Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Where Yesterday and Tomorrow Become Today

     Yesterday, my son, Nick, and I spent the entire day together, enjoying each other's company. The only plans we made were to go to visit Elaine, a very dear friend of mine, who was in Atlanta to promote her new book and give intuitive readings at a little cafe in Buckhead. Elaine and I met each other in the summer of 1975. Her dad was a psychiatrist, and had accepted a position working with my father, also a psychiatrist, at the new regional psychiatric hospital in Columbus, GA. Elaine's family moved to Georgia from Kansas, just like my family did the summer before. Both of us were from large Catholic families. She had six siblings, and I had five, and our households were similar in that they were both pleasantly chaotic. Elaine and I shared a passionate love of art. As teenagers, we spent a considerable amount of time together, drawing, painting, and making little art films. We were fascinated with the human form, as well as the mysteries of the universe. She is possibly the only person I know who can see auras, as well as fairies and sprites; she is the embodiment of pure, innocent magic. As young adults, Elaine and I lived in Atlanta, and at one point, we were roommates. Over the span of our 37 years of knowing each other, we've lost touch quite a few times, each of us experiencing life's trials and tribulations in different ways. That time out of touch only seems to have intensified the brilliance of our illustrious connection. We enjoy the same type of perpetual spiritual kinship that I'd previously only known with my father. He was also a gifted artist, and although he died almost ten years ago, my bond with him is just as tangible and accessible now as it was when he was living. Elaine knew my father very well and tells me that she senses him everywhere. I do, too.
     Dad used to drive down from Marietta to take me out to lunch in Little Five Points when I was about Nick's age. We'd spend the afternoon together, doing whatever we felt like. Sometimes, we'd talk about things, but words weren't essential because we intimately knew each other's minds. In that sense, nothing was left unspoken. Many of Nick's mannerisms remind me of my father, especially his candid youthful wisdom and his passion for learning. He pours himself into whatever he's curious about, just like his grandfather. Like Dad and me, Nick is also a free spirit, young at heart. As we sat together, waiting to see Elaine, I thought about how my connections with him, her, and my father were coming full circle, a repurposed, elemental host of ancient souls, convening spontaneously and naturally. Profoundly aware of the illusion of time's arrow, the specter of causality erased, I lucidly recalled future events. Yesterday and tomorrow became today, with a now-ness so electrifying it was sensual, sexual,  forbidden, and in that moment, everything and nothing coalesced and collided, crashing like cymbals, quiet as a mouse. We are all artists, lovers, seekers, and joiners. Sometimes, we forget who we are. We're central, not peripheral, each of us an intricately unique expression of the universe. We're here now, yet we've always been. Ephemeral and steadfast, enduring and transient, we say goodbye, but never really part ways.
Nick, me, and Elaine

14 comments:

  1. Wow, I was very moved reading. Made me think of my father, deceased many moon now. Do you think everyone has an artist trying to get out? It sounds as thow your lunch and day with your san was a great experience. I wish you to have many more in the future.

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    1. Thanks, Steven! I do think everyone has artistic qualities. I remember reading your story about how your father died a few months back...so compelling.

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  2. I love this post so much! So cool that Nick and Elaine were able to spend some time together. I am sure it was like a fabulous family reunion of sorts. And I am also sure your father was right in the midst of it all!

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    1. Oh Barbara, it is difficult to convey how wonderful it was to be together...so many incredible feelings, old and new.

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  3. "in that moment, everything and nothing coalesced and collided, crashing like cymbals, quiet as a mouse".

    I have never seen or heard the eternal present moment put into words in a more eloquent and moving way.
    Incredibly beautiful Kris.

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  4. I loved this, Kris. Such beautiful thoughts eloquently put. It gave me the warm fuzzies!

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  5. Kris, what a rich life you have, and all because of your incredible openness to people and the world inside and around you. I imagine everyone you meet must be as moved by you, as you are by them.

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  6. Consider that students, athletes and performing artists are often advised to to creatively visualize their successful performance. Creative visualization motivates them but is that motivation influenced by what perspective they take when imagining their performance? I have found the answer is "yes". I try to envision my own performance from the perspective of the audience in advance of any performance.

    While visiting my friend, her daughters and their daughters this past weekend I recalled the past and looked into the future. What I saw was the many happy times we shared and the happy times ahead that we will all share with the little ones.

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  7. "...crashing as cymbals, quiet as a mouse..." - nice imagery to capture one moment out of a myriad in human existence! It is so important to remain connected to those who refresh our spirits. This is a facet of life we all too often push aside for other 'busy' things...

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  8. Kris, I really enjoyed this post! :) It’s wonderful to have a special spiritual connection the way you do with friend of 37 years. And I like that your son Nick is a free spirit. I can relate to that! Amazing that your friend can see auras. My younger sister sees auras. I wish I could! She has an uncanny sense of knowing when someone is ill by the color of their aura (not minor stuff like colds but major illnesses). It’s all fascinating to me!

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    1. i find that ability fascinating,too...it indicates a true openness and sense of connectedness with other people

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