Not sure...

I began this blog with the idea that I'd share a lot of poetry. But I'm new to this blogging thing and I'm unsure that it's a safe way to share my poetry. So I've removed the few that I've shared. If anyone is out there reading my blog. I'd enjoy your thoughts and advice about sharing your personal information and valuable writing. I mean, there's no way to protect things... right?

Shelia Jan (February 20, 1947-October 19, 2006)

This is an edited excerpt from the eulogy I read at my mother's funeral last fall. Perhaps I want part of her story to live on as you read.

When I was growing up, my mom wrote stories. Many of them were never finished. I remember one such story about a boy with a lisp who never stopped talking about his Nerf football. I loved listening to the few stories she shared; she had a way of entertaining me with them. Mom’s dream of becoming a writer was part of what inspired me to become a writer.

Mom was full of imagination—and it served her well in this difficult world. She struggled often, but rarely complained. She sustained herself with a rich inner life that translated into a creative outer life. My mom loved The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis.

If you’ve ever visited my mom’s apartment, you’ve seen THE LION, a large painting. It was, to her, Aslan, king of all Narnia. When she felt God’s love through people, she called it “God with skin on.” But The Lion was, to her, an icon: a window to heaven, to God. She once confided in me that as she was at home alone in her wheelchair creating things, The Lion nearby was of great comfort. Her lion breathed love upon her.

Mom raised my older sister and me only one block from Ross Park Zoo. There lived a huge, manned lion. Though he appeared diminished with age, he would roar every few months. There never seemed to be a season for the roars—it was just time to claim his kingdom on the south side of Binghamton, NY.

Now if you ever have the good fortune to hear a lion roar, you will know why they are the kings of the jungle. You will never forget the sound. Though the cage was almost a half-mile away, the roar ripped through our neighborhood with the force of a derailed freight train. People would come out of their homes to share in the event…It was untamed; it was royal; it was otherworldly. My mother’s lion roars.

My mother brought much lightness to the world, and she carried much heaviness. She shined light, but we might have missed her light had she not known so much darkness.My mother had a huge, generous spirit. She made gifts for everyone she knew and loved. Her love was tangible in the gifts she gave. While we hurried about in our busy lives, she sat at home with her lion, trying to heal, slowly creating, every stitch was full of her thoughts about the soon-to-be receiver....

...My sister accompanied my mom along her final journey while I was far away in California. She told me that the night before mom died, mom raised her hands and head in a worshipful way, the way she had always done in church. She was unconscious at the time. We believe that mom was visited by God, who was drawing near to her.

Perhaps it was her Lion, who bent low in the grass, my mother raising her hands to praise him. Perhaps he waited with her as she prepared for the journey. Then she climbed up onto his back, and Aslan took his imaginative little girl back to Narnia.

Picture found at: http://7art-screensavers.com/screenshots/animals/lion-and-the-lamb.jpg

olympic justice?

My fiance (Reaching Vivid) often gives me thoughtful reminders to consider justice. I was just telling her that the 2008 Summer Olympics would be held in Bejing. And she wondered why the Chinese governement didn't have to decrease its nation's social injustices in order to gain the olympic center stage. I can see her point; I wonder if China will ever be confronted for allowing child labor and other social abuses.

Then again, I think about what makes the Olympic Games great: the thrill of competition between actual people, not between the leaders or their political parties. In fact, it is that kind of separation that makes any resulting social/political significance more powerful. For example, at the 1936 Berlin games, Jesse Owens was given the opportunity to defeat the arian atheletes in front of Hitler.

Politics, however, have sometimes changed the face of the games. The best example in the present age is the 1980 U.S. boycott of the games being held in Moscow. The boycott was pushed through by President Carter, as a repsonse to the 1979 Soviet invasion of Afghanistian. Then in 1984, the Soviets boycotted the Los Angeles games. The Soviets potential saftey risks for their athletes travelling in the anti-soviet society, but it was widely considered a retaliation for the U.S. boycott.

As a result of these political moves, hundreds of olympic hopefuls from both countries, who had trained their whole lives and been selected for their respective teams, were not allowed to compete... and had their leaders to thank.

So then I started thinking: if we use Carter's approach of boycotting as retaliation for unwarranted military invasions, perhaps other countries should have boycotted the 2002 games in Salt Lake City. Hmmm...

In any case, while considering whether China's lacking social reform should affect their olympic host status, we should remember that the Olympic Organizing Committee is not the puppet of the U.S. government.

And even if Washington were in charge, nothing would be different. This administration is too busy cultivating the image of the American cowboy in world politics to even consider justice as a guide for making decisions.

So the olympic committee must determine it's own standards for allowing a city to host the world's best athletes. And who knows, with China on the world stage, perhaps there will be some resulting justice that politicians might not otherwise be willing to or able to achieve. Let's hope.

The old/new blog

Yes, my friend, you HAVE found my correct blog site. I hope you didn't get lost: Yesterday, I decided to start a blog. You see, I thought I had lost the blog a started a couple of years ago.

Then I found the old blog. It was right where I left it: on the world wide web. So I moved all the text here to the old blog. The previous entry (April 20, grief) is what I wrote before I deleted the new blog....

And yes, it this is a curious picture. Comment and tell me what you think is happening here.

grief response to VT massacre

Friday, April 20, 2007

Within the last two years, I have lost three friends and relatives. The most recent was my mother, who died in October from complications after a wheelchair accident in which she broke her right leg. I am, needless to say, mourning.

So, I can barely watch the news this week. But I do watch a little because, just like 9/11 or Katrina, VT has potential to raise our awareness in a way that can help us grow as individuals in communities within a nation. And I have a very personal response, something to share.

On television the other day, I saw one of the VT students being carried to safety by officers. He had been shot in the right leg. I don't know his name, but they said he was an Eagle scout and had put a tournoquet on his own leg, saving his own life.

It took me a while to realize that I was not only sad for him, but also for my mother. Now about seven months after her death, I'm constantly surprised at how much more grief comes up than I expect. And I feel a connection with those who grieve the VT students as well as the rest of you who are, like me, grieving the loss of your grandmother, your friend, your mother, or someone else who you suddenly find yourself wishing you could visit or call on your cell at unexpected moments.

I hope, and I pray that all the grieving people in Virginia and around the country have a lot of space and support to grieve as long and as much as they need to.

And I also hope that you and those around you who are grieving your own losses find ways to mourn, alone, with others, in the presence of others, whatever you need. This takes a lot of awareness and understanding from those around us. And it takes a lot longer than it appears to from a distance.
-poetSequitur

I got one comment: awayfromlove said...
misha, so glad to find you here! thanks for sharing this...we are shaken as well, maybe not as deep. my heart goes out to you and all who are suffering in this Easter season--may the wounds become a door, in walking through become a resurrection.

April 20, 2007 8:40 PM