You are Still Loved

I am devastated to hear about the loss of a friend today. This person touched many lives with comments of hope and love. This post is to let her know that she was loved–her soul is now loved–along with her daughter and family.

In blogging, many of us write as catharsis–we celebrate joys, hold hands through sorrows and laugh in between. We form connections–at best, we make friendships and, at the least, try to bare honest souls on computer screens. We try to communicate that, while despair sometimes flirts, there is always hope . . . .

Then there are these unexplained tragedies we can’t wrap our heads around and leave large holes in their wake. These tragedies make us look at our own lives, our relationships, our selves. We hope that, despite misunderstandings, the people we hold within our hearts know how much we love them. That way, if the unforseeable happens, our loved ones who remain have our love to hold onto.

Sancheeta, you are missed. I hope this post honors a fraction of what you meant to those of us blessed to know you. Safe, peaceful travels.

With love,

Pamela

For those of you who need to hear this, don’t ever g i v e up.

Life

Dear Friends,

You know when life keeps coming at you like an AKA-47? Well, that’s what it’s been like here. I’ve missed writing for “fun” and with my blogoversary coming up in a couple days I’m feeling the pressure to write–something–anything from my heart. Any of you going through some trying moments, days, months, years–I feel you.

Good thing there’s this little thing that Emily Dickinson writes about:  “Hope is the thing with feathers/That perches in the soul . . . .”

So for anyone else waiting for “news” for a loved one (or yourself) and praying, wishing, believing for the best–know you’re not alone. We’re all out here in cyber space together–holding virtual hands.

Life can be a series of “whys” with only a “because” for an answer. We do our best to live in the now and appreciate everything and everyone good in our lives.

I’ll leave you with a quote that has spoken to me and I’ll be seeing you all soon.

The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places. 
But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now 
mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater.”
~J. R. R. Tolkien

Sincerely,

Pamela

On the Flip Side

 A quick post in the throes of preparing, readying, prepping, steeling oneself for what lies ahead. Time, that elusive fate thrower, has taken aim and hurled darts this way, leaving us dodging left, right, up, down. Attempts to avoid the pain of biting steel punctures. Present has accelerated.  Near future breathes heavily on our necks. There is no inkling of what will be. No psychic knowledge. No spiritual prophesy. Just time and life and waiting plus that impenetrable shield of hope. See you on the flip side . . . .

Deluge

Lately, I haven’t written much here. Not because words have eluded me but because life has been a deluge.  I have been umbrella-less, soaked, face upturned, eyes closed, experiencing a light drizzle matting down my hair, and, other moments, being subjected to stinging, pelting torrents.  In between the tumultuous extremes, I have felt warmth breaking through the lumpy, gray clouds.  The sensation of sunlight on my eyelids that have caused them to fly open.  When I have looked up through dampened lashes, I have glimpsed rainbows.  Day after day after day.  Not one or two or three, more like five or six.  Extravagant jewels in the skies.  At times, only a fragment of multi-colored hues, but rainbows just the same.  I have savored them, letting my gaze remain fixed on their transparent beauty.  My emotions have soared amidst the slowly moving skyscape, flitting here and there, bathed in flecks of violet and indigo.  A sense of hope has permeated my spirit.  There is no shaking it off, no angry skies that can blanket it, no lightening zig zags that can electrocute it.  Anticipation remains, expectant, receptive to whatever it is that is now concealed by a watery, dribbling mist.

To Wear Rainbows Again

she longed to be
clothed in rainbows
stained in perfect
hues of red orange
indigo yellow blue
green violet soaked
in dripping shades of
fulfilled promises and
unwavering trust
she yearned to be
drenched in joy
illuminated in perfect
light of glass mosaics
emerald amber violet
Egyptian blue ruby glowing
in incense colors of
answered prayers and
unshakeable faith
she needed to be
held in love
clasped in perfect
arms of the one with
fire water wind
soothed
in the embrace of
eternal solace and
re-kindled hope

Pamela A. Rossow

Butterweed

she stood a child amidst
waving grasses a cupped
butterweed flower in her
hands slowly she closed
her eyes letting the
azure mist of the skies
drench her soul gently
she began to pluck each
petal a flaxen butterfly
fluttering to the ground
descending in a graceful
dance he loves me he
loves me not he loves
me he loves me. . .
she paused eyes
closed

Pamela A. Rossow