Death is Nothing At All

to Mom, Daddy, Booger and JED...I miss ya'll...

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference in your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Pray.
Smile.
Think of me.
Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort,
without the trace of a shadow in it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you.
Somewhere very near.
Just around the corner.
All is well.

Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)
Canon of St Paul's Cathedral

Patching Hearts

I think people are put into my life for a purpose. I have a list and drawn a picture in my mind. I have a need to weave a basket, and pinch a pot to show all these people's souls. It would make a lovely design, all this intertwining.

For a little while you can look back and see your footprints in the sand, then the ocean of life blends those footprints into our being as we look to take the next step. I can imagine a world where we can take someone's heart in our hands, caress it, patch it, love it and fill it with our love and then put it back into that person's body. I imagine it sort of like those experiments that the teachers do for the high school kids by having them walk around with an egg or a sack of flour to make them realize what time and care it takes to nurture a baby. If we could instead imagine carrying around another person's heart. And, I can even almost imagine risking someone carrying our own heart. In this, how we would look at others so differently.

That's what I want to do for my life, I just haven't figured out totally how to yet. I'm getting there. I'm still patching my own heart.

Taking all I could give...

He appeared out of nowhere... he was just there.... naked... breathing heavily... so delicious... strong shoulders... watching his cute butt... strong sure hands... his fingers dipping into the wetness... his fingers in and out... in and out... clear liquid almost foaming... rubbing round and round... flexing his muscles driving me wild... giving him more... knowing he could handle all I could give him... polishing to perfection... He washed every dish!!! How I love a man with dishpan hands!
rlp 01/06/07