Reflections in the Morning Cave

In a mid-morning coffee break, (which I shouldn't drink), I sneak into the shadowy writing shanty and just sit in the dark and reflect. Part of my family has been shaky for a month. My oldest son, which makes him the oldest, "kid", at thirty-two, got married the last day of last year, and buying a house in the redwoods for himself and his Bride and as of the first of the month has been dealing with the news that his schizophrenic father died on the first. Death is always a harsh rattle in the back of the throat, but this carries more baggage than the usual, I think. Oh, who am I kidding, all families feel, they're the only ones carrying the greatest load of grief and sorrow. Though every family thinks that, and rightfully so, this is more than a prolonged illness we had time to "get ready for". John contracted teen schizophrenia in the mid-sixties (the third generation to do so; there are two children in his family that suffer and two 'normals' with big hearts) and has been , except for a short period, miserable ever since. The police said he was acting 'strangely' and took him to the E.R. Our state apparently doesn't have enough mental health ducats, because one mental health person said, "This man needs to be hospitalized and the other one , wanting to save money, said he didn't. The police took him home and he died, apparently in his sleep. I am waiting for the toxicology report. We know that the mental ill self-medicate because they hurt inside so damn bad, but I want to know what... When we married, me, the "child-bride" with no concept of mental illness and he, a twenty-eight year old genius whose ideas he shared with people in their field (ethno-botony) like Terrance McKenna, author of "Invisible Landscape", which were a lot of John's ideas, also deciphered into modern day reality, the works of the Mage Levi, actually drawing out the crystal wand. John played a part in a film by George Csiecery based on myths and the wondrous powers of archetypal beings (helluva time memorizing lines), and a film in which George interviewed him on 16 mm for the sheer weird and wacky magical conversation that coherent schizophrenics are so capable of sharing. I clicked an old brownie as much as we could afford film for in the early seventies when our baby was tiny and even a toddler and I hope I can find the all the negatives to make a Cd and prints to share with old friends. We were so poor that year, I had to send the spent rolls to my mother for developing; but she was smart, she was guaranteed pictoral copies of her first grandchild.

Life and Death are a circle. Anyone with any ability to let go of their fear will understand that Death holds as much wonder as life does, we just don't know what it looks like yet. (except for those boring people who think when you die its just the beginning of "The Worm Song" and nothing more. (The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle in yr snout..."). We know that's what happens to the corporeal body, but the giant mystery of the spirit and the soul just shouts for thighbone trumpets, and forearm piccolos to sing joyful the D.N.A. song of the transcendental heart.

My son is busy being his own genius right now. And receiving recognition for his endeavors; he really doesn't need to take time out to go to residential motels and clean out stuff he might not know what is valuable intellectual property and what isn't. I'm hoping there is enough stuff there to ghost-write the rest of a book he had been working on since we married and if it sells even as popularly as "Invisible Landscape", it would give my son a big chunk to pay on his beautiful house in the redwoods. Parents always want to hand birthday cake out, well, good parents do.

Well, I've had my thunk, and I see the butterfly bush is in need of a severe pruning to guarantee a good show of blossom next year and I need to seed the greens bed again to fill out the chocolate cake earth. We eat alot of greens in the winter, especially when ya need more iron. I have Celiacs and so have to pay attention to iron, calcium and vitamin D which my body won't store. Twenty minutes of face lifted to the sun is a lovely mediation in the winter's weak sun and we are still operating on the batteries of Autumn's intense afternoon heat and seemingly freezing early early mornings. (As in, whining, "it's cold, it's cold every 3 am when the cat wants out and then again at 5:30 am when he wants back in. There's a reason I named him Capt'in and only part of it is based on Walt Whitman's poem.)

It's time to get up and stretch , walk the lines and pretend they outline "my" ownership. And of course, admire my beds of food and flowers. I have to give myself joy. My son's father is finally at peace and we like to think here at the caboose, that peace is contagious. Have you had yr peace shot today! Pass it on.