—∞—
To run out of time Knowing There’s not enough time At a certain age After much has been done Little is left Nothing awaits Expectations met Yet Something is missing Snatched away, Actually But to regain That being denied To reclaim, to undo To heal Takes time There’s not enough time I’m afraid At a certain age© 2013 Thomas W. Cummins
Yesterday we visited the remaining spouse of a couple we have known for 49 years. She is now a widow of ten days.
As we talked, I was reminded of the lyrics of the song by Gilbert O’Sullivan, “Alone Again Naturally”:
Couldn’t understand Why the only man She had ever loved Had been takenThis post is a bit tardy. Father’s Day was a day of being more conscious of my own fatherhood rather than that of my father.
My father passed away in 1991. Shortly following his death, I had two very brief, clear, distinct dreams.
The first dream was at some sort of beach, or seaside. Dad was in the water up to his waist with his back to the shore. He was standing exactly where the sun was hitting the water, and the brilliant glitter reflected off the small waves blinded me to the point of his being nearly invisible. Fifty yards, or so, separated us.
I called out to him, and he turned his head slightly to the right seemingly having heard something. My voice, for some reason, wasn’t audible to me, as though calling out in a wind storm. That was the extent of that dream.
In the second dream I was walking down some unrecognizable hallway. As I walked past an open door, I saw my father sitting in a straight chair by a window. Wearing a white shirt, no tie, sleeves rolled up a couple of turns, and khaki slacks, he appeared to be in his early 30s with black hair and a mustache. He had his legs crossed. A cigarette hung from his fingers as he looked toward the door.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Yes,” was his reply.
And that was that dream. I am sure Dad has been somewhere in hundreds of dreams over the past 22 years, but only these two survived into the daylight and my memory.
It is more than a bit interesting that the second dream found my father free from his paralyzing disease and massive stroke that rendered him speechless the last six months of his life. Gone were the ravages of career disappointments, shattered hopes and dreams, the end of flying airplanes, the debilitating effects of alcohol.
He was restored to a state of being that I would have seen at the age of three or four. An amazing and easily recallable image. In that dream, all had been erased back to Dad’s young fatherhood and the beginning of his career.
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The threshold Of the future Is pulled forward Slowly and surely Second by second Or stands still As the past Slips away Retreating fitfully But never completely Our yesterdays linger Sometimes Directly behind Taunting Or back around a dim corner Barely accessible If warm and pleasant Abruptly intrusive Uninvited If unhappy or filled with regrets But what of our tomorrows? Sometimes Filled with hopes and dreams Or other times with dread Uncertainty Days and years Lying ahead Our dwelling place To be Fleetingly or longer Yet, they are Empty Years Waiting to be filled By us or circumstance Health, family Resources, friends A spiritual foundation A sense Of the Other All shape A life to come But, really, isn’t it now, The present, That will ultimately decide? Our sense of self Now Our willing to be Now Our gratitude – now Isn’t that what shapes us, Now, and in the years to come? How we view the past Our acceptance of self and others A willingness to be present© 2013 Thomas W. Cummins
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“Since 1941” Proclaims the logo On the paper cup Torké Coffee Roasting Company I sip the coffee A train lumbering by Filled with grain A mournful early-morning whistle Announced earlier 1941: my natal year But now A train slowly passing Evokes a childhood memory My maternal grandfather A locomotive engineer Time collapses Looking out the window Many years Overflowing with joyful memories Hopes Dreams Others (few, but too many) Tinged with sadness Disappointments Confusion Anxiety Loneliness What brings This reflection This day In front of this window? A convergence – “Since 1941” and … A train slowly passing© 2013 Thomas W. Cummins
In a dim light... 