We Live Rich Lives

 

 

Confucius once said “We all have two lives, the second one starts when you realise you only have one”. 

We own things we do not usually think of when we are asked what we own.  Our lives are rich, are poor, are light, are dark.  You cannot imagine my story.  I cannot imagine yours.  My history is not ever just like yours.  Yes, there are similarities, but the hues and tones and sounds and feels are uniquely mine.  Wisps of joy and sadness's, tenacities and traumas, are mine; yours are yours.  I cannot judge your life story.  You cannot judge mine, because we can never know. You think you know me.  I think I know you.  But we cannot imagine.  My life story is enough for two lifetimes. 

I know that our history’s are full of chapters after chapters.  We were born, we were children., we were teens, we were adults, we were empty-nesters, we were/are crones.  We changed.  We showed great weaknesses and strengths.  Sometimes we have felt that we have lived enough.  We have lacked wisdom; we have gained wisdom.  We have reinvented ourselves over and over, due to circumstances, incidents, losses, gains.  This is not all one straight line.  How many times have we had to change?  How often do we given free rein to life and simply trusted it? 

It is a given that we are not stagnant beings.  It is also a given, that we will transform, again and again.  We are called to step out of our usual way of being, again and again.  We obtain, from all our experiences, newer experiences, newer perspectives, newer ways of being. 

In our stories, we have things we are passionate about.  Things we want, things we need, and things we truly cannot live without.  In our environment, we are nurtured by things we are interested in and our interests change, as well.  We deepen our sense of Self.  Our culture deepens, changes.  Our identity within culture changes. 

We have myriads of relationships and kinds of relationships.  When we are met with new people, they change us.  We learn how to deepen relationships.  We learn what relationships do not fit our soul.  We learn what relationships are important to us.  The landscape of our soul changes minute by minute, depending who, what, how, when we have our life enriched by others.  Mostly, we learn more about ourselves through our relationships. 

We never stop learning.  Our intelligence grows are life offers us new people, landscapes, things to learn about. We gather new skills.  We are reborn, again and again, through things we learn about.  We are all lifelong learners. 

We do not disintegrate our past Self; we add to it.  We are a product of our physical, intellectual, emotional and spiritual experiences.  Our physical attributes change with age.  We accept or we obsess about such changes. Our intellect changes.  Our emotional changes are huge.  We are, as it says, a person seeing glass half empty or half full.  The half-full people experience the best and most changes.  This moment we are one person; the next moment we are changed.  How many moments have we had in our lives?  We are all in the process of becoming.   

As I age, I can go back and review my life.  I have time for such.  I am whittling down all the areas of my life.  I am choosing what is best for me right now.  I have not lost anything.  I have made conscious decisions and choices that make my story brilliant, vibrant, and worth being here for.  How about you?

©Carol Desjarlais 03.07.26

 

 

Gray Days

 

 

Belly-Blue Abandoned

one aches in absolute abandonment
long before net of season strips rivers
lakes    ponds    of harmonies

each dear and downed deep melody
meandering in mist of just July
and nearly August or suddenly September
trying to imprint sheets of music
upon fading blues of sky
before stroking away like some ship
destined to break dock on amniotic ocean
never to return exactly the same
but return nonetheless

some strange need suctioned her so swiftly
that even a stir was barely noticeable
her haunting held as sighs and aborted surges
warning that fall was coming and she longed to leave
her sadness's      darkly scrambled
to break free of cold and darkened lake
refusing to reflect her rigorous flailing
as she was folded and pulled by some hard hand
into a sky that hardly deserved her

we longed for sounds of grace
touching stone to make it weep
but weeping was not its nature
even as she scrambled on water    to rise
she was envied her ability
to arch her neck and draw blue sky
singing freedom as she spread
her pinioned wings that had patiently
practiced being a phoenix
once more    one more damned time

lake and shore mourn her leavings
great dark mouth agape for months
praying for Spring to have her hover
then half-swallowing her as she nestled
in weary weeds who had waited
for ripple of her return
aware she would  she should    she could
if only we would wait belly blue as promised
our hope circling like left feathers
soddenly etching a map    in eddies     
so she can find    her way home
again
©Carol Desjarlais 9.05.22

I love rainy days.  I love the fore-telling of rain. I love the smell, the sound, the feel, and the comforting-effect of being bundled up in gray clouds.   It is not the same for everyone. 

For some, with a parent with depression, the sky turns gray and they do.  A troubled past (trauma) can project itself when skies are gray.   Grief, we have not dealt with, can erode to a sense of loneliness or emptiness.  Doing to much, for too many, can lead to a sense of being overwhelmed and, beware, a gloomy day should come at the same time. 

For some, we get to a place where we just are not interested (or feel interesting). We are lethargic.  We feel foggy in that we just cannot think clearly.  We may not want to go anywhere or see anyone.  You feel irritated, or angry, for no apparent reason, and it can be soul deep irritation.  Some may not be able to sleep, or want to oversleep. You just do not have the energy to do anything, nor desire anything.

No sense having anyone to just get over it.  When someone tries to help, their help only compounds things.    We do not choose to feel so rotten.  Oh, we know what to be grateful for.  No sense telling us to remember things we are grateful for.  In fact, for people to point things out, only makes it worse.   A depressed person will only feel guilty and, yes, of course, worse.  Sometimes the negative outweighs the positive.  It may be our whole inner dialogue outweighs anyone else’s ‘sage’ advice.  There seems to be a switch within that has to be reset.  What, then can we do to help others? 

How about taking a load off by helping them do the things they just cannot seem to do?  How about reminding them that a depressed person is a condition, not the real them?  How about telling them that they are not weak or flawed?  How about encouraging them to come and do something, they usually enjoy, with you?   How about telling them you admire them, that they are loved, that they are valuable, that they are perfect in the Creator’s eyes?  Then talk the depressed person into seeking real help and then…and THEN, walk the journey with them, to healing. 

I know whereof I speak.  For many decades ago, I needed someone who could/would/should have done the above things.  I never thought I would live this long.  IU am grateful I did because so many wonderful things have come my way once I flipped my switch. 

As for you who help:  God Bless You.  There is hope.  Please do not give up on those who cannot seem to get out from their own dark cloud. 

©Carol Desjarlais 06.29.26

 

New Ways To Be

 

How often do we gear, “I would die for you”?  Grief came to visit.  How I wanted to die with him.  I could not imagine life without him. 

I had waited so long for him to find me.  Those were halcyon days.  I retired early and moved to Maine.  I spent days out on a boat, fishing and taking in how wonderful we were together.  I had the time to begin writing my book.  I had time to make a rock garden Medicine Wheel.  We went on a cruise.  We spent winters in Yuma, Arizona and it was so thrilling to hike the mountains with my brother and his wife.  We got along so famously.  I felt whole.  I felt, for the first time, being loved and cherished by a partner.  Little did I know, it would not last.  15 years later, we had the VA move in a medical/hospice bed.  In five weeks, we went from him saying something was off, to the day he died.  Not even the loss of my parents equaled his loss.  Ever since, 2015, I have simply been putting in time. 

Once I gathered who I was without him, I made myself a promise that I would live for him.  I have taken him, in the blown glass necklace that holds some of his ashes, silver, gold and bronze, everywhere important I have been:  trips, cruises, and when I feel lonely for him, I put it on. I wear his turquoise Bear totem along with my Goddess. He has gone on more cruises with me. I have seen far and distant places through his eyes.  I have not been able to write poetry any more.  I cannot go that deeply that is necessary to write it.  I felt rudderless until I got that I could live for him.  The heart is such a memory-keeper.  He promised me feathers.  They have come dropping out of the blue of the sky.  They have landed inside my vehicle on the dash as I was driving.  I find them, as have some who have been with me in auspicious places.  The features in strange places remind me that I am living for him. 

For those of you who grieve, try what I am doing:  make yourself a promise to commit to care, to share, to be there with the person you are without, in a thousand quiet ways.  I never lost him.  I found new ways to be with him.   

©Carol Desjarlais 6.22.26