the counsellors’ lament

meditations on 13 ways of listening

I

Diana came to door with ice tears, traversing her cheeks, living

sorrow streaking as early autumn black squirrels, all around her crescent

moon face,

“ He took pictures of me as I was walking down the street, that woman saw me and cried ‘Carmen, Carmen, bring the camera. She’s here!’

coming for tea and love, empathy and sympathy over the, a dead marriage( 49 years; six children; millions in savings lost, cashed out ) the house of a lifetime no

longer hers,

ambushed

49 years, or 7,

a month of days or a

day

does it matter? the hurt always returns; time heals nothing; nothing

even fading memory, dementias,

are betrayers, as in Porter’s story ‘the jilting of granny weatherall’

no thing is weathered

Nothing

all is absorbed in tears, sobs, utterances of pains that return

as waves to surfed in the seas

seven deadly sins; seven seas; 7

horcruxes

seven ages of man; seven dwarves

the counsellor cannot tell one dwarf from the other; one sea, one sin, one horcrux from another

tears all run the same,

as waves, emotions engulfing,

enclosing emotions

tears run the same

poem, risk


the risk of birth, is a selected book of Christ-poems given to me, the first is the title poem, ‘The Risk of Birth’
by Madeleine L’EngleThis is no time for a child to be born,
With the earth betrayed by war & hate
And a comet slashing the sky to warn
That time runs out & the sun burns late.

That was no time for a child to be born,
In a land in the crushing grip of Rome;
Honor & truth were trampled to scorn—
Yet here did the Savior make His home.

When is the time for love to be born?
The inn is full on the planet earth,
And by a comet the sky is torn—
Yet Love still takes the risk of birth…. or this 

Snowdrops”: 

I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn’t expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring –

afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy

in the raw wind of the new world.

from Louise Gluck

… but

each poem is a cry of, for, risk and…

you took risk coming to my flat after you rejected me from your family party, celebrating Sean’s birth, after multiple lupus induced miscarriages

( Genie and Dave’s only child, Eugenia kept risking )

you came, we kissed, you went to my bath and changed to your skin, apologising as you emerged for the slight scars on your skin

you risked, for a birth promise,

and receiving, giving births followed

you risked,

a son

my son died when he was

22, on Mother’s Day weekend 1996

military call up accident he was driving to a regiment call from one of his girl friend’s house; his girl friend’s car was lent to him ( though she knew his license was suspended – her father was a big wig New Jersey judge who thought we would sue her – we didn’t meet his expectations)

after we got his body from Fort Bragg North Carolina and returned to Nee York, the memorial service was a hot mess

departed, separted from his wife of two years she showed and so did two diamond ringed fiancés, one from Georgia, the other from Texas

they didn’t know each other

I asked them to leave as they got their early like us, his family,

adopted, abused from before birth

Joey needed a healing I couldn’t give or

get from loving

caregivers, not Takers ( first part )Make the king a winner, God; the day we call, give us your answer. David, Psalm 20, the message

from my birth, as soon as I can remember,
I called on someone to

love, care,

protect,

hold me

barbara, I gave all, thoughts, actions, words, presents
she needed more, so she stopped,we stopped
deadso dead, when she said she loved me as she was unfaithful, I picked her up by her neck and lifted up a few inches and said, ‘never say that to me again’
and that is is the last time she said, or I heard it

grandma’s house

we are nowhere from’
rose’s son got a song deal from Bruno Mars &is leaving for LA; Rose has been taking careof
her elderly mother in Middletown NY and she needs her son to help her care for mom
mom

She doesn’t know what she is going to dowhen he is gone….
( and what will you, or your sisters, or anyone else do, when my dementia )comes ?
( and it will )
then, will I be like our aunt terry?, locked in Parkinson’s, dementia, with one daughter dead a year, the other whose accounting is of the days she has left to care for her mother?
nope, I have a plan daughter!I ( and your mom ) Am  Going To The
 ‘we are nowhere from’
this is where all the old folks with blessed dementia go 
we all got dementia and we are all,‘happy together’ not remembering those who cared or who did not care for us
we are, it is the, 
‘we are nowhere from’

forgetting is better than all else forgetting is better than forgivenessforgetting what and who I was, am, 
heavenly forgotten 

I am leaving grandma’s house

Scarlett’s second kiss, ( Judas’ kiss was a second kiss )

rhett, was

her husband who was faithful .,,
to her spiritenergy,to her passion, to hersoil, Tara he
thought it was their soil, their daughter, Bonnie Blue
but it was always just hers, never theirs, never his
idols will crash &fall as they jumpfences they
shatter, slowly or swiftly with each kiss, ( especially the second ) is a hammer, a chisel, destroying, flaying
its object
till I don’t give a damn
anymore


Judas’ kiss was a second kiss

broken, broke,

a poem ‘teapots’ 1

when others looked at you, me, they saw

teapots in fragments, broken, coloured shards, light spring green, a magenta a

deepen black but, black even in its

edge

they told me not to marry you, your voice would always be speaking, requesting, demands, gently but never

hearing or

listening

I like running my hands over edges, my hurt heart; my broken leg – rubbing it softly, gently to ease the pains, believing in kindness, doftness

gentleness

a poem, one kiss

one kiss

( or: how is priscilla like Scarlett O’Hara? )

first, Priscilla loves & lives ‘Gone with the Wind’ ( though, today, she did not cry through any of the film; becoming Scarlett tough )

she and Scarlett are both Irish ( Joyce & O’Hara ) and mommy’s girls; let down by weak fathers, both

Priscilla and Scarlett both let their Rhett kiss them once, with real passions, before they married

, and they both pretend to soft hands, when their lupus should have kept her out of the sun

they are similar in their loves, faithful to the ends

and they both love, love money, gold, their pots of gold, secreted, promised, promises away

listening only to their silvers & gold, she, they, can only give a

kiss, one kiss

a poem

thoughts

brokenness

Japanese jar recreated with g gold to be more beautiful jars of clay

Jesus enters death embraces decay then dies

healing is imperfect here; never, ever to be complete; go on

this tent will decay; but on eternal soul attached to your, our human body will live by Spirit

How can I live my the spirit every day?

listen to…

London women’s voices

I am so happy for you

He sounds so nice, a serious guy

It’s only been a week

Yea but he sounds like a truthful guy someone you can believe…

… better get on that, listening