An invitation to Bob on his 60th birthday to have some tea and reflect with me
Lots of people I know view life as a journey,
A developmental package plan.
A start point.
Stops at designated, predetermined destinations.
Toddlerhood, latency, adolescence and adulthood.
Then an end.
Perhaps, first, with a recapitulation, albeit brief,
of the beginning.
Think Shakespeare’s All the World’s a Stage.
Both metaphoric and punning.
Which, by the way, my head hears recited
not in the deep, melodic voice of Sir Laurence Olivier.
But, in the high pitched 3rd grade rendition
of Zev Benjamin, aptly coached by Roseanne.
Getting back to journeys.
I must admit that, at times, I view my trips
as isomorphic miniatures of the larger lifespan passage.
However, I prefer to embrace each day,
each hour, each minute as an opportunity.
To give a gift to myself or to someone else.
My gifts to self are simple:
thinking, learning, understanding, and caring.
My gifts to others are similarly straightforward:
observing, listening, empathizing.
All, simple formulas that render dialogue complete.
Along the path of my own soulful searching,
I met a kindred mate who thought like I.
Viewed our meeting as an occasion for joy.
The bliss evolved.
An uncontainable bursting into blueberries, beans, and babies.
Seeds of promise, boundless.
Blowing in every direction, like dandelion parachutes.
Past the boundaries of our common garden.
Planting themselves in faraway places.
Over time, the winds shifted.
Inexorably, the prophecy of Khalil Gibran rang true:
Your children are not your children….
You may give them your love but not your thoughts…
…their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
So, we surrendered to the inevitable.
Found each other again.
Educated by career, travel.
The latest trend in technological temptation.
No new degrees, but experience, wisdom, age to share.
We learned the brain stays as healthy as the heart is fit.
Worked our best to maintain the mortal frame.
But, in truth, our strongest bond is at the level of the soul.
The love of soul mates surpasses the mundane.
Into the realm of spirituality.
Not long ago, our Dan asked me what I meant by spirituality.
I thought I might digress to ponder his query.
An awe of, a connection with the space around me.
People, animals, trees.
Their births, beauty, demise.
A force unseen by others yet inspirational.
My spiritual self is moved by redwoods, birches.
Mountain chains and hills, oceans and streams.
Condors and finches.
Deserts and beaches.
Lions and kittens.
Large families and small, (conventional or not).
Presidents and peasants.
Computers and paper.
New light and darkness.
My spirit dreams of my forebears.
Russian ancestors toiling, suffering, sailing.
Through rough seas.
To deliver their gene pool to progeny they’d never know.
On both sides of the Americas.
Grandparents and parents, locked in conjugal embrace.
Whispering earthly possibilities into my lungs.
Including fulfillment of my soul’s affection.
According to the chant of an ancient love song.
I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine….
My beloved is gone down into his garden…
Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field;…
Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grapes appear….There I will give thee my loves.
…At our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.
I am my beloved’s, and his desire is toward me.
Together, my beloved and I have sown in our garden.
Passion and meaning.
Children and peas.
Roses and sunflowers.
We have hoed gardens of others.
Read, walked, talked, learned.
Fantasized, wished, yearned.
Abandoned worries, laughed.
Admired, encouraged each other.
But, our opportunity today is the present.
Wrapped in the warm breath of Autumn’s annual debut.
Let us encounter each other anew.
With gratitude for the past.
Wonder at the mystery of tomorrow.
The days are getting shorter now.
It’s a little chilly outside. Come close, Bob.
Pour the tea. Let’s talk.
What are you thinking?
With love, Lynn
September 27, 2008
