Saturday, October 30, 2010

Heaven Dancing

I close my eyes and see you smiling and spinning. Veils of purple and lavender and pink trailing behind.  If there is a heaven, you dance there tonight.

I close my eyes and hear the songs and rhythms which play for you. Sometimes mournful, sometimes ecstatic, but always accompanied by the low drone from the universe's vibration.

I close my eyes and feel a tickle as a tear rolls down my cheek and around my chin.
I close my eyes, spread my arms wide and breathe in.

Keep dancing best beloved.  We are half way around our first orbit of Sun since you were taken away from this plane.  Time continues to ebb and flow, but it at last moves again.   And the planets somehow remain intent on their spinning.

In circular motions we are on our way back to the beginning.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Autumn Rising

I awoke from my cocoon and arose with anticipation. A new sun lingered behind the nearest ridge and high, wispy clouds splashed with purples, oranges, and pinks a slow rising curtain for this new day.  Perhaps Sun was too comfortable in her warm sleeping bag to be up at this hour.  I chuckled at the thought.  Through my nose chilled air stretched my lungs to that very fullest point where they can expand no more.  The first, delicate frost highlighted the edges of grass and leaves while threads of mist twirled up from the lake like Suffis endlessly spinning.

Spinning, spinning.

Autumn signals endings and anticipates new growth some day way around on the other side of the sun.  Today I am content with crisp air and browning leaves.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Goodbye Dancer

"Daddy! Play the 'we're not gonna take it' song!"

And so began our last dance. Our last dance as a family. My last dance with my dance partner.

I queued up Twisted Sister. Loud. And the boys started dancing in our living room. I love how kids dance and play air guitar. Totally uninhibited. Whether the movements of the gangly arms, and legs and torsos actually move in time with the music is of secondary consideration.

Then some B-52s: Love Shack and Rock Lobster. The boys love the B-52s. My god, my boys dance to songs I danced to 20 and 30 years ago. Then Madonna, and "Who Let the Dogs Out" and so on. That's about when Amy joined in. The boys bounding up and down, playing air guitar, falling on the ground, vibrating. Amy moving in perfect synchronization with the music mixing her belly dance and standard dance club moves.

Amy danced with passion and enthusiasm. She had taken lessons on and off for nearly two-decades. She combined grace and a sensuous energy. I loved watching her dance. I loved dancing with her.

We met at a dance club. A B minus bar with a dance floor. I may exaggerate if I say I fell in love with her that night while dancing, but I was smitten. Like in the movies I remember it as just the two of us on that dance floor, the rest of the crowd blurred out of focus, in the background, in the dark. Just Amy and me, moving and spinning together.

She looked at me sitting on the couch with my music system remote, selecting more songs. Tilting her head, she said, "is something wrong - why aren't you dancing?"

Nothing was wrong - I was just sitting. But it was a good question. So I queued some more songs then joined the family dance. Four of us on a Sunday night, a school night, jumping up and down spinning and falling and laughing. It was the four-year-old who started it. Sweat beading on his forehead, he took off his shirt. Dancing only as a four-year-old can, smacking his sweaty, naked belly with his hands mostly in rhythm with the beat. Then the seven-year-old, swinging his shirt around and around, over his head, swaying his skinny hips like some rock star teasing an adoring crowd. His shirt landed in the middle of the room. Fun! Then I took off my shirt, swung it around my head and tossed it at Amy. We all laughed and danced some more. Then Amy, not to be outdone by her three shirtless boys, with a tank top underneath, took off her blouse and tossed it at me.

Our dance continued. The boys wiggled; Amy and I showed-off a few club swing moves we remembered. We danced some more. How long? Maybe an hour? Maybe less - I don't remember, but the hour grew late, we slowly tired, wound down, and our family dance ended.

Four days later Amy was dead. The boys and I haven't danced since. I imagine, someday maybe, the three of us will dance again.

Meanwhile I'm glad we had that last dance.

Friday, October 1, 2010

On Time

"Are we in the future now?"

My five-year-old posed this a couple weeks ago. He, my eight-year-old, and I talked about this some, how we were in the present, forever so, and now even his question of the future was relegated to the past. But our conclusions felt lacking.

I've written of Time before, a near obsession sometimes, and now its indifferent passage. It's convenient to consider Time as linear and that we live, conventionally, along a line from left to right. Marked on that line are our births and deaths and all the moments in between. We each have one of these lines, I suppose. And when plotted in space, our lines converge and diverge, cross and intersect, run parallel for a while, then end. Amy's line first intersected mine in January, 1999. They twisted around each other, and ran forward along the same path for just over 11 years before the point Time marked her death. Inexplicably Time drags me forward.

I imagine the act of marking the line with death creates a great cosmic event distorting and curving other nearby lines, bending them into new trajectories, akin to a powerful pulse of gravity. Like being sucked into a black hole, Time halted the moment I learned of Amy's death.

Time moves again, though requiring constant checking, calibration, and re-calibration. After shocks continue to distort our space and confuse Time. And because of this, as prompted by my younger son's question, how do we distinguish past, present, and future?