Bill would grumble. He would bark. And in his pride he could be a bit rigid. And he was my friend. That is the part that made him interesting. His hugs could stop the train of grief or sadness still. His smile was like the dawn breaking.
That is the part that was overwhelming when I learned of his passing. He wasn't out much this past bit of time. I hadn't seen him in a while. The friendship that we shared was in passing events. In a salute to the flag. In a memorial service. In a song shared. In a wave as we passed on the street.
My friend Bill passed yesterday morning. His was a life that made my own richer. And for that passing and the richness shared I hold him up. I hold up his family. Those who held his hand and sat with him. Those who made a place for him in lives, rich and caring. In his passing, I remember his smile, the pat of his hand, the straight bearing and his salute. In his passing is rest. Rest well my friend, your life was a gift in my own.
The scene: The dinner table. A guest is there. The family all around. Each element, each player, each plate; perfect in setting. Then the movie lines riff starts. The work of the day is brought out. The push between the teens pushes. The need of the almost adult to 'manage' the younger at the table... it erupts. The table, in all that living seems to erupt. Some good. Some ...
The scene: Now scattered. The players in various states of waking. It is the morning after and the play of the evening before... it is long over. Now the movement of a morning rush to ... off to... and also and also and also and even one more ... off too.
The scene: The page is complete, the dishes done. The water left for the dog and the coffee, ah the coffee now all ready for the first cup of the morning.
Rush and rushing. The voices of waking. The light of breaking dawn. Traffic on the road. The ocean of the wind kissing the house in puffs, with waves, and the falling back as there is only a push then the pull back of ocean breaking on the beach of the earth.
This pulse of living, it is a gift. This pulse of home, it is a gift. This pulse of, every moment new, it is a wonder. How could such grace and gift be? It is a gift, received in gratitude. Lives in grace. Overwhelming that sense of this gift. Overwhelming in the magnitude of this grace.
The scene: A quiet house ... waking in the racing dawn. And a moment of bowed head in thanks. What wonder it does call forth.
Waking to the rising song line. To some, it is 'bring it' to some it is 'harmony in' to some it is to hum and sway and to some ... it is just to be raised up in the rising song line. That moment of just being raised up. To find that harmony, to catch the beat, to... rising song line. And now we sing. Now we dance. Now we raise voice, drum and lyre... in quiet song, singing with, to and for the rising song line. All voices, from every corner, the rising song line... In gratitude, that song rises and gathers ... rising and gathering, there is the song line.
Woke to a little voice in my head ... it was talking about what I am not. So I had to take a walk to listen to the ranch. The sea of the wind speaking, the cover crop rustling from the pulse of the sea of wind. I had to take a walk and listen to the trees pushed back and forth in that sea of wind. It needed some remembering to remember that place, rooted in soil, rooted in home, rooted in family, generations of family, to remember that that little voice in my head, while a voice, is not the 'what I am.'
Just like this thinking. So, in the waking of the family, one at a time, the making of the coffee, the checking of the little house garden, the checking of the tank water, the ... the little rhythms of a morning on the ranch... it is a reminder of the 'I am' that is.
When a different voice needs to chime in... there is that time for a walk, for the remembering, for the home and care that is each breath. In that moment, the 'I am' is clear, here and home. It is that settled moment of this moment. This remembering, so easily obscured in the 'you are' of that gremlin voice.
In a passing of a friend, the now changed world for his presence and passing, the 'I am' is also changed. For the celebration of our shared moments ... the thinking on the moments shared in our, fast passed, moments shared. That is a gift and my life, the lives of those also touched by our shared experience, gifted also. The 'nature boy' is remembered. The laughter of the 'dancing boy' remembered also.
Woke to a hug and chat with the little voice in my head. No need to ignore, numb or snub. Just offer a hand and the little voice falls silent in the awe of the rush of the morning, the rustling of the cover, the sea of wind caressing the face of the earth and all that lives upon the surface. This is a moment to be. In this treasure, this gift, this perfect breath... that is home it is. And in it is all gratitude, love and care. All.