‘Couple of Oreos in the night after a disruptive dream. I could not quite remember the details. The Oreos were amazing. A son, undisputedly handsome with a good, a noble, heart, intelligent, awareness of his world sharper than a sword, gifted in a way that he did not ask for, bringing him intermittent sorrow, coexisting with joy, a sense of humor, robust imagination, warrior spirit. I had my share of wounds, lost at times in a world that moves much faster than I can grasp, my own creativity I cannot get to, I look for trails but they are unfairly elusive. I found myself grieving for a man who was and is a legend, who loved well, lived well, laughed well, my friend and my dad. But none of the dream was a dream. Reality has a great deal of mystery, at times.
I was walking with a woman, swirled in beauty with blonde hair and with unfathomable wisdom, a saint of a mother with the spunk to tell me when I was wrong, who married me in spite of me and my wounds and groaner jokes. Two younger ones looked up to me with love and respect, and I was confused by that: a daughter with eyes that can see into the depths of the journey, the hearts and souls of others; my son who creates so many things, his laughs radiate outward and inward toward others. I stood in Scotland at the castle Dunnotar, and at the Loch Ness hoping for a glimpse of Nessie, the Loch Ness “monster”. I walked along the ice road between McMurdo Station and Willy Field (camp) in Antarctica. I sat in the Christchurch Cathedral, putting together some pieces, there at the Christchurch Square. But the dream was not a dream. They are sparkling realities and memories I keep close.
the mosaic of a life.
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Beth, I’ve always been intrigued by that word, “mosaic”. A good word, and beautiful. And quite different (for me). We gravitate toward some words more than others… I know what the word means, but what do you think of, with the word mosaic? Always good to hear your thoughts, Beth.
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i see ‘mosaic’ in most everything. it begins with the smaller, perhaps seemingly insignificant pieces, yet each significant in its own way, being put together in a new way, to create a new image, one with a beautiful or unique look. parts making up a whole.
my favorite kinds of art to create, (collage, mosaic), and i how i have found that i approach my blog and my writing. i tend to combine an image of some sort with a quote from someone quite unconnected previously, and perhaps a few words, a poem, or a short story from me. in the end, i have created the message that i was trying to share.
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Wonderful. Many people would kill for that.
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These are kind and encouraging words. Thank you, HW. Apologize for the delay in responding.
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