Saturday, March 20, 2010

Robert Schuman - March 20. 2010

Hardly a day passes I don't think of him

in the asylum...

Everywhere in the world his music

explodes out of itself, as he

could not. And now I understand

something so frightening, and wonderful-

how the minds clings to the road it knows...

he has just met a girl named Clara. He turns the corner,

he scrapes the dirt from his soles.

and he runs up the dark staircase, humming.

In the depths of our craziness, in our brain patterns gone awry, there is the music of love that is steadfast. What if all our life was focused on learning love and interconnection, would we in our dementia, our strokes, our crabby arthritic bodies pave the road for others to follow that leads to the beloving community? I suspect we would although we would not be aware that we were doing so.

What has been with you for the beginning, and persists through your journeys and your aging?

1 comment:

  1. This poem and your question really made me review my life while selecting what has always run through my life. I selected, 'my love of children'. My career was based on that love of children. Your words in the question 'from the beginning' helped me recall the first times I got hooked on caring for younger children. I think the first was when I was five. I was at a birthday party of a neighbor. The younger sister (about 9 months old) had been put in a playpen and only got to watch. She wasn't happy. I chose to ignore the party, handing her toys and getting her to smile or laugh was much more fun. There was lots of baby watching and sitting after that. One neighbor allowed my neighbor friend and I (about 8) to watch a toddler and infant while she was in the house. After their naps we took over while mother got things done around the house and made dinner. We found the real thing much better than dolls. My mother decided I was spending too much time at that house and forbid me to go anymore. It was the first time I snuck behind her back and did it anyway. That is how much spontaneous love and connection with children meant to me. I never got caught, so I don't know what the consequences would have been, but I was willing to risk it. Children can be so open and truthful. If you listen to them you open up a whole new world the way they see it. They are willing to listen and share experiences with you. And, that mischievious glint in their eye hooks me every time. I can get into mischief with them. I don't mind messes or children playing in the dirt.

    Yesterday I arrived home tired and sore. I was greeted by three wonderful boys who were quite dirty from digging for earthworms in my yard. The oldest taught the others how to make terariums with a plastic container. Of course, I had to approve of all they had found, including a very tiny snake, smaller and thinner than a small red worm. They wanted me to identify the species and look it up in my reptile reference book. I told them, "Good luck" when you couldn't see any markings. I told them how tired I was and they'd have to leave as soon as I made a couple of calls to let people know I got home okay because I was going to take a nap. As I was getting out of the car I pushed the release for the lift gate. The oldest was right on it, putting down his lizard terrarium, putting the lift gate up and asking what I needed taken in. He handed the binoculars and camara off and got the walker out himself. The littlest one was feeling a bit left out so I allowed him to carry my purse in. At that point even my purse seemed heavier than I wanted to lift with my tired arms. They brought everything in. While I made phone calls they poured over the pictures in the reptile identification book and just generally talked about snakes. The moment I finished and said only once, "It's time to leave", they put the book up and left. I went to bed knowing I landed in a wonderful neighborhood when I moved here. On day two in my new home it was quiet, I had had severe leg spasms through the night, my back was hurting more than usual, and I was worried about the new doctors. The doorbell rang. I went to the door. It was a 7 year old boy who said, "I'm Reggie. Who are you?" I invited him in, introduced myself and asked all about him. About an hour later he left. It was then I realized my back hadn't hurt the whole time and the sound of a child's voice filled the house with a warm comfortable feeling. And my love of children continues.