Tag Archives: brain

12-06-2021

Every morning as I made my bed, I started a new chapter in my book of life by telling myself, for example, “Today is the chapter where Louise starts school; or ate with the hobos by the river, or turned black and blue all over.” Each life experience began a new chapter. Today is my thousandth, or more, chapter. Today is the chapter where Louise writes her book for others to read. Not that others have not been reading me for nearly 73 years by simply watching and reporting upon my shenanigans. Today, they go to print.

Life for me was a book being written chapter by chapter. Sometimes under my control; most often, not. That was the exciting part; the part that kept me truly alive. Each episode was laid out thoughtfully, straightened and smoothed as I straightened and smoothed the sheets on my bed. There was always a need to recognize and tend to the rough edges and lumps. They required hands willing to pull tout the seams exposed by the tossing and  tumbling of a child’s restless dreams created in my sleep. I once asked my Mother, “ Mommy, when I get up in the morning is this my real life? Or, is my real life what I dream after I go to bed? They are both the same, both as real. How can I tell why is real?” My mother’s answer, after shrugging off the slight frown of surprised concern on her face, was clear and concise. She said, “ I don’t know where you go in your dreams. But your real world is here with me. This life with me is your real life. And that is where you shall stay.” The sheets, this life, continue to need straightening and smoothing.

My earliest memory of this life is the slatted play of light and shadow across my body as I lay on my back in my crib. The shadows moved with the sun, sometimes dancing in strange patterns if the wind blew. I could feel the light and dark dancing in the breeze across my skin. I was too young to understand how any of this occurred. The memory simply tells me what and where. I recall small hands tossing something aside to grasp the light in a tiny fist, I hear the sound of gurgling laughter as I cheerfully played this game of “catch the light.” Whose fist is that? Mine? Curious, I asked my mother where my crib had been placed? My younger brother had just been born and his crib was in  my parent’s bedroom. But, I recalled this light play in a corner of another room. I showed Mommy where the memory indicated and she said, “This is where your crib had been placed, but surely you cannot remember such a thing. You were too young. I told her I always heard a loud thud as I reached for the light. “You always threw your bottle out of the crib. I had the hardest time getting you to take a bottle in the crib.” She believed me then.

Memory is a fascinating teacher. Pieces of memory do not hold equal value. Many pieces are lost in the shuffle as we arrange the puzzle pieces that create a life.Those memories we recall may seem senseless. But, it is those tiny, seemingly senseless, memories which hold the greatest value when examined closely, their rough edges smoothed and straightened. 

In these dark days of December, we remember that life is the interplay of darkness and light, the void and creation, destruction and rebirth. Every solstice changes the rhythm. This memory mattered to me enough to remember it and its recognize its value. The sense of beauty and awe in the dance of light and shadow across my body opened my senses to the wondrous impermanence of their interplay; and the expectation of their further encounters. This awe at such beauty stayed with me. Even on the darkest nights of my soul as I cared for dying parents, faced the struggles of chronic illness which stripped away so much of the life I had I built. Even then, there was beauty in the dance between light and dark, hope and fear, known and unknown. How could anyone forget such memory?

I am glad I chose to grasp the light in my tiny fists. Glad I chose open hands, and tossed that bottle out of the crib. I chose food for the soul. And in these dark days I choose both darkness and light, the good and the bad. Each. Both. Together they create a beauty beyond understanding. Together they fill me with hope, and the courage to face the unknown. And together, with open hands, we can gather the light into a beacon to lead us out of the darkness we now face.