Lately I have been absorbed in my family history and the more I delve into it the more I want to know. My grandmothers especially. Grandmother Anna B, and Great Grandmother Lucy Sivils Payne on my mother's side; Grandmother Olga and Geat Grandmother Olive on my father's side of the family.
I feel the thread that connects us and the stories of the trials, loss and joy that weaves the pattern of life. Watching Downton Abby has been a catalyst for those of us living here in the house. Tonight I was reminded of how much I was wounded by the separation from my daughter Tirzah but I realize that we all have been deepened by loss in this life, trials that test us beyond what we think we can bear. And the point is that we are not victims, we are merely playing our parts…just as Shakespeare said, and we are all but players on the stage.
I am thankful for these moments of objectivity. I feel my mother very much since Dad died. Her strength and the deep loss that she feels. I feel it too but not in the way that she does. The power of music, the power of art, the power of words; it is how we cope with life on this planet.
Family and unconditional love is what we are here for, no matter whether or not we even understand the part we are playing or why things happen the way they do. A flash in eternity; the moon is nearly full, this is powerful medicine and this is why I have kept the curtains open tonight.
Sometimes I feel limited in my expression of my beliefs but now I realize that I have been empowered and it is time to take my place in the circle, the web….the seed has been planted; the stone has been dropped in the pond. I have given birth six times, surely that gives me some wisdom in spite of what I have perceived as failed relationships.
I get up early and walk upriver to enjoy the fresh morning breeze and the birdsong. The sunrise reflects on the glossy surface of the river creating diamonds of sparkling light. Near the estuary where the spring joins the river I notice a creature swimming towards the shore. As it comes closer, I see that it is a beaver. I stand motionless and watch as he makes his slow progress across.
I spend this summer day by the banks of the mighty Columbia River considering its mystery and ponder the workings of my own life. The river is wise and powerful and its silence is comforting. Despite rocky shore, various plants thrived on the sandy ground and bloom with tiny wildflowers. The osprey flies to and from its nest on the opposite bank. Once or twice a day the train etches itself along that ridge. The rocks scrabble noisily down and I wonder if the bank will give way. I shed my clothes; wade into the chilly water in as far as I dare and plunge under.