It has been a beautiful few days here on Monkey Hill. I spent yesterday and most of today pulling the weeds from between the patio stones in the backyard and around the pool. One of the main reasons we bought this house was the privacy of the enclosed backyard and the pool. Our daughter was disabled and had issues with fine and gross motor skills, but she could swim in her own fashion and it was one of her few true freedoms and joys in life. She practically lived in the pool, and for it.
After she died a few short years ago we stopped going out back ourselves and really just lost heart in the house and property, letting the whole place just go to seed. Money problems came along and the house started falling apart. The pool fell into disrepair and has been an empty hole in the ground for a while now. I can’t really say that things are better so much as they are simply different. Life does indeed go on. People have loved us unfailingly until we have both begun to care again ourselves.
And so yesterday I was sitting in the sun looking at the weeds and thinking, “You don’t belong there.” The house is no stately mansion, but it would be a grand blessing in the lives of so, so many people, and I felt a shame creep over me for treating it with disregard. It is a blessing. It deserves some respect and appreciation. I have spent enough time grieving what I have lost. It is time to be grateful for what remains.
One of the hardest prayers I was ever taught is thus:
O Great Creator,
Thank you for what you have given me,
Thank you for what you have taken from me,
And thank you for what remains.
I have suffered, as has every human being, but what remains is understanding and compassion. These are no small things. They are represented in my latest work showing at the Blue Angel Gallery in Hamilton, 243 James St. North. The show is a success because of the people who were touched by the artwork, who understood it and appreciated its meaning and the fact that I had represented the experiences of people like myself with Bipolar Type II. To be able to communicate and relate is a grand, grand blessing. It has helped me to feel, not just intellectualize, that there is more living for me to do, important living. After my girl passed on, I was sure that the only truly important thing I would ever do has passed away with her. I am beginning to see otherwise.
Blessings to All,