Author: Jana Horton

I have a grandson who is unbelievably curious.

He has an incredible gift.

He finds critters.

It is remarkable. As the rest of humanity goes about their mundane tasks, Zeke finds salamanders, snails, lizards and beetles.

He will flush a turtle out of an underground home that no one knew was there.

No one knew, but Zeke.

I have marveled at the innate ability he has. Then I realized, Zeke found, because Zeke looked.

Zeke knows of the mysterious creatures abounding in nature, so he, with childlike faith seeks them, and finds them.

It has started an inward journey in my heart that began with the question, “What am I seeking?”

Zeke’s wisdom, the wisdom of a child, spurs me on with the excited exclamation,

“Just look!”

As with the physical things, my observant grandson finds, I desire to find God.

As the rest of humanity goes through their mundane tasks, I want to find the narrow path through Life’s many uncertainties.

I believe I will.

I, like Zeke, will find, because I will look.

I will just LOOK.

My world stopped spinning when I heard.

The earth continued in its orbit, carrying me with it, but time, as I know it, stopped.

Blood froze in my veins, movement, and momentum, impossible, as I struggled to process even a simple thought.

Those around me continued in the minutia of life while I was left gasping for breath and being.

Nothing pierced the unreality.

Nothing penetrated the solitude or the incapacitating silence.

On the day you took your life, you left me with nothing but frozen tears and unbearable unbelief.

I had no idea your pain was so overwhelming.

I hate that you felt desperate.

I hate that I had no idea.

I hate that I lost an irreplaceable part of my soul.

My-Boy.

Why did you go?

I hate the idea that I have no idea.

Suicide:

I hate you. I hate the incomprehensible lie you tell. I hate your devastation.

I hate you.

I often write about Dawn and gentle breezes, of the wind and birds.

I write of these because of the deep darkness and gale-force winds I have experienced in my life.

I write of them from a perspective of deep gratitude.

I write of them for my future self, to remind her of beauty and the power of soul solace.

I have lived with mental illness, untimely death, tragic consequences, and through the suicide of one who was part of my soul.

My writings are simplistic.

I am not.

I am thankful that through my darkest night, there was meaning.

I was unaware at the time that I was growing.

I write to encourage those who need an anchor in a stormy sea.

I write for those blinded by hurricane-force winds.

I write for me, and I write for you.

Storms are not a constant.

Growth is often painful and seemingly unbearable.

There is, however, True Light.

There is Reason.

Hold tight.

Life is precious.

Even when blinded by pain, I purpose to seek momentum.

Will you?

Hold tight.

You have meaning.

Tomorrow will dawn. Please be here.

In deep darkness, as the birds still slumber, I hear the wind begin to stir.

Cool night air and wind play together with fallen leaves, tossing them up, around, and down.

Atmosphere, clearly enjoys the bright sheen of Stars’ glorious light.

Freshness and mystery abound.

Earth sighs.

Deep speaks to Deep, as soul and Spirit commune in this rare and quiet moment before the awakening Sun brings with her.

Alone with Twilight, I hear the Voice of God. The quiet, unmistakable voice of Love speaks in Twilight’s sweet breath.

I listen as leaves skitter by.

I hear, before the Wide-awake-of-our-weary-World.

I hear.

Violet was the incubator who brought my precious gift to me. I am ever thankful.

I met Violet just once.

It seems harsh to see her as a birthing machine rather than a beating heart or a living, breathing soul. However, Violet wrote the rules, and demanded compliance. Unquestioned compliance is what she was given.

Ours was a non-relationship.

She relinquished a valuable treasure, while disinterested in the rate of return on her investment. Did she invest anything?

I am thankful, yet stunned, by Violet’s nonchalance.

I am eternally grateful for the gift I received; mother and child, and the outcome; precious, unconditional love.

Violet was not a flower.

She was an incubator who gave birth to my mother.

Clyde was ninety-two years old when we buried him. He was not old enough. This earth, however, took its toil on his rugged frame.

Clyde’s obituary stated, “He never met a stranger.” I added those words. If I wrote it now, I would phrase it differently. Instead, I would say, “Everyone Clyde met was a Friend he didn’t yet know.”

Clyde was my mentor, friend, confidant, and grandfather. Clyde taught me the power of unconditional love. I learned so poorly.

Clyde was. He was slyly humorous, intentionally cantankerous, and genuinely wise, and humble.

Clyde taught me to think. I was a young girl in the 1960’s. I was supposed to aspire to baking, cooking, and mending. Clyde taught me to drive a tractor, find horny toads, and be me. He was the one person in my life who wanted to know who I was. He wanted to know who I wanted to be. He asked me what I thought, and listened intently to my answers.

Clyde acted as if my words and thoughts were important. He wanted to know what I had to say. He encouraged me to talk when other adults, encouraged me to be quiet.

I am who I am, because of my grandfather, Clyde. When I wonder what to do, and how to act, or react in difficult situations, I remember Clyde.

I remember his gift of unconditional love. It may be the most powerful tool in the arsenal of self.

Can I continue lessons which are so difficult to apply? Can I love others with the profound love that seeks selflessness? I cannot.

I will however, try. I will try because Clyde lived.

Clyde was.

Is everything always okay?

Time; was it planned before it started?

This awkward moment we had today;

it is startling, have our ways parted?

Death. Why cry? Death-of-self should I say

could we leave it hanging half-hearted?

I cry at the loss of this new day,

ending before it ever started.

As an adult, I offered counsel to my aging parents.

It was sound advice.

I studied many of the topics, read countless scholarly articles, and humbly, so as not to offend them, presented my conclusions concerning their predicament.

My rather opinionated parents listened quietly to all I had on my heart and in my mind.

My gentle and kind ‘peacemaker’ mother then told me this:

“When your children and grandchildren are the ages of our children and grandchildren, come back to us then. We may then be able to take instructions from one we raised, and from one we have loved from the moment of her birth.”

I learned a lesson that day. It serves me well to this moment in my decision-making process.

Choices that I make in the present may differ significantly from the choices I will make in the future.

If I continue to choose to grow in wisdom and knowledge, and favor with God and man, I may look back and realize that I have been unwise in counseling another.

However, I will seek to find Wisdom. I choose to grow older, wiser, and to become more well-read.

I choose this path because my mother directed my thoughts and my footfalls.

I choose to follow in the wisdom of one who is a giant in a world of Lilliputians.

I am not a satellite orbiting your planet.