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August 25, 2007
Long Distance Family
A photo taken in your absence so far away
On a flat rooftop overlooking planted fields
Soft green mountains in the hazy distance
With white buildings climbing up halfway
A tree line abruptly stops
Only allowing a scattered few to escape
All a small part of where you are from
Four figures stand facing the illusive camera
One in adolescence and leaning slightly away
His hand blurred from a quick movement
As his large feet seem to shift to one side
Saying that he is older now, more independent
Two others are much smaller and holding hands
A young boy, his right hand pushed into his pocket
His black pants much longer than he needs
Even though he will fulfill their length soon enough
A hint of his father’s face in his eyes
He looks forward with the edge of innocence
At first she looks to be a much smaller girl
And yet another glance reveals a plastic doll
Seeming so out of place, so surreal
With the vacant stare and the eerie smile of a soulless body
Blond wavy hair and unflawed white skin with stiff fingers extended
She stands mysteriously between them
As if she is loved and will soon begin to walk
Her attire is nearly the mirror image of the mother
Who holds her left hand so dearly
She is your wife, the mother of your distant children
The one you have not seen for all those lonely years
Since you first left for the promise of real money
Traveling through all the dangers and elements
Over many miles of haunting worry and wonder
To finally wash all those dirty dishes in a relentless hot kitchen
That resides in some restaurant in a world you never knew existed
Her deep soft eyes are dark as the night
And her skin glows in smooth shades of red - browns
In the picture she wares her native clothing
Symbols and traditions woven into vibrant colors
By hands of loving intent and gracious ancestry
A message she sends to the one who will understand
In your heart her image is wrapped in roses
The sweet smell of closeness, almost forgotten
As she looks into the camera lens in your direction
You carry the image in your memory and your worn wallet
That briefly contains the hard earned money
That finds it’s way back to her and your long distance family
Posted by kay at 03:26 PM | Comments (0)
August 10, 2007
Earth 2012
Have I ever told you, I love you?
Your worldly round wobbling shape
Blue masses of churning H2O
With sea creatures swimming like we imagined
When we played in our clear pools of childhood
High peaks touching vaporous damp clouds
That seem to drift over your body like a soft blanket
Replenishing your surface with cool falling rain
Sweet smells of ever changing new life
Where are you planning to go, Mother?
All of us children who live in wonder on your aching back
Wildlife running with startled wide eyes and nervous feet
Green foliage and trees sinking their roots even deeper
Surrounded by torn, relinquished soil
That grows genetically modified broccoli and apples
Tasting more like slightly wet paper
That has been cut into shapes of fish and pears
Maybe it is the concrete and glass cities of mind numbing burden
With unspoken grief, pharmaceutical despair
And thick air sickened with infectious, bacterial greed that kills
Spreading like the waste we dump on barges with no place to go
Do you really want to change all of this?
How did the Maya know your plan?
Scientists nod their heavy heads that sit on strained shoulders
Slumping from the all night hours spent before their computer shrines
The Discovery Channel shows the universal signs
Pointing to that moment in time when you shift your moods
Changing polar opposites in a planetary alignment
A meeting that last took place just 25000 years ago
Now you must keep that date once again … December 21, 2012
I still love you any way
Posted by kay at 04:52 AM | Comments (0)
August 05, 2007
Past Lives
On a long and scenic drive through Texas a few days ago, my friend (and Mother-in-law) and I had some excellent time to catch up on all we wished to talk about. She had just returned from her hometown in Mexico, where she stayed for a long, replenishing month. I listened with great interest, as I envisioned the country and it's people through her eyes. When she told me of events that she took part in, or that she observed, even if only on TV, I became happily absorbed in thought about each story.
One conversation led to another, and she proceeded to tell me about one of her friends who recently went to Amsterdam with her husband, and this is where the conversation took on a deeper interest... the issue of past lives - reincarnation.
Apparently this woman told her husband, as she came upon a door of a building, that she absolutely knew the place and that there was a box just inside the door that belonged to her. She desperately wanted to go inside and get what she felt was rightfully hers, but her husband argued with her that this was someone's private home, someone that they definitely did not know, not to mention that she had never been in this city before.
After discussing the amazement of such an event, I mentioned that I have never had such a strong experience, only the issue of a certain familiar smell. That is my possible connection to a past life... an unusual, earthy smell.
It started when I was very little, just a small child, but big enough to venture into our dark, damp and probably spider infested basement. There was a washer and dryer down there, so my mother spent plenty of time entering this area. It also seemed to be connected to the parking garage, which had a driveway flowing down to the underneath of our small 1950's box of a two-story, one bath house.
I would sit on the steps taking in this pungent aroma of earth and sweetness with a slightly burnt edge. I absolutely loved this smell. It radiated through my body, filling my head with a familiarity that I could never have grasped back then, and actually, until very recently, have just managed to make some since of it.
Over the years and life's many altering changes, this smell permeated in on very rare occasion. Moving to a part of the country where basements were a definite void, I certainly had trouble remembering how, why and when this was. Even when I lived in areas where basements are common, none that I ventured into for whatever odd reason, ever had this smell... not even close. I don't know why ours did, and probably it was only a hint of what the smell really connected me to… but it was enough to allure me.
A few years ago, on a visit to Mexico, I wandered around in some large store, completely distracted and in awe of the visual display of colorful hand made items. I examined many beautiful crafts, planning to purchase some of them to take to our home so far away. Some pottery caught my attention, and I picked up a few before I had this sudden urge to smell the inside of the piece I was holding. Much to my amazement, that intoxicating smell drifted up into my nose with such prominence... I was so taken back... so completely entranced. George was patiently pacing the perimeters of the store and making small conversation with the owner while I drifted into some other world.
After making our purchases and walking around the area we were visiting, we went to our hotel room and drifted into some deep sleep. I said nothing of great importance to him... maybe I mentioned that I love d the smell of this pottery. I continued to enjoy the rest of this trip with complete abandon, and no thought about this event.
It wasn't until we had been home for some time that something began to occur to me. Nearly 30 years ago, I bought a vase in a small boarder town in Mexico, that also had this same smell. It had a similar style to the method of design, even though the subject matter was quite different. I put the pieces of this story together... my childhood experience until now. This was after reading two Brian Weiss books, one titled 'Many Lives, Many Masters'.
It has to be true. I have experienced something that could only tie in with a past life. I am fairly certain that my mother did not hold me as a tiny baby, gently singing to me to create such a feeling of comfort,down in that dreary basement... hence, my affectionate desire to this fond smell.
No,there really is no other explanation. That smell managed to stay in my soul's memory, and I know now that I probably made pottery in this area of the world in some past life. It is only this area, for pottery from other areas does not smell this way. It also explains my fascination with Mexico and her many indigenous People.
This may not be the kind of eye opening experience of recall that many people seem to have, with all the details, names and places.
It’s OK with me to even have this memory… that of a comforting, earthy smell, and the certainty of a past life.
Posted by kay at 05:29 PM | Comments (0)