A Matter of Perspective

                                                                                   Sometimes it's all a matter of perspective. 
                                                                                  (picture is a rain  drop taken while on a hike)
                                              



It's been awhile since I last posted. My family and I have been experiencing lots of changes and life has been swiftly flowing. This morning I woke up at 2 am, an hour after my  dog last nudged me awake to take her out. I realized it was futile to stay in bed as thoughts began to race in my head and I rationalized that it would only be two hours earlier than I usually wake up. Oh, what the hey, why not?

I sat in front of the computer screen and felt the urge to write. It's been so long and the house was so quiet. I love a quiet house. Lately my children have enjoyed playing video games and watching movies. That has become more and more regular now that we are well into winter and it's freezing outside. I find the sound emanating from the glorified box in our living room irritating and it oftentimes causes me to retreat in my own room while it is endlessly drones on as the wind whistles a hollow tune outside.

What to write? I wasn't sure but didn't feel too philosophical. An image of a woman I will see later on today that I work for flashed in my mind. I was reminded of a moment while cleaning her house that we had not too long ago and decided to just write about that. I put it in the form of a poem but I probably could have just made it into a post. It's just the form it starting taking at 2:30 in the morning! I wanted to share it now because if I don't post it now I'm not sure I will.  It's unedited so pardon the roughness of it. 

I would love your thoughts! Please leave them in the comments section. Thank you!






Arrows

I tell her the story of Buddha,
Born a prince and curious about the world.

Exposed to a suffering he never imagined
outside of his once insulated life,

He sought to rid the world of it.



As I sweep the floor I come to one of my

Favorite parts of the story. On the Eve of
the Buddha’s enlightenment, the demon Mara

Attempts many times to defeat him. In his final try
he sends  fiery arrows across the waters at Siddhartha.
As they sail on a sure and steady

Arc towards our hero, finding detachment and compassion

He transforms them into flowers that fall harmlessly

At his side.



We reflect on that.
I turn my eyes in her direction.
She has become more than a woman
I come over and help do the things that she can no longer do.
She has become a little oasis I find myself venturing to twice a week.
A warm place of laughter and shared moments.  

Peaches, her cat, runs her left flank
alongside my calf in a gesture of affection
as I reach up to dust the corners of the ceiling.
 

She is a woman that is no stranger to fiery arrows.
I go in her room to put the vacuum away. A bedroom
void of a bed for she can no longer get in or out of one
on her own. Living every moment now in her chair.
I remember the first time she told me that.

The image of stretching one’s legs out under the covers

On a soft mattress filled my mind. What an awful thing to

Never be able to do again. And at only fifty years.
So much more time left sitting and reclining. Reclining

And sitting.
 

She tells me of when her mother found out she had MS.
“Amy,  you should really think about the things in your life
that you might have done to deserve this.
You must have done something really
bad to make God punish you like this.”
Shocked, my friend immediately
expressed her rejection of such an idea of God.
God does not punish. God is good.
And God will turn her fiery
arrows into flowers, her sadness into joy,
her suffering into opportunities to give and to learn.



She asks me what I think and I agree. She is not overly religious

But holds a quiet and simple faith tucked in the folds of her

Heart. A sacred place I dare not tread with my skepticism.



A glowing optimism emanates from her countenance

and serves as the vessel that carries her above the

Furious waves of heartache, humiliation and turmoil.
I feel I can relate in a way as I  share that same sense
that we can transform ugliness

Into beauty, obstacles into stepping stones,
frustration into peace. Sometimes it seems all a matter of
perspective. A matter of unbinding ourselves to the
material that has a way of sticking to our consciousness

Like sap to bark.



I gently close the door when I leave,
warm skin meeting winter's icy chill.Pulling  out of the lot and into the dark night, 

I glance in my rear view mirror and watch as
the light from her window
melts into the retreating distance.