Up close with god.

God's orchestra can be found down any country lane. The tune has infinite variations of melody, key and beat. Instruments vary from one to hundreds depending on location, temperature, humidity and time of day. Never the same, and always nostalgic of other times. God is not what plays in the supernatural distance but the ultra-natural up close and personal. If we look no further that our selves we find eternal variety and perfection of detail. My ears hear the orchestra every morning and my eyes see the ever-playful geometry. I taste and smell too much to distinguish and feel a world of fluctuation. My own restlessness is at peace and comfortable with itself, and what else could I want.

Loss

My youth was often dominated by my uncle, a large self-educated man who boomed with energy and eloquence. He allowed me unfettered access to his massive library from the time I learned to read. He gave me opportunities that shaped my world. My uncle was also an alcoholic.

My adolescent years saw trips with into Greenwich Village’s beat/hippy world filled with artists, musicians, pundits, beautiful women and marijuana. It was I who stayed with him during dts when he relived Iwo Jima, and who searched streets and recesses to take him home when he got lost. When I was in New York my uncle was my sunshine, rain cloud or hurricane.

By the time I was 17, his alcoholism and my rebelliousness put us at odds. I was the only member of my family that was not cowed by him. I also loved him deeply and was betrayed by his poor judgment and diminished capacities.

At 18 I blew out of New York and my family for long enough that my uncle became sober. When I returned I met my first human marshmallow and despised him. He no longer knew he was right about everything; he couldn’t even foster an opinion about where he wanted to have dinner. The change scared me. I could not trust this stranger and I felt as if I lost a loved one and everyone was either lying or in denial. I left New York and stayed away from him for years.

In my late 20’s I moved back to my birth home. Life had taken me many places and the world was no longer black and white. It was mostly gray. I lived an active double life that kept me distanced from my family in many ways. But I did get to know my uncle again. His personality had largely returned and he was still sober. We had screaming arguments and I loved him deeply.

During this time I got into the relationship with the man who I would eventually marry and have a child with. He was a pretty obtuse character and got along with my uncle just fine. They found all sorts of random connections and enjoyed the same media. Life finally quieted down for me emotionally and I grew closer to my family.

Then my uncle came down with cancer. It was visible and awful. I felt as if the planet I lived on was disintegrating, and for months lived in a state of distraction. Unfortunately wandering around New York City distracted is dangerous.

First I was pick-pocketed. The first time ever. Then a couple of weeks later I was talking to a clerk at a store I frequented and after my change was put down on the counter in front of me, someone charged in the door, grabbed the $16 and split. That also was unique. Things escalated. Three young men grabbed my stuff on a subway, leaving everyone telling me how lucky I was that I had not gotten hurt.

My father in-law had heart problems and my husband went to Ohio for two weeks. The day after he left my jeep was burned to the ground in the church parking lot where I worked. Then there was a hurricane, which found me sitting on a sandbar in a van with thousands of dollars of equipment and several very rough young men drinking Colt 45. The next day my husband was returning from Ohio.

After sleeping-in I cleaned up our apartment and took a leisurely, much-deserved hot shower. While I was drying myself I heard a noise that I assumed to be one of our cats. I walked out of the bathroom naked to a stranger standing in my house. The next three hours were a nightmare that I did not expect to survive, and evidently did due to my ability to disassociate and pepper spray. My world was turned up side down. Whatever fragments of belief I had had in justice, Karma, ‘live by the sword, die by the sword’ or whatever, was completely smashed. Inside there was a deep hole surrounded by fear and a complete lack of self-confidence. The shrink I was given diagnosed me with PTSD and felt all she could offer was band-aids until I was willing to make a long-term commitment.

Meanwhile, my uncle got worse. He finally decided to go to Germany for some miracle treatment. Various Broadway personalities raised the necessary funds and the time was to be soon at hand. I could feel his fading vibes and asked him if he was being “a good Indian”. He confirmed my suspicions and I watched the limousine take him away from me forever.

Nothing made any sense to me. My life had ended. The physical existence was a mistake. I lost months. I read When Bad Things Happen to Good People. I finally decided if I was dead then it was time to find heaven, and for the next six months I busied myself defining and finding heaven. Then I moved here to Port Townsend, Washington.

My decision had been unilateral and my husband was left with decisions to make on his own about his future. He wavered, visiting me several times, then going back to NY or Ohio. My loss of self was his loss too.

During one of those visits I became pregnant. My husband stayed and we began a new life together, which for me entailed 12 years of counseling. I learned to see my past and create my present without fear. My child taught me how to abandon myself to love, and live in the present. Many children allowed me to offer them safety from harm and through those relationships, not only did they thrive, but also so did I. One of my counselors has said that I healed myself with love. And I believe that is true.