The Choreographer of Life

“............The doctor said,
“There are things we can do which might give you time,
but we cannot cure you.” My father said,  
“Thank you.” And he sat, motionless, alone,  
with the dignity of a foreign leader.”
- Sharon Olds

When my father received the final message, this was what he had left to fight for - dignity.

I have shipped the oars, he said.

It was we who were not prepared to let him go.

Erin of “the tiny leaf” had me wondering. Do we own our bodies? Do we own our lives? Why are we so afraid of dying?

I have no answer but asking new questions. How can we not fear the unknown? It is only natural, like the naturalness of dying. Which is not natural at all. When my father died, I was angry. At life. At death. At him. At myself. But life is generous, it grants a multitude of perspectives. Little by little I grew into a new one like a dandelion forcing its way through tarmac.

Do we own our bodies, do we own our lives?

He will not leave till we give him the permission, I said. It was only hours before he died. He held on, held on, till the time had come. And we said, you may go now.

Or perhaps it wasn’t like that at all.

I was not present when my father left. Yet I had so wanted to be there.

As life, imagination is generous, It offered me a chance to go back.

There was a bird, there were wings flapping. They lifted off from my father´s head. As they did, the wings transformed into a pair of hands, waiving. The flapping and the waiving, the flapping and the waiving, I couldn’t see which was which. But as I bid farewell to a pair of wings, of hands waiving, I noticed the silence. The flapping of the wings. And the silence.

Do we own our bodies? Do we own our lives?

I have no idea. All I hear is a pair of wings flapping.
And then there is silence.

Sharon Olds, “His Stillness” from Strike Sparks: Selected Poems 1980-2002. 

Photos © Grete S. Kempton

Visa Renewal

My 3-months visitor’s visa to the United Bloglands is up for renewal. According to the Bloglands Visa Renewal Form, I have to come up with a list of 10 good reasons why I want to extend my stay. 

Based on the following quote (sorry all, not a poem this time. According to my profile, the expression “carefully arranged language” should cover me here, if only just...) this is an attempt to start such a list.

“Children, I have come here like the rest of you, to hear what I have to say.”
- Sojourner Truth

Sitting down in front of the screen two days ago, my insides wobbled. To be quite honest, the call for an important decision took up far more brain space than a modest blog post.

Then Max, my loyal camera (nestled quietly next to me here on the desk), urged me to open the  Aperture program. So I did. I selected photos to illustrate Karin Boye’s poem Yes, Of Course It Hurts When Buds Are Breaking. I adjusted exposure, altered contrast, added green. I held the two in my palms, the photos and the poem, and trusted something to happen. Gradually the screen filled with letters and colors, sentences and images, with content I could understand.  

The action of my fingers on the keyboard, and my eyes on the screen gradually marked out a direction for the day - To let go, if only for a moment. 

As I pressed “View post” I hadn’t even noticed that my insides had stopped wobbling and my heart had returned to its normal pace.

So my # 1 reason for blogging (to be copied onto Visa Renewal Form) is this: 
I write and blog because my fingers and my eyes are so much wiser than my mind. I come here to view what I have to say.

Wherever this “here” is. And whoever the “I”.

Photos © Grete S. Kempton

If Only for a Moment

Yes, it is hard when drops are falling.
Trembling with fear, and heavy hanging,
cleaving to the twig, and swelling, sliding
- Karin Boye

I am inspired to let go. If only for a moment.

Throughout the last week I’ve had a dilemma.
My husband says, you don’t need to rush the decision.
My friend says, you don’t need to rush the decision.
Inside me, there is rush, rush, rush. A sense of urgency.
Sometimes even buying a liter of milk, can shoot adrenalin through my body.
And this was so much more than buying a liter of milk.

then, when no fear holds back any longer,
down in glitter go the twig's drops plunging,
- Karin Boye

I am inspired to let go. Of the rushing. To let those drops fall, dance, enjoy.
If only for a moment.

Karin Boye - Yes, Of Course It Hurts, from For the Tree’s Sake (1935)
Translation by David McDuff

Photos © Grete S. Kempton