all wonderful. Without knowing, without trying he instilled pleasure in those watching. The wonderers who marveled at his every action, his beauty in waking and sleeping.

The infant saw but could not know; colors and shapes sizes and shadows. He felt, while incapable of reason, warmth and cold, dry and wet, pain or ecstasy. He was, and asked for nothing. He became, and demanded pleasure. His world though narrow has broad horizons. Life stretches out as a panorama before his learning.

The adolescent sat stolidly watching. His experience expanding daily. His awareness acute, senses piqued and understanding fallen short. Pleasures were good, rules were all bad, and never enough for all that he had. No direction, low energy, esteem unknown, he learned by observation, not by participation. The adolescent yearned, exploited, soiled his immediate surroundings and wanting for goals, demanded everything be given to him - but held no talent for commitment. And his world though narrow had broad horizons. Life stretched out as a panorama before his learning.

The young man witnessed others joy and continued in his sorrow while visions of toys overhead brought about his lament of WHY,
WHAT FOR? Seeking and searching, wanting answers, not visions he retreated to solitude. Alone games of safety not comfort. Discernment meant escaping, playing at life. Keep the shields up. Give pleasure in order to receive, stumbling onward, awkward in his grace. Graceful in his innocence. Guilty through his misconceptions.
And his world though narrow had broad horizons. Life stretched out as a panorama before his learning.

So many questions and no clues toward the answers. Mystified, confused, eager to be slow in learning, yet fast in dissertation; assuredly misleading as a follower to all his senses. Equal to the task, but lost in the schematic. Life goes on and once upon time, real learning glimmers and glows then wanes in lost confidence. And his world though narrow had broad horizons. Life stretched out as a panorama before his learning.

There is vision, forward and back, through middle age. No longer youthful, not quite old. Intelligence offset by ignorance means something to others; the listeners who appropriate their experiences while forsaking the desires of the heart.

The not so old, while not quite young man watches; appreciates, scores, judges, continues to dream and pursues infrequently his hearts desire. What can be expected of one never taught? Commitment, wrong and right, responsibility all left behind unknown. Looming somewhere in the future, unfound. While the search continues, hope remains strong! Desire is replaced with action, want is overcome by accomplishment and truth is learned through reality.
Old age looms round the corner and wishes succumb to deeds. Dreams give way to recognition and peace conquers turmoil. Acceptance dominates, serenity remains a goal; Life so short behind rises always in the dawning. And his world though narrow had broad horizons. Life stretched out as a panorama before his learning.

The old man lay quietly in bed. So many un-named, un-nameable joys around him. The pleasure of touch and feel, grasp and release, soft or hard, sticky and smooth; all new, all wonderful. Without knowing, without trying he instills pleasure in those watching. The wonderers who marvel at his longevity, his actions. His beauty in waking and sleeping. And his world though narrow has broad horizons. Death stretches out as a panorama before his learning.

Clay is a lump before the Sculptor’s hands, and even then – all becomes ashes. The patterns are always beautiful.

If Deeds Be Done...

Not praise, acclaim or highest fame
Rewards the good deed done,

Within ourselves the battle’s fought
And life’s great victories won;

Forget it’s work; surrender toil
Keep one fresh thought in mind,

Life’s great reward (most often sought)
Goes to the one who’s kind.

No Problem So Large...

There is no problem so large it cannot be run away from! Charles Schultz, Peanuts

There is no problem so small it cannot ruin a moment,
an hour, a day, week, month, year, or life time. cjc


There is no problem, large or small that cannot be a
blessing in disguise. cjc


EXAMINE THE PROBLEM:

What am I longing for?

What am I afraid of?

What can I learn from this situation?

What positive difference can I create

For myself from this situation?

How can I be a positive, creative

Source of the solution to this situation?

STEP OUT:

Take an action step, take two;

Reach out in trust and faith.

You are responsible only for your actions,

Not the (re)actions of others.

Satisfaction comes in knowing you

Made the sincere effort to resolve

The conflicted situation.


LET GO OF THE OUTCOME!

Regardless the outcome, there is personal peace in positive action.

I Am Not So Much Afraid To Die...

I am not so much afraid to die alone as I am afraid to die lonely.

I am not so much afraid to live alone as I am afraid to live lonely.

I expect too much from others and give too little of myself, my
True self.

I keep my fears and my fantasies securely locked and project what I
Believe advances me; through illusion, control, and manipulation.

You don’t see what I see, for it or they are only mine to be seen; you
Don’t feel what I feel for what I feel is unique and only mine to feel.

I cannot escape, don’t want to tolerate, cannot manipulate but maybe Can learn to coexist with the demons that surround me daily.

You don’t hear what I hear for the sounds are only to be heard by me.

You don’t know what I know for the answers are only mine to know.

I love to dance, to laugh and sing. I feel the love that all of these bring And I keep it all to myself.



I share when I can, just what will snare and bring me to some level of Comfort. I stand out and above but am never seen. I scream screeches That never get heard. I speak what is true with all that I meet yet no One hears any words.

I succeed and I fail, write volumes of mail then tear the letters to pieces. You know me too well, you damn me to hell and criticize all of my Creases.

You are me, and I am you; the good, the bad, and the promise. Our
Truth is unshared and for all that we swear, lies spew from our lips
And increases.

I cannot despair or soar in the air; I’ll never make grand speeches. I
Listen, I learn and through every turn absorb all that this life teaches.

I am not so much afraid to live alone as I am afraid to live lonely.

I am not so much afraid to die lonely as I am afraid to die alone.

You Are On My Mind

Help me to help you. What can I say to you? What can I do for you?
How do I touch your consciousness? How can I infuse your Heart
with understanding? How do I put your mind at ease? Questions I
have asked myself repeatedly; this answer I pray will suffice...

...there is a place within you so tender, so vulnerable that the slightest
wound becomes a gaping gash of pain. Intense unrelenting pain. It seems
the only 'cure' is to isolate, cauterize the incident - put it out of mind/
heart/soul.

PROTECT YOURSELF

...there is a place within you so tender, so vulnerable that all your
learned/retained/growth experiences reside there. Mixed together
with the hurt, is the joy; with the sorrow, the exultation; with the
pain, the release; with the anger, the forgiveness.

BE EASY ON YOURSELF

...there is a place within you so tender, so vulnerable that vacillates
between eye popping clarity, and vision clouding fog. The effect on
your senses is a whirling - swirling, yet oft times peaceful acceptance
of life.

BE PATIENT WITH YOURSELF

...there is a place within you so tender, so vulnerable that thoughts,
feelings, words, emotions converge in a symphony of sound and sight
too intense to fathom - so beautiful as to not be understood.

ACCEPT YOURSELF

...there is a place within you so tender, so vulnerable that only friends/
lovers can access. It is there we separate one from the other - change
from one to the other - become one with the other. The line between
friends/lovers seemingly obscure is actually well defined.

YOUR VISION IS YOURSELF

...You will KNOW when your toe touches the line. You will KNOW when
to step over/through. You will KNOW when healing begins - ends –
satisfies.

REJOICE IN YOURSELF

...there is a place within you so tender, so vulnerable that truth - joy –
peace, expel ALL negativity. These positive expressions are forever,
this is so real. To KNOW you is to love you. To be KNOWN by you is
to be loved.

KNOW/EXPRESS YOURSELF

jdc 2/2009

Anything We Do...

Anything we do, even inaction has impact;
For us, for others, we instigate change.

Therefore we must be care takers of the
Content, context, and power in our lives
And how we project our very being into
The world.

Ultimately we must accept that in so doing
We have exercised our sense of responsibility
Allowing others the freedom of choice to
Accept or reject who and what we are.

And always this is done without compromise
For we cannot allow others to impede our
Growth or knowledge.

America's Heritage

Weapons are everywhere, not enough bans,
Somebody gets shot, somebody ran;

Go see the loved one, bring ‘em on down,
ID the body, who’ll ID the Clown?

Tears are like raindrops, hitting the ground;
Nobody saw it, only the sound.

Get a detective, give ‘em the case,
Another named added to a lost race.

No rest for the weary, look till you drop,
Does anyone question: When Will This Stop?

Social reformers, priests in the pew,
All ringing creased hands, what can we do?

Prayers go unanswered, violence remains,
The perp’s and the victims, all are insane.

What starts in the home ends up in the street,
Beatings, neglect, and whacks on the feet;

Bodies inviolate, put to ill use,
Loved one or stranger, there is no excuse.

The answers aren’t simple or easy to plan;
The questions too varied one woman or man.

The cycle be broken, no matter the cost,
The next generation about to be lost.

So, everyone’s guilty, the won’t or the can,
When love is replaced with a hard slapping hand.

Compassion the ideal, checked tempers a stand,
Message is clearer than unworkable plans.

Don’t show me the money; don’t give me a hand,
No more reformers or promises grand.

Keep families together, put people to work,
Have pride in earning, not being a jerk.

The parents, the family, the neighbors, all can,
Turn out life’s winners, not also ran.

All working together, exciting to see,
Young people grow up; proud,
Safe, and free.

Education, a good job, a livable wage,
Impart these as values on every kid’s page;

The man or the woman each one becomes,
Makes a real difference this nation to run.

Standing together, in sunshine or rain,
Our fore father’s values imparted again;

Let’s all join together, the path and the way,
By being the models our kid’s want today.

jdc, 11-24-1997