Tag Archives: remembering

Divine Intervention

Out of nowhere came this urgent need to reconnect with him. It had been several years but took only minutes before his voice was in my ear and he was damning me for reaching out again. I’d found him in limbo, which wasn’t actually surprising, he’d already done his stint in India, studying with the masters, becoming a Yogi and whoring the knowledge he’d gained for himself in order to survive. Always just trying to survive.

He was back in the states on the west coast, ready to head east if I gave the word. He was tired and just wanted to lie down, wanted to lie down with me. But I hesitated, as I always did, and no matter how brief or split second my pause, that was always the deciding factor.

We relived each moment spent, every truth ever told, forgave all the pain caused by endless lies and selfish deceptions. It was cleansing. It was cathartic. It was the most honest we’d ever been.

We said goodbye and promised to stay connected, though time slipped away and we never really did. Only after I found myself lost, once more wandering blind in the black abyss, did I reach for him again, only this time he did not come. I searched and quickly found that a brain tumor had taken my sage to the other side, just six months after we said our final goodbye.

I slipped deeper into the pit where no light could penetrate, lingering in my pain with no will to move from that place; and I stayed there for three long agonizing years. Until one night he came to me in a dream.

The next morning I searched and quickly found a message that previously had not been received. A comment left on a post he’d written after reading my words.

There must be something

Worse than being alone

More painful than lonely

Something other than death

Though I’ve yet to find it –

“I’ve been searching too. Nothing of value. I thought it was karma but it’s really just life. You move me with this one. This is powerful, this is truth…dying’s not so bad. I’m not haunting, but I am knocking.”

Death had changed me, for what I believed to be forever, loss had snuffed out my light and I knew there was no coming back; accepted as my fate to simply exist for my remaining days; until he threw a rope into the well of angst and urged me to climb out.

That changed me more than death could ever do, for in that moment I was reminded what my pain had allowed me to forget; there is no death, only a shift of worlds and our connection is never truly lost; and if he could throw me a rope from the other side of life, I could sure as hell reach out and take back mine.

~ jillterry 7.1.18

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Mingling memories – 

  


Things never forgotten

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Remeniscence

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I miss the man
He showed me
He could be
The mature mind
Intelligent thinking
Thorough explanations
Joy of teaching
Brain-width expanding
To make room
Soaking everything
As if a sponge
Time spent
Never wasted
I miss that
Most of all ~

©2014 jillterry | jillterry.com


Autopilot

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Driving blind
reaching grasping
traveling back
inside my mind

That fated place
that stitch in time
the life-light glowed
all reason no rhyme

Haunted beings
shadows fleeting
listen for my whisper
your name in the night

©2014 jillterry | jillterry.com


Remembering what was ~

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©2014 jillterry│jillterry.com


Echoes Swirl

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All the words he spoke
Whispered and screamed
For my ears and my heart
For my sake and my sanity
Never lifeless upon the page
Echoes whirl round
Find their way back to me

When the Universe
Wants me to remember
A bittersweet reminder
Of what was had and the cost
And the price in which it was lost

The love that rang true
That changed me forever
The love of all lifetimes
That love of me you

©2014 jillterry | jillterry.com


Memorial Day ~

A time of remembering
Giving thanks
Celebration
and Reflection

A bright, blessed, safe and happy Memorial Weekend to all . . .

memorialday

©2013 jill terry
Jillterry.com


Glancing back

I thought for a moment, and then told myself no; it couldn’t possibly be. Then the Barista called out your name and you stepped up to get your coffee and when the light over the bar illuminated your profile; granted is now covered with an intricate and deliberate layer of just the right length stubble, I knew that face and remembered it well.

Sitting round the campfire, barely ten you must’ve been; the others off gallivanting and running wild through the woods, and you at my side, paying the others no mind; drawing pictures of George Washington in the notebook I had in my bag, talking about the Civil War; opening and sharing yourself and your interests, wanting to see my reaction more than anything; see if I thought it was silly and dismissed it, or took and interest and actually listened.

And listen to you I did.

When you gathered your courage and asked if I ever have thoughts in my head that I can hear, that drive me crazy and that I can’t make go away; and at that moment, it mattered not where your father was, who he was off playing the attention whore for or with; everyone else at that campground disappeared and for that brief moment in time, you and I connected; not as adult to child, not as a troop leader to one of her cubs, but as human beings. One very much aware and in-tuned with spiritual self, and the other just beginning to figure there was a difference.

You said it drove you crazy that you couldn’t make them stop and you didn’t much like the things they said; I told you I understood perfectly, have them too, and the best thing you could do is write those thoughts down – get them out of your mind and onto paper. And I promised you it would make it better, because that’s what I’ve done my whole life; and you looked at me with that sweet little smile and your eyes lit up as if I’d just given you the secret to the universe.

And then you turned the page inside my notebook and wrote something that I have never forgotten, nor will I ever. You wrote; No matter what thoughts are inside our head, it doesn’t mean we really are who we think we are.

Then you handed me the notebook and watched as I read it; and if I somehow failed to express with words to you at the time, I hope that in some way you realized how moved I was by the profundity of what you bled onto that paper and shared with me.

So young, so innocent, so filled with confusion and questions and self doubt; yet so naturally curious, inquisitive and knowing; knowing there was something more than the trappings of our daily lives and so ready to grasp and understand it.

I told your father what an extraordinary and gifted boy you were and that you needed special spiritual attention; that you were at the point that feeding your soul with the proper knowledge was crucial. He told me your grandmother was a religious woman and you spent a lot of time with her and that he and your mother planned to start going to church on a regular basis, not to worry about it.

I tried to explain to him that religion, organized or not, was not what I mean by feeding your soul, but he either missed my point, which I doubted at the time, or simply didn’t want to hear, which I believed to be the case.

No matter, it wasn’t my place to interfere; I offered what I could and left it at that. But when I went out and bought you a journal and a special pen to write in it, he was very standoffish and almost offended; telling me that he would be the one to buy you a journal and I didn’t have to do that. I told him I knew I didn’t have to; I did it because I wanted to. And so it came to be that I was, in fact, able to give you that gift, from me to you; along with a few Civil War trinkets I’d found while rummaging an antique show at the mall.

I still have the little thank you card that you gave me, with the watermelon, pink and white polka dots and tiny bow on the front; in a little leather box where I keep special mementos. I wasn’t around long enough to know if you ever filled that journal, though I’m sure that you did. And I’d like to think you’ve been keeping one ever since.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw you, after the truth was revealed; we were in Bealls, you were with your mom and I was by myself; you saw me and smiled, made a motion in my direction, as if you wanted to come talk to me; and then your smile faded and a look of sadness and disappointment washed over your face, when you caught yourself and remembered that I was the enemy.

And so the other day when you left with your coffee, got in your car parked right next to mine; no longer that precious little boy who I once shared a special and fleeting bond with, but a grown young man, with a future wide open; you sat there and waited, wondering if I recognized you, wondering if I would acknowledge in some way; but I didn’t, because I couldn’t.

And the reason I couldn’t is because I’ve no idea what thoughts or stories have been put in your head; about me, about the situation, what truths or lies; and the last thing I wanted, was for you to think that my looking in your direction and acknowledging you with even a smile, was somehow inappropriate on my part.

But as I drove away, my own thoughts tormenting my mind as they have for so long now, I thought about what you wrote by the campfire, all those years ago –

No matter what thoughts are inside our head, it doesn’t mean we really are who we think we are.

Thank you for that.

©2012 jill terry
Jillterry.com


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