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Canta Libre!

6/25/2012

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Canta Libre

I often notice connections between events and wonder about their positions in relation to each other and what might be the meaning or importance, if any.  We have just honored three such events and just for now, I’m going to suggest that between these three there does indeed exist a relationship.  A synergy.  An entry point. These three are Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and Memorial Day. 

Mother’s Day begins this trinity of events in mid-May; the conclusion comes in mid-June with Father’s Day.  Squarely in the center is Memorial Day.  Hmmm, I say.  

Mother’s Day, Father’s Day act as parentheses or brackets or bookends setting aside a space that is holy, a reflective time.  We begin by thinking about our mothers, honoring them with gifts or cards if they are still living; calling them to memory if they have passed on.  We end this set apart time by celebrating our fathers in a similar way with cards and gifts and phone calls to our living fathers and bringing back the memories of our fathers who are no longer with us.  We pause, we remember, maybe we sigh or cry or rejoice; no matter, we are attentive to the connection we have with the people who gave us our very lives.  Perhaps we think also about their parents and theirs and theirs – all the relatives we’ve heard about, some we even knew and remember.

Right between those bookends we find Memorial Day, another day of remembering.  We think of those who have served, some may be our own relatives who served in previous wars.  We may be one of those who served in that way – in war time or in preparedness time, at the ready, just in case.  Those who serve are remembered for their sacrifices, which are many, and often go unspoken. 

In this bracketed time, there is a sense of hushed reverence.  Maybe a bitter sweetness.  Maybe regrets.  Maybe sorrow and longing.  Maybe deep gratitude.  We naturally turn from looking back to our parents and grandparents to looking forward to our children and grandchildren.  We – you and I – occupy this sacred middle ground.  Behind us are the relatives who have contributed to make us and our lives what they are.  In front of us are our children and their children, the future that is yet to be.  The future that we – you and I – in this in between space of now, are shaping for our children.  We may retrieve and pass along stories from our remembered past, characteristics that only we hold within and may give forward.  What in this sacred space of now, from all the thousands of fragments of moments and memories do we hold dear?  What is worthy of passing on into the future?  What is the living memorial that is the gift of now?

This bracketed space between our mothers and fathers, this holy instant, this moment of us, is indeed potent.  It is indeed related to every other moment before and yet to be.  Canta Libre!

This beautiful song written by Neil Diamond was haunting me, playing in my head during the holy in between time.  My granddaughter just told me what the Spanish words mean.  A coincidence or a synergistic relationship?

Canta libre, canta vida, de mi madre, y mi padre,
Canta mi corazon, para los ninos, y sus ninos,  
Canta libre, canta la vida. 

Sing free, sing life of my mother, of my father,
my heart sings for the children, and for their children
sing free, sing life!



        - copyright 1972 Neil Diamond 

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Alice in Wonderland - a mythic hero?

6/12/2012

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The original story of Alice was confusing to me as a child so I never finished reading the book. The first animated film version was not that impressive either; scary and weird.  My first reaction to yet another release of Alice in Wonderland was to dismiss it with a momentary wondering why Johnny Depp was playing another character from a children's story.  But two friends, both of whom are avid "code sleuths," suggested that I might want to check this one out.  So over the weekend I watched it - twice!  The entire film is loaded with code.  Johnny Depp's whimsical portrayal of the Mad Hatter is captivating; he seems to be challenging us with a knowing of the code that, we, the audience, are certainly missing.  He knows it and we don't.

On the first and obvious level, this film is the story of Alice grown up and lost again in Wonderland.  On the second level, also quite apparent, is the eternal struggle between good and evil, the emergence of the hero, the triumph of the good, happily ever after.  

Now for the code.  We are quickly moved through the first two levels directly into the code; viola, down the rabbit hole.  Nearly every facet of human foibles is exquisitely exposed and exaggerated - witness the Red Queen and her court, the animals that are fearful and mouthy and precise and kind and offensive.  We are told over and over again, "this is a dream." The duality of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum; the bravado of the Dormouse; compliance, complicity, capture, betrayal, switching loyalties, deception - it's all there.  Some of the code is benignly portrayed in the embodiment of each character and their roles.  Some is hidden within the spoken word.  The blue caterpillar with the voice of age, itself, commands attention and delivers some priceless lines.  The monkey mind of the ego rattles on an on and must be interrupted to get it back on track.  Alice herself is challenged at every turn of the plot.  After being told in numerous ways that she is wrong and she is departing from the appointed path, she delivers one of her most powerful lines:  "Wait a minute.  This is MY dream.  I AM the path."  The loyalty and faith of the Mad Hatter is moving.  And the compassionate message of the White Queen, "When you face that . . . " 

Never mind, you'll have to watch Alice in Wonderland for yourself then let me know what the code reveals to you. 

And as for the bad guys?  Well, to each his own dream, I say.
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twelve and three quarter months

6/7/2012

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Picture
There are 12 and 3/4 months in the year in northwest Washington.  Just now we're in the 3/4 portion of this month; the final 1/4 may or may not arrive any time soon so then it will be just a name and a figment of our imagination, a vague remembering.  That 1/4 of the month is called "June" on most calendars.  The 3/4 of this month is fondly (?) named "June-uary" in our region.  And truly it is not an illusion.  It is day after day of rain and mist and cool.  I see smoke rising from the neighbors' chimneys, only an occasional  brave walker on the road so covered in waterproof gear that I can't recognize them, even the birds are hiding - somewhere, I'm wearing woolen layers again.  

Green, green, green - everywhere, punctuated with yellow dots of buttercups, outrageous wild glory of rhododendrons, red vines covered with berry blossoms, soft newness of spring growth on evergreens, giant ferns, skunk cabbage morphing into knee high bushes. Weeds in the gardens are having a hey day, putting down resistant roots that will make us sweat with the effort of their removal whenever - if ever - those imagined days of sunshine arrive to deliver JUNE!  I'm tempted to drive across the mountains to see if folks to the east have captured the sun but snow has fallen in the passes and on the roads above 4,000 feet.  We will wait till June-uary evolves into June and then the luscious fruits on the vines and in the trees, the fresh enormous veggies and flowers more glorious in their sun-kissed colors will reward us for our waiting.  

Happy June-uary!


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Memorial Day

6/1/2012

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Black Hills National Cemetery

mournful trumpet call
lingers round small white crosses
memorial day


Creating Memorial Days

memorial day:  often the kickoff to summer camping, boating, travel, gardens in fullness - weeds and all, family reunions, potlucks, weddings, graduations - the list of possibilities long and full for busy days in the coming months.

for others, memorial day is the remembering of loved ones gone, placing flowers on graves, offering prayers of thanks, prayers of longing, digging out old photographs, shedding tears, smiling generously.

the mournful call lingering 
weaving through memories 

the awareness that this day may be
the last day 
I share with you
the last conversation
the last that will linger . . . . . 

 + + +  please visit the related poem for today on the "poems" page + + +

 




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    musings may delight or disturb;  musings may spark new activity, sometimes. . . . .

    Phyllis shares current musings, momentary insights, process in motion.


    All reflections are original material copyrighted by Phyllis.  Please ask permission to quote, copy or reproduce. 



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