Rebecca

I wrote this piece below the other day to try explaining to everyone that we are here no matter what happens to the earth. I realize that the earth could explode and dust/and or vapor would be all that is left. Whatever. Some particle of life will be there. Some substance of our presence will be there. 

Saying that I thought about my mother and her presence on earth. Her physical presence has not been found or I am not aware of whoever knows of her presence on this planet but I realize this. She is here. 

She loved, lived and became a mother of three children that I am aware of. She was a sister in a family who say that are not aware of her present existence today. All that is left to me is speculation about her whereabouts. So I now I know that in a photo taken from space of this planet that my mother’s dust or presence will be there. Her marble marker in life is here in these words and every photo of earth. 

Her life is in my substance and in my families. Life should have been better for her. 

Rebecca

*** 

We are the dust as we are the body. I am going thru a phase where I understand words. This should have happened when I was sixteen years old. Well whatever if by some chance I'll be reincarnated as some minute particle on this planet of ours I want to be completely aware of my standing in life. When they take a photo of the earth from space to give us our weather and show us a nice snapshot of earth. We are there with all the animals and trees and rocks and sand. The water moves about in waves and our long lost and departed are there. Nothing has changed but time as it passes. We are there on earth, we exist, and we occupy our space in time. We can't seem to see our bodies or the soil beneath our feet but we know we are there. We are the dust as we are the body. 

Rebecca

*** 

Do we as humans blunder into places where our mind has no business being? You know the place that keeps us up all night with worry and a chocolate high. The place where the heart races to undo the damage of lost sleep. How do we get back to the place where whatever we see is there? Do we have to count on our fingers about this little piggy? Are we getting closer to the point in time that sees the word before you and as you look away you see whatever you eyes see? Can we clearly see the puzzle? Are we there? Are we here? Are we at the place our scholars talk about? The answer is always yes at this time and no we are not in 1945 but we do understand that they were as aware as we are now. 

Rebecca

*** 

We read poetry and sometimes a great novel. History and biographies pass along our paths. Sometimes we meet a human that is a novel, a human story, a biography, and a person with a life that is a story. 

Could it be that each one of us is indeed that great novel? We as individuals are cloaked in suspense and drama, veiled in insecurities and peaceful oblivion. We share what all great writers write about, we carry our novels in our souls as we walk into that great storeroom of good words. This is a nice thought. 

Rebecca 

*** 

Things you hate to write down but somehow you must. Berea, Ky. in the late 1980's. My sister Sandy told me that my father had said to her that a good place to hide a body is under a tree. Deep down in her heart my sister was not impressed with that statement. 

Marion, Ky. in the year 2002. 

On our recent trip to California my stepsister Diane told me that my father had threatened my stepmother Gladys by saying that she could be buried under a tree. She left him in the late 1970's or 80's. I do not know if that particular event opened the gate but it was probably close to the end for them being together. I have come to the conclusion that my mother is buried in some beautiful garden in California. My grandfather and his sons including my father worked at a prominent garden in the San Gabriel Valley. My grandfather worked all the years that I remember at this garden.