(Denise Levertov, from a collection titled The Life Around Us)
*
Maybe it was Robin who posted this video some time ago. YouTube churned it up for me today, My tears of joy and rage are close to the surface these days.
*
The earth is leaning sideways
And a song is emerging from the floods
And fires. Urgent tendrils lift toward the sun.
You must be friends with silence to hear.
The songs of the guardians of silence are the most powerful-
This year, as Veteran's Day approached, something moved me to let go of most of the things I have carried with me since I met R in my senior year of high school when we were just 17 years old. I realized that those things had finally made their way to my heart and that I didn't need their physical presence anymore, taking up an entire shelf in my hall closet. Notice that I said "most of the things." I did keep a few things but made an open space in my shelves and in my life, 20 years after R wrote me a letter saying, "Please take all my love and go on with your life" and 13 years after I was able to say goodbye to him before he died in a VA hospital.
During 1970, when R served in the U.S. Army in Vietnam as a helicopter mechanic, he and his friends listening to music on a daily basis and especially liked Chicago's "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?"
As we went through the time change this year, I remembered that song amidst the confusion in Zoom rooms where support groups comprised of people from time zones all over the world meet in a timeless and timely space.
To everything (turn, turn, turn) There is a season (turn, turn, turn) And a time to every purpose, under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die A time to plant, a time to reap A time to kill, a time to heal A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything (turn, turn, turn) There is a season (turn, turn, turn) And a time to every purpose, under heaven
A time to build up, a time to break down A time to dance, a time to mourn A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together
To everything (turn, turn, turn) There is a season (turn, turn, turn) And a time to every purpose, under heaven
A time of love, a time of hate A time of war, a time of peace A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing
To everything (turn, turn, turn) There is a season (turn, turn, turn) And a time to every purpose, under heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose A time to rend, a time to sew A time for love, a time for hate A time for peace, I swear it's not too late
Remembering that R found Veteran's Day to be one of the most difficult days of the year. What he wanted, above all, and found so elusive was peace of mind and heart and soul.
Thank you to Robert at The Solitary Walker, for posting the following from D.H. Lawrence's The Rainbow on his Facebook page. It is a bit of synchronicity that I read this passage this morning, the 9th anniversary of the death of the man that I met when we were 17 years and whom I loved, mostly from a distance, for 42 years and with whom I have found reconciliation and peace through his death. When R and I were 20 years old, he was drafted and spent the year in Vietnam, and I spent the year waiting for him as well as participating in protests against the war in Vietnam. One of the things we did after he returned was to go to a protest against the war, during which Joan Baez sang. During the time R was in Vietnam, I read The Rainbow. It was this passage that engaged my full attention all those years ago:
'And then, in the blowing clouds, she saw a band of faint iridescence colouring in faint colours a portion of the hill. And forgetting, startled, she looked for the hovering colour and saw a rainbow forming itself. In one place it gleamed fiercely, and, her heart anguished with hope, she sought the shadow of iris where the bow should be. Steadily the colour gathered, mysteriously, from nowhere, it took presence upon itself, there was a faint, vast rainbow. The arc bended and strengthened itself till it arched indomitable, making great architecture of light and colour and the space of heaven, its pedestals luminous in the corruption of new houses on the low hill, its arch the top of heaven.
And the rainbow stood on the earth. She knew that the sordid people who crept hard-scaled and separate on the face of the world's corruption were living still, that the rainbow was arched in their blood and would quiver to life in their spirit, that they would cast off their horny covering of disintegration, that new, clean, naked bodies would issue to a new germination, to a new growth, rising to the light and the wind and the clean rain of heaven. She saw in the rainbow the earth's new architecture, the old, brittle corruption of houses and factories swept away, the world built up in a living fabric of Truth, fitting to the over-arching heaven.'
Most of you are familiar with my story. Today I need to tell it again and see how far I have come this past year.
These last few months have been an unexpected and particularly difficult part of my grief journey, which began in 1971 with R's return from Vietnam and the violence that led to our separation and my inability to accept that the physical separation was permanent, until his death in 2008. Although the book, Ambiguous Loss: Learning to Live with Unresolved Grief (recommended to me through a community grief support group in 2008) was immensely helpful in acknowledging my grief, a turning point came in the last few weeks as I was reading a book called Sacred Grief: Exploring a New Dimension to Grief, by Leslee Tessmann.
Sacred Grief. "Fierce Grace" was the way Ram Dass spoke about it. Patti Smith has some healing thoughts about it here, and I thank Sabine for posting that just when I needed to hear those words spoken out loud by a woman who has survived many losses.
The painting at the top of this post was painted by me in 1999 soon after learning that R had been diagnosed with throat cancer and was recovering from a major surgery to his neck and throat. We had not seen each other for 13 years at that point and had not talked for 9 years. He had a lifelong struggle with drugs and alcohol and anger issues and for my well-being, I needed to keep a healthy distance from him, but something prompted me to call his mother in December of 1999. It turned out that he had moved back in with his parents because of the cancer. His mother handed the phone to him. The painting is titled "Reconciliation Dream."
R's cancer returned in 2001 and went into remission again in spring of 2002, at which time he began to use drugs and alcohol again, and I had to distance myself from him for my own well-being.
After having a brainstem stroke in September of 2007 as a result of alcoholic drinking, R spent the last 8 months of his life in a VA hospital. I would not have known this except that, once again, I was prompted, against my better judgement, to contact his sister, who told me that she knew that he would love to hear from me. Two months before R died, I dreamed that we were connected forever by a rainbow, although we could not touch each other in a physical way. In the distance between us, a rainbow was created. I wrote him a letter, in which I related the dream. His brother, whom he asked to read the letter to him, said that R was deeply moved by my dream of us.
In the last week of R's life, I drove from Washington State to be with him in the ICU at VA Hospital in Palo Alto, California. Because he had MRSA, I had to wear a face mask, hospital gloves, and a protective gown when I visited with him. I could touch him but only through hospital gloves.
Words and music by Pete Seeger
Sailing down my golden river Sun and water all my own Yet I was never alone
Sun and water, old life givers I'll have them where ere I roam And I was not far from home
Sunlight glancing on the water Life and death are all my own
Yet I was never alone
Life for all my sons and daughters Golden sparkles in the foam And I was not far from home
Sailing down this winding highway Travelers from near and far And I was never alone
Exploring all the little byways Sighting all the distant stars And I was not far from home
Sailing down my golden river Sun and water all my own Yet I was never alone
Sun and water, old life givers I'll have them where ere I roam And I was not far from home
Yet I was never alone And I was not far from home
From my self-published book, in which I put together, soon after R died, my paintings and poetry from the previous 42 years:
"Both of us sustained war wounds. Something in us died young. We were not alone."
I know this for sure today. We were never alone. There is a beloved community that Martin Luther King, Jr., envisioned. It continues to grow, despite all odds.
(As I was finishing this post, the phone rang. It was my old friend, Yom, who came from Vietnam with the first wave of refugees in 1975. I was one of the first people she met after arriving in Bellingham. She sustained war wounds, too, but went on with her life in a way that I was unable to do. We met in a factory, here in Bellingham, where we both did industrial sewing. I felt an immediate connection with her because we were the same age and had been deeply affected by the Vietnam War. The man she had loved had died when his throat was slit by a Viet Cong. She just happened to call today. We talk every few months. She has been happily married for many years. She and her husband adopted a baby Vietnamese boy who is now a thriving American teenager. There is much joy in her life as a wife and mother and gardener. She continues to work part-time after retiring. I am grateful for her friendship. This day has been filled with synchronicity, beginning with the quote from The Rainbow on Robert's Facebook page. Astonishing that Yom would call today of all days.)
The goal of singing a song is not to reach the end as quickly as possible. It is a state of creating harmony, beauty, growth and understanding. The goal of work, as a sacred art, is to use the need for a product or service to develop the greatest possible power on the object, and the users. Sacred work puts the mind on service to the heart as well.
QUITE EARLY MORNING Don't you know it's darkest before the dawn And it's this thought keeps me moving on If we could heed these early warnings The time is now quite early morning If we could heed these early warnings The time is now quite early morning Some say that humankind won't long endure But what makes them so doggone sure? I know that you who hear my singing Could make those freedom bells go ringing I know that you who hear my singing Could make those freedom bells go ringing And so keep on while we live Until we have no, no more to give And when these fingers can strum no longer Hand the old banjo to young ones stronger And when these fingers can strum no longer Hand the old banjo to young ones stronger So though it's darkest before the dawn These thoughts keep us moving on Through all this world of joy and sorrow We still can have singing tomorrows Through all this world of joy and sorrow We still can have singing tomorrows Words and Music by Pete Seeger (1969) (c) 1969 by Fall River Music Inc.
Meanwhile all the barns started talking to each other. "We feel mighty lonely," they said, "without any cows or any chickens. I guess we'll have to go find them." So the barns picked themselves off their foundations and galumphed down the road, and s-q-u-e-e-z-e-d themselves into that corner store, believe it or not. Did you ever hear a rusty hinge on a barn door? That's the way the barns sang: Eeeee, eeeeeeeeee.
A little too abstract, a little too wise, It is time for us to kiss the earth again, It is time to let the leaves rain from the skies, Let the rich life run to the roots again. - Robinson Jeffers
("Calendar Series: 24th Month / Virgin Forest, Golden River and Seedings," by Old Girl Of The North Country, painted in gouache and watercolor in 1987)
This is the last of the Calendar Series images that were done on a 12 x 16 Arches watercolor block. When I finished that block, I began to paint on an 18 x 24 block. I continued with the same numbering system, but the nature of the images began to change as I worked on a larger sheet of paper.
To hear Pete Seeger sing "Pastures of Plenty," which was written by Woody Guthrie, go to YouTube and type in "Pastures of Plenty." I first heard the song sung by Woody Guthrie on a Folkways album I found at the public library when I was in high school. I learned about Woody Guthrie from Bob Dylan who also sings a moving version of this great song.
In 1979, Arlo Guthrie recorded an album he called "Outlasting the Blues." On that album was "Sailing Down This Golden River", a song written by Pete Seeger in 1971 as "Sailing Down My Golden River."
How can I be useful, of what service can I be? There is something inside me, what can it be? -- Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)
Welcome to "37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE)".
The photograph currently at the top of my blog was taken from my porch before sunrise on October 29, 2023.
"OLD GIRL OF THE NORTH COUNTRY" (the earliest name for my blog -- http://oldgirlfromthenorthcountry.blogspot.com
) came to life in early December of 2006 so that I could post a 42-year retrospective of my paintings and drawings and through that action, create a new relationship with the day the man I loved returned from Vietnam in December 1970. For a while (sometime after spring of 2008, which is when he died) my blog was "TALKING 37TH DREAM WITH RAINBOW (RUMORS OF PEACE)". For a number of years, it's been "TALKING 37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE)." As of April 12, 2017 my blog was titled "37TH DREAM / TALKING 37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE/LOOKING UP)". Somewhere along the way it became 37TH DREAM (RUMORS OF PEACE).
To begin viewing the retrospective with narrative, scroll down to December 8, 2006, on this page:
I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. -- Martin Luther King, Jr. (1929-1968)
All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. -- Martin Buber (1878-1965)
It is only a little planet, but how beautiful it is.
-- Robinson Jeffers
The true end of a war is the rebirth of life; the right to die peacefully in your own bed. The true end of war is the end of fear; the true end of war is the return of laughter.
-- Alfred Molano
Enjoy every sandwich -- Warren Zevon (1947-2003)
Not in God's wilds will you ever hear the sad moan, "All is vanity." No, we are paid a thousand times for all our toil, and after a single day spent outdoors in their atmosphere of strength and beauty, one could still say, should death come — even without any hope of another life — "Thank you for this most glorious gift!" and pass on.
-- John Muir (1838-1914)
Philip Henslowe: Mr. Fennyman, allow me to explain about the theatre business. The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster. Hugh Fennyman: So what do we do? Philip Henslowe: Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well. Hugh Fennyman: How? Philip Henslowe: I don't know. It's a mystery.
