So many questions in life. So few answers that make any sense. Problem is, the questions never change. The answers, over time, most always do.

Sometimes I wish I could collect my answers to life’s unrelenting questions and nail them to a wall where I could always see them and they would never change.

So many times, when I examine my beliefs, it’s like watching a sunset. One minute I see a mix of colors, layered, one on top of the other, moving, perhaps curling around themselves. If I close my eyes for thirty seconds, then look again, the sky is different. Colors are a deeper shade,They’ve repositioned themselves to form something sometimes more beautiful than what I saw before I closed my eyes.

My belief about spirits is sort of like that. And to be honest, I’m still trying to figure it out myself. When I’m in a “figuring something out about myself” mood, I often turn to the natural world to guide me. It might be a tree, a plant, a bird, a cricket... anything I can coax into a conversation. The key to this is to look at the world the way they see it.

So, I’m going to let you eavesdrop on one of these talks. This one, however, I did not initiate. Instead, a powerful resident of the natural world approached me.

“So, do you believe spirits really exist?” I was asked.

“Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t.” I answered.

“Tell me more.”

“Well, I believe that if I can’t see something or touch it or hold in my hand, then it isn’t real. So, since I’ve never seen or touched or held a spirit in my hand, it must not be real.”

“What about me? Can you see or touch me?”

I had to stop and think. I’d never been privileged to discuss anything with the wind before.

“What about me?” Wind asked again. “Can you see me? Can you hold me in your hand?”

“No. I can’t. I cannot see or touch you. I cannot hold you in my hand.”

“Then are you saying I am not real?”

“Yea –eee—aaa--es,” I said slowly, drawing out the “Yes” into three or four different syllables. “I guess I am.”

“Are you sure?” Wind persisted.

“Yes. But No. Not really.” I stammered. “Because I see what you do. You make the leaves on the trees rustle against each other. You make the sheets and blankets dance on a clothesline. You push against the sails on a boat and send it skimming across the water. You have power to delight or destroy. You touch things.”

“Have you ever felt me touch you?” Wind’s voice was soft. Quiet. Gentle.

“Yes, yes I have. And when you do, something changes for me. I might find strength I didn’t know I had if you are trying to knock me down. Or maybe you whisk away my fears or you might advise me to pay attention to them. You’ve also sent things tumbling my way that I didn’t expect.”

“Then, perhaps I am real.”

“Perhaps you are.”

And I understood. I cannot touch a spirit. I cannot see it or hold it in my hand. But a spirit can touch me.

And when it does, things happen.

You want to know the worst thing I have ever done? Before we go any further, answer me three questions. You need to know this because...? What will you do with the information? Use it some way that could get me in trouble?

The worst thing I have ever done is something noone will ever know. I'm not even sure I know myself. There are a couple of things I've done that tie for the title of "the worst thing". It's a photo finish, but the camera malfunctioned when they crossed the finish line.

So, I guess we'll both walk away, wondering... What's the worse thing I have ever done?

I miss the days of my youth. Every sunrise welcomed me into minutes and hours to unleash unbridled strength and energy as I roamed the 80 acres of our dairy farm in Northern Indiana.

I miss the suspense of crawling between scratchy bales of hay, stopping to listen for the sound of meowing newborn kittens.

I miss watching my black and white English Shepherd dog, Dick, race toward me. As the distance between us grew smaller and smaller, the unconditional love I saw became bigger and bigger.

I miss the sound of my dad’s voice in early morning, calling the cows to come from the back pasture to the barn for milking. “Co-Boss. Co-Boss. Co-Boss”

I miss the feel of the gentle tug of the soft-bristled brush when my mom helped me untangle my unruly hair. I miss hearing her say, “There. It’s all better now.”

I miss the times when I was able to hug my children’s tears into laughter when they were troubled. I miss the many times they came running into the house with a “Mom, come and see what we found; look at what we did; guess what we’re going to do.”

I miss being able to cuddle them and hold them close to me.

I miss the chances I had to be a better mom. I want those chances back. I know I would have done better.

I miss holding my breath at a high school sock hop, wondering, “Is he going to ask ME to dance?” as I stood with the girls by the wall, watching a boy walk toward us. I needn’t have wondered. He didn’t. He asked my girlfriend. So, I started breathing again.

This list could go on for forever. And I suppose it’s OK to give oneself time to reflect back and relive the “missed” things. Spending time ponying up the things I “miss” makes me aware of the challenges I met head-on, with fearlessness and confidence.

After all, my life today is the sum total of the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years and decades I have been breathing the air that surrounds me.

When I put it all together, I can honestly tell you who and what I am.

I am one of the most perfectly, imperfect people who ever walked this earth.

© Margaret Cook Jan 3, 2020

Come with me?

Are you sure you want to?

The journey won't be easy.

I won't always be the person you want me to be.

Just as you won't always be the person I want you to be.

There will be moments of unspeakable joy

And unbearable sorrow.

Come with me...

If you dare.

But let us not promise each other

To stay together

Till the end.

Rain.

Falling in Sheets.

Unceasing.

The devil watches.

His victims, trapped in a cage of eternal scorching hot flames pead for mercy.

The devil rubs his hands together and flings peels of laughter into the sky.

For the firey place belongs to him. To him alone.

But the rain is falling. It does not cease.

His domain, his kingdom alive with fire begins to wither.

The roar and fury of hungry red-blue-orange flames soften into sizzles.

Fuzzy puffballs of steam rise up from the ground.

Rain.

Water.

Water, Source of Life brings compassion, justice and love into a hurting world.

The Devil Watches

And Trembles.

... a warm chocolate chip cookie and hot cup of cinnamon tea has the power to turn my upside-down-world back into being right-side-up again.

... a rainbow has power to refresh my spirit.

... Stopping the car and saving a turtle in the middle of a road from being smashed is the right thing to do.

... Seeing something as lovly as a field of sunflowers beneath a brilliant blue sky can surely cure something that is out-of-whack in my soul.

... the fragrance of a field of new-mown hay is what puts a smile on this old woman's lips as it takes her back to her carefree growing-up summer days roaming the seemingly endless 80 acre farm that was her childhood home.

... Road Apples are not meant to be baked in a pie. And cowpies are not meant to be eaten.

... Failing to return a stranger's smile is the wrong thing to do.

... if music to your ears is not the same as music to my ears, it doesn't matter. Music is in the ear of the beholder.

... if I ever have to choose between hiring someone to clean my house or someone to drive me to wherever I want to go, I will choose the driver.

... life is more fun when you let yourself take delight in simple things, such as the color of the rainbow in butterfly wings, the melody you hear when the coral bells ring... the sweet, sweet song that the sparrow sings and, well, I think you get the idea.

These things I believe with every fiber of my being.

Sharp.

Like firmly pressing the tip of my finger against a harsh piece of sandpaper and slowly drawing it across the rough surface.

Shrill.

Out of place. Like listening to a lullaby being played on a piano and the musician pounds out discords of notes that are sharp when the signature says they should be flat.

Sour.

Like sucking on a lemon.

Scary,

Will it never end?

Brutal.

I can't take it anymore.

1. The days of my youth have become the days of my old age.

2. Once I was naive. This has not changed.

3. I now know the things I can live without are the things I once thought I could not live without.

4. There is a deep silence in my life caused by knowing I will never again hear the sweet voices of people who have stepped off the edge of this earth and entered whatever lies beyond the last day of life.

5. I believe the most valuable gift I can give is to lay my judgmental mind to rest so my compassionate heart can receive and hear your words