A Tender Moment of Confusion

Surprisingly, even with Dementia, dad still has moments of lucidness.

I am lucky and grateful to be able to catch these moments.

Most of the time he is asleep.

 

No more than a few minutes does he wake to the present moment.

When he does, it’s always one for the books.

Today was a confusing but tender moment with dad.

 

His vision may be impaired but the rest of his senses remain intact.

Sitting by his side in silence, I held his hand and combed his hair.

As I bade him farewell, I stroked my fingers gently across his chest to his shoulder.

 

My intention was to tidy up his shirt.

He must have felt the touch in a funny way.

Immediately he brushed off his chest with his hand getting rid of whatever he felt was crawling.

 

Lo and behold! He spoke out and said, “get rid of that cockroach!”

I held my laughter and chuckled in silence!

What he imagined as a cockroach crawling on his chest was actually a tender moment for me.

 

“I love you Dad, sleep well.”

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Without the beat of any drum

Weaving and swirling, casting a hand of stealth healing. High they fly, low they crawl. Magical. Merciful. Gracious and humane, forever genuine.

They stride and glide, tip toe in the silent sprinkle of glittering dust, sometimes soaring in whispers as delicate as a flawless feather falling from the cosmos. They go unnoticed in humbling humility and in lashings of hushed becalm, serene in acts of sincerity across the Earth.

Considerate, caring, loving; ever watchful in a compassionate intensity of spirit. Without effort or expectation, they nurture. Unperturbed, they're always on call, always listening for the silent sob hiding in a dark corner.

No judgement, no conspiracy, no mock or disdaining taunt. They feel in the intricacy of fine lace and in that, can hold a thousand breaking aches.

Yet, they hurt like anyone, cry in tears of budding yellow tulips of the collective. And then somehow, they heal themselves to carry on, heal any knife wound piercing deep into a buried abyss.

And what defines them, is their ability to do and act and mend in a nurture that weaves and binds any cracking blare and unveiled glare.

They’re not mythical beings, or celestial, atmospheric entities derived in pagan or religious law, nor do they come from any far flung realm or universe.

They walk among us wearing hearts gilded in gold, hearts that emanate as the king of the universal jungle and with the courage to match. From there, they access an unyielding inner strength to help wherever help is needed.

And they do all this without the beat of any drum, in a flutter of butterfly wings. Nothing stops them, and nothing propels them other than their purest of gold gilded heart.

Angels on Earth, are Angels in Eternity.

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Climbing

Climb up the steps of love;

Don't vault at once to the roof,

but slowly ascend

in descending slowly

into one another.

 

Reach (not Paradise)

Each other, and through,

To others you will be,

Greeting each and saying,

“I will love you in your time.”

 

Climb up the steps of love,

Marking each in memory,

Surely with the easy pace

Of Joy.

 

 

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Love is just a Word

So they say…

Love is not just a word.

It comes in many shapes, forms and sizes.

 

Love is not about being with someone.

It can also be about not being with someone.

As they say, love yourself.

 

Love is blind.

For some, but not for all.

If love were blind then I’d be staring at the wall.

 

Love is never having to say you’re sorry.

That was the famous line of the movie, Love Story.

For me, Love is saying you’re sorry.

 

Love thy neighbor.

It depends on what kind of neighbors one has.

Even if you didn’t love them, doesn’t mean you hate them.

 

All you need is Love.

Famous line in a song!

Feel good indeed when singing along.

 

Not everyone can sing in tune.

Regardless, even the most off-beat individuals find love.

Love is in the air.

 

Yes!  Every waking moment breathe in and breathe out.

 

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