Today on this last day of April it’s cold and snowy. It makes me think of what I have been told about the day of my birth, cold and snowy. But that was in the city of St. Louis in February. As is often the case, this is not the poem I thought I was writing. It began with the recollection but soon took itself in another direction. I like this process of discovery, following words where they want to go. I always find what was just waiting to be found.

​
​it began deep in the heart of winter
in the city
 
but in the city
many streets crisscross,
there are so many people, so much noise,
it’s easy to get lost and
never find your way back home again
 
some people forget till
gradually home fades from their memory
and streets, people and noise
crisscross from today into the past and the future
and being lost is the familiar way
 
but if you listen, some primal voice or
re-member-ance tugs at you,
urges you to face the cold and hunger of winter
to find the hidden foot-path
that leads someplace vague, yet, comforting
 
the foot-path from the city
becomes the road across open countryside,
into the mountains and beyond to the sea,
long byways of spring and summer
farms and orchards, ever greening
 
stars outnumber people,
the wild is faithful to its native voice
and your thoughts can sort themselves out
from the crisscross
 
the city, the winter where it all began,
when you were so young and unknowing,
gave you roots and sustenance
till you were ready
to find your way back home again.

 
© 30 april 2019 phyllis boernke

 Years ago when I was a young woman
in the prime of my life,
I dreamed a sacred dream of all my ancestors
connected to me by a golden cord
generation upon generation
to the beginning of time
connected to one another by the golden cord.
 
There was a hush all around us
the color of pearls
warmed by thousands of celestial voices
softly humming,
‘This is Eternal Life!’
 
Now I am an old woman
weighing the meanings of all things
I see again all my ancestors
bearing the gift of the golden cord
to me and into the future beyond me
to my children and their children and their children
yet unborn.
 
The hush still fills the sacred space around us,
the colors melt into the voices as before
proclaiming in reverent whispers,
‘This is Eternal Life!’    

 
+ © 2019 phyllis boernke +

​it’s april but winter still
reaches her long icy fingers
across the calendar
into drafty corners of my rooms
and deep inside to my bones.
 
when will she loose her grip,
allow the ground to thaw
and wakening buds to end
their hibernation
and triumphantly
greet the warming sun?
 
all creatures share
in their longing for spring
to bring forth her glory once again,
for gentle rains to whisper promises
of new life arriving with each dawn,
for rivers to fill the days with songs of joy,
and trees to sway in response.
 
all of life pauses, holding its breath,
waiting as winter completes her work
of granting snow covers and
            rest for the ending of things;
            food for beginnings of things;
            patience for each of us
in the between of things.
 
 
© 10 april 2019
phyllis boernke

Promise
 
Promise rises with each dawning
brushing away shadows of the night
She opens the curtains to fingers of
peach and lemon stretching wide on
eastern horizon
She raises her arms in praise
unto the firmament
Turning to face me
She beckons, then whispers
a word across Time:

    Begin
 
 
- © pab 2019 -
   
 
 

          "the child in us always knows the act, the thing, the understory to transform darkness into light, even in the darkest parts of whatever the old growth forest may be, until the last image of something changed or gone becomes the first image of something still standing, transformed, and newly found."
                                                                                                 -Candace Lee Street

     I have been struggling with writing this next segment of my story. It's so personal and in the telling, thus far, I have been reliving the past. Living in the past comes with a heavy price tag. The words of my friend Candy (above) speak of a more sacred way of holding the past. Her words touch me deeply and directly address my reluctance to share more details. The child in me knows. I also think, and Candy would agree, that what one of us experiences can be of benefit to us all. So I've decided that a short summary is enough to tell my story and trust that you will take from it what you will.

• what I think I know and believe intellectually is mutable and fleeting and is secondary to what I have learned experientially and proven with my whole being and now live with certainty;
• the mind is unquestionably the leader, the body always follows what the mind teaches;
• healing is of the mind, there is no other way.

In my case, my stroke had no physical cause.

• Blood tests following my stroke were consistent with results over the past twenty years: all measurements are right in the middle of normal.
• CT scan, MRI, ulrasounds, EKG, all tests of heart, blood vessels and brain were all clear - no blockages or damage of any kind.

And yet, a stroke happened. Warm and loving conversations, sharing personal stories years after they were experienced, recovering missing pieces to make sense of the whole and then a very natural response of empathy precipitated a spike in my blood pressure - the body follows the mind. Broken heart syndrome too strong for my body to handle. Damage to my brain created right sided weakness of my body. A two week hospital stay including speech therapy, physical and occupational therapy, was necessary to assess my condition and begin the healing. I graduated from each of those therapies sequentially; lastly, occupational therapy to regain strength and mobility in my arm and hand was completed in March. I was blessed with an extraordinary occupational therapist whose rigorous training and experience in Japan as well as his personality matched my needs precisely. His faith in my complete recovery lifted me up and inspired me. 

Pharmaceutical drugs are part of the protocol for stroke patients and those with high blood pressure. Nine categories of those specific drugs were tried, one after another, to lower my blood pressure. They didn't work for me. I experienced terrible side effects but none of the benefits. My blood pressure kept climbing dangerously higher; higher than at the time of my stroke. My innate wisdom knew a better way to heal; my body was attempting to communicate that better way. In February, with the concurrence of my doctor, I stopped all medications. I'm lowering my blood pressure through a functional medicine approach addressing causes not just symptoms. Combining the use of specific herbs, vitamins, a life enhancing diet, and adequate exercise, with a quiet mind, meditation and prayer, my days are unfolding in peace and gratitude. Above all, trusting in spiritual principles and practices developed over decades, I know for certain the purpose of this event in my life, the power and the redemption.

And so my healing process contines. My occupational therapist and others are confident that full recovery is possible. While I do the work, I'm treasuring the insights still being revealed, relationships deepened, serendipity, and frequent "aha" moments. All is well!

                       "The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
                        I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument." 
                                                                     -Rabindranath Tagore

Part 4 of "The Song I Came to Sing"
 
    Every stroke is different and each person’s response to a stroke is as unique as the individual. Whether you are the family member, the friend, the neighbor, the doctor, the nurses or the person having the stroke experience, your reaction tells a lot about you.
 
    The stroke I had gave me a chance to realize I knew very little about strokes. In our family, only my mother had a stroke in her 94th year. She received very good care, regained some of her lost motor functions, never lost her ability to speak and to think, and maintained her uncomplaining and cheerful attitude. She was tired. And she was ready to die and be reunited with her husband, her son, her mom and pop and brothers and many relatives and friends she had outlived. Four months after her stroke, she passed peacefully in my arms. Her stroke was not the immediate cause of her death; her readiness to surrender into passing on was.
 
    This was the limit of my stroke knowledge. The fact that nearly every medication advertises side effects including the risk of heart attack and stroke, didn’t cause me any alarm.  I don’t take pharmaceutical medications, my mother’s stroke came in advanced old age, I was healthy and active and not that old and enjoying my life, so stroke and heart attack information seemed irrelevant to me. It has been said that when the student is ready, the teacher appears.  Apparently, it was time for this next phase of my learning. The lessons have been many. They have been astounding, revealing hidden beliefs and testing my faith and reaffirming what I know to be true. I have strengthened my resolve to live my truth.
 
                                         O    O    O    O    O    O    O    O
 
 
Stroke!
Broke?
 
Stroke of Genius Stroke of Insight Stroke of Imagination Stroke of Midnight
or Stroke at the Eleventh Hour
Welcome…
Broken Heart Broken Body Broken Brain
Welcome…
Broke through Fears Broke from Complacence Broke away Outmoded Ways
 
Broken Wide Open
The Way The Trust The Courage The Rejoicing
 
Broke the Old
Do not Fix
Do not Restore
Stroke gently the Now
With Love
 
           - pab – October 2018 ©
 
 
to be continued tomorrow….typing with one or two fingers of my left hand is tiring…     

There were five cousins – my brothers Tom and Rick, and me; and our cousins Wayne and Susan. Now there are just three. My youngest brother Tom died 50 years ago. My cousin Susan passed away just last week.  As children we were always together to celebrate birthdays, Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving. Grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, moms and dads told stories, taught us games, and there was always plenty of food and lots of laughter.
 
I grew up knowing I was a part of a group of many people known as “relatives,” each with unique personalities and fascinating stories. In the 1800’s our ancestors came from Germany and settled in St. Louis, in the city or the country nearby. We had large families then. My maternal grandparents, born in the late 1800’s, had eight siblings each. My father’s father had eight siblings, his mother had just two. The next generations were smaller. My father was an only child and my mother had two older brothers. My mother’s brothers each had just one child – my cousins Wayne and Susan. I loved the times when our larger extended family got together for summer picnics in the park, fireworks displays in the country, or gatherings for baby showers, weddings and even funerals. These were the times when we would all be together, with forty or fifty people, all related, all in one place! We grew up, married, and brought the next generation into the fold. We also moved away from the place of our origins, gathered with relatives less often and lost the story-keepers, as one by one the elders passed away. Now there are just three: Wayne, Rick and me.
 
In younger years I loved going home and sitting for hours with my children, while my parents brought out old photos and recalled happenings from years gone and previous generations. Now I am the keeper of the photos, the memories and the stories, along with Rick and Wayne. Retirement has given me the time to reflect on what I think I know and to discover missing pieces and incomplete versions of the stories. The process is bittersweet, recalling good times, knowing some regrets of my own and others, missing individuals. Sometimes this process is overwhelming with too many emotions flooding in. So the brain goes into self-protection mode and says, “Stop!” That’s “the event” that happened to me a year ago. Doctors call it broken heart syndrome. For me it resulted in a stroke.  
 
to be continued……

part 2 The Song I Came to Sing
 
What is real? Is absolute reality limited to that which we can know through our five senses alone? We all can agree that what we see, taste, touch, smell and hear is undeniably real. But there is so much more that constitutes reality and that can be proven to be real even though we may not understand it.
 
Quantum physics is one "newer" branch of science that is questioning our certainty, stretching our possibilities, bringing old beliefs into alignment with new realities and giving us evidence based research to support its discoveries. A primary teaching from quantum physics is that our thoughts, although they can’t be seen, are none the less real and produce results.  Early experiments with plants demonstrated that two plants of the same kind, size and health are influenced by the thoughts of people. When plants are exposed to positive thoughts and positive words, they thrive. But when plants are subjected to negative thoughts and words, the plants fail to thrive, become smaller, spindly and wither and die. Even if the plants are in a different room from the people!
 
In other experiments, athletes were divided into groups for practicing before a game. One group practiced all of their skillful moves and performance 75% of the time and visualized their moves and successful performance 25% of the time. A second group practiced 50% and visualized 50%. And a third group practiced just 25% and visualized 75% of the time. When it was game time which group performed the best? The third group with only 25% of their time spent in practice and 75% of the time spent visualizing had, by far the best performance! These results have been replicated over and again since those early days of experimentation to improve performance in sports, music, public speaking, drama and the arts.  And we commonly use visualization and meditation for relaxation, to slow heart rates, lower blood pressure, reduce anxiety, and heal wounds.
 
Last October I had an experience that cleared up any doubts I may have had regarding the nature of reality. And now I have no question about The Song I Came to Sing………
 
to be continued
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Rod MacIver wrote a book titled "The Song I Came to Sing" filled with his watercolor nature paintings and inspirational quotes by many of his favorite writers. That is, for me, a touchstone book that I return to again and again. It soothes and comforts me, lifts me up and inspires me. It's ever timely for every need. Do you know the song you came to sing? It's not the same as your life purpose. It's the soul message that informs your life, every second of it; every deed that you do, every thought that you think, every word spoken. We often don't realize that a uniquely individual song is being sung through us. And maybe recognizing that fact requires some maturity. But, one day we have an "ah ha" moment and we know the song and we see that it has been singing, just below the surface of our awareness, guiding us through all of life's twists and turns, waiting for us to know that it is there!

​into the parched hinterland
​upon thirsty plains
a single drop of rain

- pb 2018 -

​I came to know my song over the past months beginning last October with "the event." Unexpected, unpredictable, it came like a whirlwind, seeming to upend my familiar world. It was the branching of the road....ACIM, Text Chapter 22..... "when you come to the place where the branch in the road is quite apparent, you cannot go ahead. You must go either one way or the other. For now if you go straight ahead, the way you went before you reached the branch, you will go nowhere. The whole purpose of coming this far was to decide which branch you will take now. The way you came no longer matters. It can no longer serve. No one who reaches this far can make the wrong decision, although he can delay."

​....to be continued....

As we unwrap our gifts, may we find.....

Love in our hearts
Peace in our families
Tolerance in out communities
Compassion in our world