Sunday, June 22, 2008

Epiphany - The Secret to Life

I have found the secret of life.

It was an epiphany of sorts. Many years ago I had an idea for a short story, the premise of which moved me. I have never been a very disciplined writer and found it hard to complete the story. I kept coming to holes in the logic or questions that I could not answer for the characters. When I first discovered that I had this talent I relied heavily on inspiration to create my art. But as I got older and became more responsible for my own existence, I found that I had less time for meditation. The business of life kept intruding. Even though I had an idea for a story, I lacked the sufficient inspiration that I felt that I needed to write the story. So, the story languished in my notes.

During my agnostic years I read a lot of existentialist literature. You know, where death gives meaning to life. The premise of the story is where a young man finishes his college career and then wanders through life looking for the true satisfaction, spiritual and professional fulfillment. He stumbles across a cemetery and finds great satisfaction in taking care of the graves. This little celebration of lives touched me. A life should stand for something. A life should have meaning.

Over the years this story haunted me. I had no details for it. I had a lot of ideas for plots with still the same basic premise. One idea kept going through my story. I had this line, this phrase, that some might call blasphemy, but for the sake of my story I thought appropriate. "What if God forgot?" What if god forgot to take someone home. And then last year several very spiritual things happened. I will not go into the details of my spiritual life, other than to say that I believe in God. My children have converted me.

First, I was having a conversation with a friend, an administrator in a geriatric care facility and she told me of a 100 year old patient whom she felt God had forgotten. She had stolen my phrase.

Second, I was reading an article in the paper last year about this lady in Riverside County who claims the bodies of the dumpster babies of LA. They too have been forgotten in some way. She claims the bodies of these infants who have no one else in this life to love them. This lady has set up a part of a cemetery in Riverside County where these babies are buried and loved. She calls the place the Garden of Angels. I figured that this was a holy place.

And that brings me to my pilgrimage. I went to the garden of angels to speak with God and I believe that He spoke to me. I was looking for that very inspiration that I had when I was younger. The ability to write from my heart. Bare my soul. I was asking God for some sort of guidance. I stood over the graves of those poor, forgotten babies and selfishly looked for some inspiration to satisfy my own search. I was seeking some sort of redemption, some guidance. I was asking God to finish my story for me. I stood there for about twenty minutes. I read the plaques, I read the names on the crosses.

As I have gotten older, now I realize that I must put more into it. The burden is that I must work on writing now and not rely on the muses. What I write must come from my own talents, from my own efforts.

I think I received my answer. On the way home from the 'Garden of Angels', I was waiting for the answer. I received no sign. Nothing. I had no overwhelming feeling that the place was a holy place. I saw no visions, heard no voices. But on the way home it occurred to me that perhaps was my answer. No response, meant only that I was on my own. This meant that it is up to me to finish the story. There will be no inspiring places, no vision or voices telling me what to write. The only way my ideas will become stories is for me to write them.

The power is within me. And that leads me here. I have found the secret to life. That is find those things that make you happy, that give you satisfaction, that fulfill your life and pursue them. Hobbies, avocations, whatever lifts your spirit. It is in the pursuit of these things that happiness is found. You can do it.
D.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

fortune cookies

When my wife and I were first engaged and in the exploratory stages or our relationship, there were always questions of whether we were doing the right thing. During one of our intimate dinner dates we went to a popular Chinese Restaurant in Lake Tahoe. After the beautiful and delicious dinner the waiter brought the fortune cookies. My wife's fortune cookie told her to "Stop looking, happiness is seated right next to you". We still have those two fortune cookies in our scrap book.

And twenty years later we are still enjoying fortune cookies. It seems like after every Chinese meal that we have had that fortune cookie always comes up. Recently, we went out to dinner and my wife and I took our children out for Chinese food. After our meal as we sat there in a cramped booth, we again discussed our fortune cookies. My son said his told him he would always live in comfort and material wealth. My daughter's said she would take a trip with a friend.

My daughter then asked me what my fortune said. I told her it said "Stop looking, happiness is seated right next to you." She asked my wife what her fortune said. I said that it said "Someday your prince will come". And then my wife, from the other side of the cramped booth said, "Yeah, and he wont have any place to sit."

I guess the honeymoon is over.

Monday, June 2, 2008

Disposable Children

He came to us the newly adopted laughing boy,
A joy to the kids and babies at our daycare.
The laughing boy went home to loving arms at end of day.
A mama’s joy.

As days went by the laughing slowed.
A little boy misses his baby brother, another foster child,
Another home.
Mama’s joy unites them at last.
The two adopted laughing boys.

The laughing boys played hard.
Their love was shared.
But boys come home at night, to a quiet house,
And loudly played and played…

And mama’s joy turned angry. Quiet time is what she craved.
Parent’s get tired from work.
Stresses build and
Become unbearable.
Call the agency, contracts broken
We can’t handle this, we can’t handle two, loud, noisy boys.

The agency arrives and tells the boys.
Little boys go where they are told
They never make friends, they are bought and sold
Passed around and loved from home to home,
To grow into the realm of the crowded and alone.

August 29, 2006


C. 2006 David Normand

Just thought I would share this. Any comments?