With so much swirling around in these times of transition, I often find myself scrolling through photos and old posts that evoke profound emotion. This morning was one of those mornings. Sleeping in,I wasn't up and raring to go at my usual 3am. I seemed to be able to give myself permission to take my time and ease in to this day. It's become even more important to me when I'm in New Orleans where these times and opportunities are few and far between.
I've once again been struck by the volume of loss I've experienced stateside and in France. I teased one of my friends here in the states, that it's as if I've just "come back to be here while everyone dies!" Of course, I'm getting to be of "that age." Then, my brother Tom, pointed out to me that I know so many more people than most people, so the numbers are just naturally greater! (Huge merci to Tom!) I remember feeling much the same when I was losing so many of my clients and friends to HIV/AIDS. What now seems like ages ago, I'd gotten to a point where I wasn't sure I could deal with so much constant loss and constant sadness anymore. But then the aha came: I wouldn't have traded a moment of the times I'd spent with all of these wonderful people for a million dollars.
This morning, the experience was much the same. How wonderful to be able to see beyond the sadness to the amazing volume of people, experiences and places that are my life so far?
If you don't put yourself out there, you don't risk the losses. You may not have as much to lose, but think about the wonder and joy you would have missed! I wouldn't surrender one moment of any of these people, places, or experiences for a million dollars. How about you?
Something about the contrast of the color and the black and white of my very similar photos speaks to me...a wonderful gift of my recent visit with Bill Jones and Glenn Sanford in Madison, MS on my return trip! Happy Saturday!
Mon Dieu-"good cheer and compassionate intelligence"-I do love that description! And, that day is forever etched in my mind/heart/soul. I don't remember the poem, but remember the day well! Do you remember that you and Pat stood on those cliffs and mooned the world...I didn't participate, but you guys were so funny and so excited, if not just a tiny bit competitive in front of me! Why don't YOU write a book about that journey that you and Ronnie took? Thanks for the recommendation. I've thought about you too-some of my overalls friends are thinking about walking from Denmark to Montaillou France...I am thinking of joining them at some point along the way next year when I'm back in Cadrieu full time. I've got the shoes-I've got the desire and the excitement and I think I'm ready to go for a much shorter piece of their walk-maybe Toulouse or south of there. Hmmm, I was thinking, maybe your line about the sun throbbing should be on your "asses" not "faces"!-I want to write more and fill you in a bit more, but I'll have to send an email. Great to hear from you-thanks for all this fun-Love, Laury
Posted by: Laury Bourgeois | May 21, 2016 at 09:38 PM
Was thinking about you this morning... That sense of loss is palatable for me as well; I've lost count of family, friends, clients who became friends, and so on...
I'm reading "Mississippi Solo" by Eddie Harris... If you haven't read it already, I recommend you do so. A black man with no canoeing experience canoes from the source of the Mississippi to New Orleans, set I think in the early eighties.
This old 1975 poem was inspired as I recall by us on the river, you and me and that sociology professor, who was probably enamored by your good cheer and compassionate intelligence that I often took for granted.
We Got Drunk on Our Bluffs
We got drunk on our bluffs
and flew out over the flood high
Mississippi
laughing up a goddamn storm
as towboats thrust the barges
up
and down river
and the sun on our faces
throbbed,
burning pleasantly.
(April 1975)
Posted by: Jeffrey May | May 21, 2016 at 03:56 PM