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Sacred Journey

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When we lose a loved one,

What matters is we miss

Fulfillment of the expectation:

“Things should be like this . . . “

A sister with no brother or a wife without her spouse,

An orphan who has parents . . .

Sometimes life is just about

Connections we make with our maker,

Guiding angels, too

The ones that whisper softly with supportive flags and clues.

Death has many faces, so does “life” - both very real.

Both able to feed gratitude, as well as block and steal.

Our gratitude is fed when expectation is fulfilled.

Distraction from our disappointment feeds grief which is fueled

By blocking of the energy that’s meant to heal and give

Abundant joy in sharing heartfelt moments while we live.

Yet boundary redefining self-protects when we define

Another family member as ‘the stranger’ any time.

When siblings treat each other as “the villain” that’s a clue . . .

When spouses don’t share values, that’s a separation, too.

When children self-discover that their ethics do collide

With those taught by their parents, there’s more death though they’re alive.

So when we lose a loved one, what matters is we miss

Fulfillment of the expectation: “Things should be like this.”

~Iankowitz

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Eyelids stained as if tattooed, She sees what is not there. He adores her as he strokes Her head and soft gray hair. Years of sunshine so enjoyed Have marked her fragile skin. Wisdom she was known for now floats in and out again. I know her life was very full, I feel this in my soul . . . Yet witnessing transition such as this Does take a toll. I am here for both of them As they have been for me . . . But not because “I should . . . “ Just ‘cause it’s where I want to be. They are my “creator” . . . for, in truth I came through them. They invested all they could with tools they had back then. They encouraged me to seek out mentors who could guide So I’d fulfill potential that was mine deep down inside. They made many errors in their judgment as I grew, But love and safety were their gifts to me . . . I always knew That they were there for me without a question or a doubt. And now I’m here for them to see they’ll never go without. He gently holds her arm to steady her, each step she takes. He worries for, at times, her hand extended often shakes. He tucks her in and trims her nails, He listens for her call. He watches her so carefully to catch, if she should fall. She yells at him, then thanks him for all that he means to her. Crisp memories . . . some true, some false . . . It seems life was a blur. But it was filled with meaning as They shared their ups and downs. They planted seeds and watched them grow . . . Their gratitude was found When life brought them together, so well suited – they felt ‘home’ . . . And as I live and breathe I’ll be sure neither is alone. There are some days Dad and I discuss what’s yet to be. We have it figured out, but that’s just intellect, you see. My emotions cannot grasp what my head seems to know. G-D, is this my challenge? Must my heart learn to let go? Alas, perhaps “let go” is not quite what I need to learn. I process but don’t understand how Sun and Moon take turns. I know embracing blessings can enrich each day we’re here . . . I’ve learned to channel energy to heal pain, grief and fear. I guess the lesson simply put is how to honor time . . . To heal myself mind/ body/ spirit . . . learning to say: “mine.” To make my life a blessing – YES! That’s what I now must learn So I can feel fulfilled, as I look back, when it’s my turn. ~Universe’Secretary

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Meant To Be

She became his strength, companion, Soul Mate, loving friend.

They began a love story that will not ever end.

Other girls were simply stars within a galaxy,

But in his solar system she became his SUN, you see.

She adored the city while he loved each country road.

They both compromised as they established their abode.

Raised their kids: suburban schools; vacationed on The Land,

Always on each other’s team through life, both hand in hand.

She appreciated music – sang and played guitar,

Also played piano and was never very far

From instruments; she passed her talent onto Steve, their son

Who took up clarinet and filled her heart with more than one

Of his own talents . . . they shared many. Steve: dearly adored.

They were so connected . . . thoughts, philosophies explored.

Steve helped save her sanity when Nan, their first born child

Would talk a blue streak and insist on things that made Mom wild.

Nan wanted to understand each speck of dust, you see,

In later years true understanding served to set both free.

Early on, Dan earned degrees . . . worked fingers to the bone,

Nita raised kids, cooked and cleaned while he was rarely home.

Gave up her jet set career, but kept her mind quite sharp

Crossword puzzles done in ink, homemade bait for fishing: carp.

All enjoyed their weekend car trips, twilights off the jetty,

Fires made between rocks at Fort Totton – always ready

With a match or flint and steel with cotton balls they were

An independent family sharing love so strong and sure.

Through the years there were mistakes, regrets and sadness, too

Miscommunication every family makes, but if they grew

From any lessons offered by the Universe they were

How to find our place in life as he sure found with her.

Both with baggage of their own, together so complete.

Both with fears long since outgrown, and nether very neat . . .

Living life with joy and laughter, feeling safe, secure

Learning how to trust and give one’s heart – this is for sure

The essence of examples set – the gift they pass along.

How to trust your heart in love while feeling weak yet strong.

Yes they set examples of how love can set two free.

How trust and faith enriches when you’re where you’re meant to be.

©2014 by N.E.C. Iankowitz All rights reserved

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From the moment we are born, we have 'a past.' Everything we experience along our journey impacts us. We are, at this moment, a sum total of everything we have ever seen, heard, smelled, tasted, felt . . . and you can fill in your own blanks. This moment is an opportunity to choose to permit ourselves to learn and grow from or hide behind (in fear) anything we choose.

Asking ourselves what our priorities are helps us decide where to put energy. What do we care about? What are our goals? Who/what do we value? These are questions we ask silently in order to self-reflect to facilitate greater internal awareness so that we can be genuine in our dealings with others - at work, at home and throughout our daily interactions, wherever they may occur.

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A Trip To The Post Office

 

I adore this little town called Holmes because, you see,

It has the perfect combination of dear folk for me.

When we came here, it was barely 1994-

It was the year of 20 snowstorms, (I wished that there were more).

 

Here we are 2003, and I am right at home . . .

Amid the trees, the deer and mountains, who could feel alone?

 

Well, back then when we just moved in, the post office was just

Inside a little trailer . . . you could laugh so loud, you’d bust.

You see, I came from Queens and so life there, as you may know,

Compared to this small town was, well, let’s just say this one’s slow.

A few years passed and soon Holmes built a building proud and tall,

So modern and so beautiful, some said it did beat all.

 

Today is January 13, 2003,

And here is what my trip to send a package did for me:

I walked right up to Mary, and she smiled and said my name.

I handed her my package and, I greeted her the same.

Behind me was a woman with red lipstick and pink blush,

And last in line a quiet man stood, clearly in no rush.

He also smiled and gently stroked rough whiskers on his chin.

The missing teeth and soft green twinkling eyes defined his grin.

Upon his head a brown fur hat, his coat hung large and long-

Yet this old man did not seem frail – his voice so sure and strong.

 

We chatted lightly all about the cold and biting frost.

We each guessed what the wind chill was, and then he laughed and tossed

His head back as he shared a tale of years passed fast and free,

The story this man shared this morning warmed the soul in me.

He said “The cold wind bites the flesh, beneath the sky, so blue-

But I remember bathing outside in such cold . . . it’s true!”

His age and clothing seemed to both defend all that he said,

This fascinating man with the fur hat upon his head.

 

He laughed, “Without a wind the steam would go straight up, you see.

And such a hot bath in the winter!  That’s the best to me!”

 

The package I brought in was then scanned electronically,

Just as he shared his sweet tale of “days-gone-by” with me.

 

Mary scanned the bar code, then she told me to ‘log on’

To check the status of the package after it had gone.

I marveled at the beauty of his story of “those days”

Hot wooden bucket baths in frost . . . right under sun’s bright rays

Just as the other woman talked about her new web page . . .

How wonderful to hear his story from another age.

 

This interesting man’s whiskers, hat and coat confirmed the truth

About the story of the bath that he took in his youth.

 

I hope the flavor of his long life never will be lost.

I remain so grateful that this morning our paths crossed.

 

©2003 by NEC Iankowitz     All Rights Reserved

 

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