Friday, November 11, 2011

Journal 90 11-11-11

I don't know who painted this beautiful work I found on the web this morning while looking for a suitable image to represent my feelings toward Remembrance Day today.
I just know I love how it's painted, and how the sunshine is soft, as if it had been gone for a while, and was just peeking back in after the dust settled, like some huge event had just happened, but there it was following that event, shining over the flowers, nature still standing, still awe-inspiring.

That's where I am a little bit in life right now. The dust is settling, I've got things to do, plans to make, and I'm doing my best, the person that I am, to make things feel right, to take the fear away, and to take care of myself. It's something that I thought/felt that I was doing, maybe I haven't been so much.

It's been another long, tough week, despite Mike being here (which is the non-tough part of things. Mike is part of the Great, always is). It's the work stuff, the life stuff, the other stuff. It's like I can't get out of this fog that I've been in.
The emotions, that come with no warning, like this morning, on the drive in to work, early (I had a meeting), and Dire Straits' "Brothers in Arms" coming onto Q107 to remind us of Remembrance Day. I thought of all the brave soldiers (I'm one of those people, thanks to my Dad and his amazing views on this, that knows that although war is not the answer, it is sometimes the only option) who gave their lives, the 158 alone in Afghanistan. I thought, too of my Dad going to the overpass in Ajax to watch the processions on the Highway of Heroes. I thought about how that was important to me to mention during the eulogy that my sister and I gave at his funeral. I thought about how he went to a Remembrance Day ceremony every single year, because it meant something to him, to show his respect and solemn pride in the sacrifices made by those who serve in our military.

At 11 am this morning, we did the two minutes of silence at my office. I was with a client in the showroom, not up in my office, but we stood silently, along with other staff and customers. As I stood I got lost in my own quiet thoughts, and noticed that, like the painting at the top of this post, the sun was trying to come out, weakly at first, then waning again, throughout the two minutes of silence. I tried, in my head, to think of the poem "In Flanders Fields" but instead found my mind going back to that favourite poem of mine, "Try to Praise the Mutilated World" that I first read in the September 11th, 2001, issue of the New Yorker (you can read it here--
This is the line that jumped out at me (that always jumps out at me):
"Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns."

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