Books

I finished late summer reading weeks ago, and have begun Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (on kindle), and The Art of Travel by Alain de Bottom.

First Day

On Wednesday I went to Thornton Hall for my first day sitting with the old people. The Garden residents are an Alzheimer's population, with a median age of 75. One woman, Rite, short for Magarite, sat next to me and really listened, focused, reacted in real time, sang and recalled songs. But Sam my guide told me later she likely wouldn't remember any of it. Most of the others were near catatonic, though one woman, I think her name is June and missing a few front teeth, was happily chatting inanely as a madwoman before being taken away to her appointment at the beauty parlor.

Earlier that morning I found the Topsham Public Library, a new building with enough novels and a lot of light and picked three selections to bring, hopeful but uncertain. An Andy Rooney diatriabe, perhaps a little cliched but germaine, seemed like an ice-breaking opener. I found one that was self-evidently obervant, in his fashion, but that I liked; it was about names. Next, I had already decided I would read The Lady of Shalott. Whether they liked it or not. I like to read this poem aloud and for once I had a captive audience. I thought if nothing else the rhythm and cadence would be pleasant music for their ears and I got to use my very important poetry voice. I concluded with a Time Life collection of photography from the 1940s and 50s. Nostalgia and imagination, photographs that are literal but open to interpretation. We read about the rise of adolescent culture during World War II, teen dance and fashion trends. Some of them smiled.

I felt very comfortable from the beginning. Much like when I was so anxious to teach my first Nia class and then was completely in the moment and at ease during the hour, I was a little trepidacious that morning but it all cleared and was serene as soon as I started introducing myself. What luck! And what a revelation. It was so nice, even though it was frightening, and desperately sad and unbelievable what can become of an individual life and her once so strong brain. A sort of Zen exercise - immediately over and gone as soon as I'm done reading the words, if not sooner. It happened, but is fleeting, and when I am gone I've disappeared though the sound may linger. Does it resonate, or reverberate, or disappear into the ether altogether? I hope they experience a flash of peace or joy or relaxation. Maybe it's nothing like that at all.

Already Witnessed

It's not that I've been here before, but that everything is as it should be. I may have wished it into being back at the bird sancturay and only discovered here now. No one is more surprised than I am when happiness turns out to be true. The theophany of matters, great and small.

Paradise Found?

Yesterday-sleepy-Saturday-morning, I crawled back into our sunny, birdmottled bed. He said, and I quote, "this is paradise."

And isn't it? Isn't this the heaven on earth ideal of bliss and perfect happiness! In love and surrounded by a thousand wondrous things.

An unborn manifestation of all that we've invested and intended, the best of us both, we hope, resides here between us, within me, a source of light.

For that instant eternity, we shone with divinity and were given grace. Please let the gnosis of One Moment inform all the rest of our grateful days.

amen