Quabbin Writings

December 28 2003

Sunday

Quabbin




I sat upon the shores of the Quabbin today, my inside quivering as I faced a truth of my future. The death of a dream, a hope, another life. I wander now, start a pot of coffee, take the dog out, put on music, smoke a cigarette and another cigarette. Anything but sit here and write. I know once I put this on paper it will be gone, maybe not totally but it will be real and I will have to move on. I close my eyes listening to the harmonic melody playing, drums, crickets, wind instruments, a deep pulse moving through me. I pray, help me God to write and move on.

So again I take you to the shore of the Quabbin with me. A man made reservoir that for me holds the secret of man and God’s unity. You can not see the man made elements… although you know that they lie there towns deserted beneath the waters surface, all you can see is the creative beauty of God’s wonder, trees, water, sky, rocks…life. I come here often. I find balance at the waters edge. I can hear the children’s lost laughter from the sunken towns echoing amongst God’s trees. The lost laughter of children, this is why I am here.

As I make my way to the water’s edge I pass fellow travelers, saying Good Day! How are you? Wishing them well, moving on. It is a pleasure to share a moment with another human being, extending a genuine smile and nod that you acknowledge their existence . Many others come to this water’s edge to ponder their past, present and future. The energy is strong, healing it draws me forward but still I question am I ready?

As I make my way to God’s chosen spot for me, I take pictures of the water, rocks and dead lifeless trees. I am always drawn to these gray ghosts standing silently, drooping by the waters edge. I see myself as one of them. Dried up, dead, a vessel where no life will spring from, no buds leaves, fruit or children.

I walk towards the waters edge, I know that the man I love is right. I must face and deal with this. If I do not there is no hope for us. I do not know if I am ready. There is a lulling comfort in the pain of holding on. I brood over this truth, but my love for him is stronger than the comfort and I know I must travel on. My steps move me forward to the balance of the water’s edge, silently praying for the strength and courage to face the dark fear that bars me from my future.

I sit now on a cold flat stone balanced on the edge of land and water. I face the winter sun, a small river of ice runs toward the water beneath my right foot. My back is against the water, I know when I turn to face the serene calmness that holds the healing power of the water, I will have to face the laughter of the children. My cigarette is done, put out now in my back pack, do not want to leave any evidence of my being here. What am I waiting for?

I hear an airplane in the background its motors beckon to me to turn face the water and look, see and know. I pray:

I ask you God for strength and courage

I ask you God to stand by me

In order to move closer to you

I ask you God

To help me

Help me

I turn and face the water….

I see my shadow on the water’s surface dark against the warm brown of the sandy beach. Gentle ripples move across the water towards my shadow, beyond me God’s love in those ripples radiating around, across and through me. It is time.

I will never have any children. I always thought I would make time. Reality is I did not I made choices and now my time is past. It is too late. There it is said. The sad truth is that I still want them, but now I know that this is not to be. This is so hard to deal with, especially when you are a woman who always gets what she wants. I must face this truth. There is no other way, if I do not I will be a prisoner to the past and forever be the gray ghost of a lifeless, drooping tree at the water’s edge.

So now I sit here, the cold from the stone running up my spine and I cry for the mother I will never be. I cry for the children laughter I will never hear. It is so hard to let go of this, I do not know if I can do this by myself. Do I have to?

For the first time in my life I heard from a man’s lips the words "It is not your problem Denise, It is ours." This is more than I could dream of. Can I trust you with this precious secret that lies within me. Will you help me?

I look down the gentle waves of the water reach the edge of the thin ice that bridges the water to the land. The waters gentle movement creates a pulse living within the thin ice. A beating heart strong steady giving life to hope.

The tears stop, I stand and balance upon the rock. Thanking God and Mother Earth for the healing wisdom they have bestowed on me. The winter sun’s rays grow stronger as if they say to me, "You are welcome!" I gather my things and move towards the woods, a short cut to the road and home.




The Woods

Death of Desire….

Wouldn’t it be so easy if all I did then was gather my things, walk to the woods, get in my car drive home and all is well in the world. Sadly that is not the way towards enlightenment or reality of the world. I hate to tell you but suffering, pain, anguish are the bedfellows of the death of a dream ,our desires.

I made my way through the woods, not a wise choice. Safety and comfort lies at the water’s edge. I am not one for safety and comfort, my life has its foundation on the rocks of pain. Moving through the pain a place I know so well is the only way towards my future. Only then may I may find the truth of safety and comfort.

The death of a dream can not be communicated through words, paintings, sculpture, music, aromas, taste… nothing can describe… it is all hope and all death rolled into one.

I walked through the woods, the gray finger of lifeless trees grabbing at me…other barren women pulling me towards them telling me to stay. I will not. Colors of yellow, blues, greens, orange and blood red swirling around me creating a tangle or rusted barbed wire that ripped at my skin peeling off layers of my true self. Ever breath deeper as the barbed wire wound itself around my insides my heart, blood pouring out from me…

The music started… loud drums, chaotic rhythms, pounding my skin split with screams that only I can hear. I can not breath I shake but pull myself forward .. for I know that this too shall pass. Everything hurts… the colors are swirling black now… the music and screams have no beat just a high pitch whine… my heart beats so fast my breathing is rapid. I am at the roads edge. It is done.

I scream out loud just to hear that I am still alive. I do not care if anyone hears me. Slowly I hear the gentle rush of a small stream nearby, the winter sun comes out and I begin to breathe. A single tear caresses my cheek. I know this will not be the last one I will shed for this dead desire. There are no words, no art, no poetry or music that can make one understand the power that lies between the hope and death of a dream. It is a spiritual connection with the light and dark that lies within all of us. In order to learn we must draw our swords and battle our way through our own dark woods, releasing ourselves from the pain of precious dreams of our past in order to gain perspective our what grand dreams God has for our future. I know what I must do…