We are seduced by the strings and woodwinds of outrageous holidays.Some times I fight it, but sometimes I just give in to the wraparound of comfort from the bareness of Life. I can no longer sing sweetly, but I find the soaring voices of others do it on my behalf whether they know it or not. When the glittery soprano of the icicles catch light and joy from the sun’s meagre offering my heart knows I am not ready to give up on the life.
Fake smiles and stories with happy endings that don’t match what I read each day in the news. We feel life should promise us more than a gift card and a onetime great meal. We feel the music should uplift us longer than it lasts. So where are the real singing angels and the rest? My stocking has a hole in it. Did the glitter fall through?
I keep dreaming about Invisible Joan. I can’t see her completely because she is part of the shadows. She turns up in my dreams here and there. I feel soon I will write her story:
Joan as a child heard her mother say:” No one wants to look at a girl so ugly.” Joan grew up hiding away from people, fearing what she might hear them remark about it. She hid out in a hole in the wall of an abandoned building. Her goal was to be helpful to others, yet never acknowledged.
My writer’s quest is to liberate the good heart of Joan so others will take her from the shadows.
It has been many years since Matthew Shepherd was tied to a fence and left to die in Wyoming . He was a trusting young man, unable to fight back against hatred. His crime was his innocence in reaching out to those who hated those unlike them. His joy of life was frosted through that bitter night, then silenced. I am glad his family kept his ashes safe until this resting place in a church in Washington DC could give him a resting place where the chilled winds of bitterness cannot reach him. A long journey to make, but welcome home, Matthew.
It’s hard to keep a smile on my face with much of what is going on now in the big blue marble of a world. Halloween does not delight me as it does children and would-be children. The colors of the leaves are not bright and interesting this year — global warming? Children are missing. People are starving. However, I saw a production of MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR yesterday where we were all laughing inspite of the angry world. Shakespeare did not live in the best of times, but he managed to see humor in his existence.
It is hard to explain to those ready to condemn that belief in a woman who comes out about sexual assault is akin to religious belief. It transcends tangible evidence. Usually, unless it is immediately documented, that evidence isn’t there. The person counts on the love and empathy of others for help, assistance, survival of any trust in the system .
Women know this — or they should. Men who love these women must know the women. Love too is based on intangibles.