Down To The Marrow

Down to the marrow, that's how it feels to my soul.
Worn down to the bones of my being,
is that how it is supposed to be, for you and for me?

Walking down dusty, dead end roads, with no sure direction
or way to turn around, trying so very hard to find tracks and steady ground.
You have been on that road alone for so very long,
does it even feel like I am walking alongside, just as weary as are you ?

Down to the marrow, that's how it must feel to your soul.
Worn down to the bones of your being,
is that how you thought it would feel for us both?

Words can be hard to come by when exhaustion is the only fuel
that keeps us looking for an oasis on that deserted path.
I have been on that road alone for so very long,
does it even look like we are walking side by side, weary as can be?

Down to the marrow, with bones brittle but unbroken still,
let's keep on walking on, just hold my hand that is still warm to your touch,
because together steady and strong in heart and mind, we can beat this dusty road
and get to the other side where there is light, hope, love and song.


Trudi Ralston.
June 29th, 2016.
Renewal is made in the fire of trials by courage
lit by determination. 

Sit Down

Getting used to things can be a real blessing. This morning when the house was very quiet with my husband at work and my son at his friends' house, with the sun already bright under a bright blue sky, I went into our greenhouse and checked on the sunflower seedlings Michael had going that were getting stronger and taller in their little seedpods. I grew up with a greenhouse as a child, and always loved the musty warm smell of them, the muted light, the abundance of green, the muffled sounds bouncing off the glass walls. The peace wrapped itself around me like a soft blanket. The dog stuck her ebony muzzle in the door, wondering what I was doing, as the cat snoozed happily in the crisp sunlight on the deck next to the greenhouse. Somehow my relaxed solitary feeling made the transition to the 1946 Billie Holiday song, " Good Morning Heartache ", a profoundly sad song about the loneliness and pain of a broken heart. The lyrics are amazingly effective at conveying the sorrow the singer feels and expresses so profoundly uniquely. She actually invites her heartache at the end of the song to just sit down, giving very graphic imagery of how sorrow sticks to us like an unwelcome and persistent companion. I felt a brief tinge of that hurt, standing alone in the greenhouse on a Monday morning but instead of rejecting the jarring sensation, I swallowed it like you would a pill you know you cannot avoid taking if you want to get better. The effect was immediate. I felt free, relaxed, grateful for my two four footed companions, who were sweet and kind. Our dog relished my company, while the kitty was a great teacher at the joys of solitude, as I watched him sigh contentedly on his blanket in the morning sun. Sit down. I was telling my solitude to just hang out with me, and somehow that made a difference. You can't always get what you want, right? But who says that what you want is what will help you grow, help you be a better, kinder, stronger person? I will just walk through that wall of solitude and hopefully get to the other side of it more mellow, wiser, and with my sense of humour intact. I will certainly give it my best, each and every day, grateful for the mystery of my life as it continues to unfold, slowly, deliberately, beyond the lines whose contours are often elusive and vague. My writing and tapestry were calling, adding a measure of meaning to my steps as I walked back to the house.

Get Off My Lawn

There is no denying that the 2008 Clint Eastwood movie  " Gran Torino "  is great in every way.
Great acting, great story, just a great movie that is truly memorable. In these days of hostile controversy when it comes to the issue of gun control, the movie has an added appeal on both sides of
the issue, and that might come as a surprise to some. It did to me, until I figured out why that is so.
The movie ends with Clint Eastwood's character, an embittered war veteran by the name of Walt Kowalski, sacrificing himself to end the gang violence against the Hmong family Walt Kowalski had befriended and tries so very hard to protect, when he realizes that he has to come up with a permanent solution to stop the escalating violence that had culminated in the rape of one the Hmong family's daughters, the sister of the young Hmong man Walt Kowalski took a protective interest in. Walt Kowalski decides privately to go unarmed into the Hmong gang's territory making it look like he will draw his gun, provoking fire in return and getting killed, thereby allowing the police to finally arrest the gang leaders because of ample witnesses this time around. So, it is quite interesting that a movie that obviously is on the side of free access to guns for our citizens, ends the violence of the story by a complete act of non- violence and self sacrifice that surrenders the use of a gun for the greater good, for dignity, for peace. 
I have a feeling most people miss that very revealing point. I did, too, until just a few days ago, when I saw the quote " Get off my lawn " as a way to promote unlimited access to guns and absolutely no gun control laws. I was a bit startled by the add, in view of the horrible mass shooting in Orlando.
Obviously, the movie has a more subtle message. It seems intolerance on both sides of the political spectrum is just the flavour du jour when it comes to attitudes, but the obvious respect Walt Kowalski's war veteran learns to muster for his neighbouring American Hmong family shows that the ability to find compassion in our hearts is a crucial part of our humanity, and when we give in to the urge to lose that capacity, we lose what is best of our identity as a human race. It seems intolerance is not only plaguing our big country, but is an affliction that also is casting its long shadow across Europe, as if the horrors of the most infamous genocide of the 20th century at the hands of the Nazi monsters did not happen only 70 years ago. The barbarians are not in the long lost past, I remember my father and my grandmother and my aunts and uncles recalling some of the World War II horrors, it was not a recounting of a medieval war, it happened during my parents' childhoods. To forgot history so quickly is mind baffling to me. This country is at risk of losing its soul in the name of blind intolerance and special interest profiteering a the expense of both the ignorance and vulnerability of the common man. Democracy means power to the people. These days it seems it just means power to those who control political clout through financial bribery, and if that means holding people for ransom with the divisive issue of gun control, so be it , apparently. But the subtlety of " Gran Torino " is a reminder that we need to start worrying if we are willing to tear each other's souls and hearts apart in the name of rigid intolerance fueled by tunnel vision that has no room for our neighbour's point of view or experience. We all lose, there is no doubt about that, and it is a winding road with a downward slope leading nowhere but to darkness.

Through The Center

Soft to the touch, I peel the thin film covering the mirror
that are my eyes, seeing me through the circle's beveled vision
that is the ride I know as the steps I take in this shadow life.

Quiet, sliding, a dancer invisible to the sun's strong light,
I tiptoe around the silence waiting patiently under a timeless sky,
my breath a flitting butterfly vanishing under the moon and stars each time.

A pencil mark through the center of a circular piece of paper,
my words move, tiny robots in an endless line, 
reaching for bright colours beyond the horizon's night. 

I move, get lost, am found, where are you, who can tell
where the staircase takes us at night?
Hello, goodbye, cymbals weakening their rattled beat.

Soundless, sleepless, the mirror gathers shivers
sweet and sad, beyond the contour of the walls
holding our dreams and sighs.

Walking steady, sure and strong, spear in heart
and mind, the path moves on, ahead of my step
that searches with a warrior's heart for the river's reflection
where I left behind the drum marked with my blood, my tribe.


Trudi Ralston.
June 16th, 2016.

The Misconception

Often at night, I will dream that my husband and son and I live in this big, big house with three levels and huge rooms, that seem irrelevant since there is only three of us, plus our cat and dog. The space around me in those dreams feels very pleasant, like there is a lot of room around my soul , my heart. The other side of that coin is that the loss of family, of both younger sisters and parents, and younger brother, for all practical purposes : the last time I saw my brother was 18 years ago , has left a hole,
that manifests itself in my dreams as me roaming in a house with a lot of empty rooms.
I always liked the story of Hansel and Gretel, where the children find their way back home by leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in the forest. In my case the breadcrumbs were gone, and finding my way back from all the loss and heartache became a scary, lonely journey. To be on the other side of that dark forest is a great relief, but the people lost can never be retrieved. I was surprised at the intensity and difficulty of coming to terms with it all. Apparently trauma at the hands of those you love , those who are supposed to protect and love you can be quite taxing, even showing up in physical symptoms. The one that stays with me in times of stress is nausea, which is what I experienced very acutely when hearing the news about the horrific events in Orlando. So many innocent people lost to their families, it felt nauseating and baffling. Talking to my son and husband calmed me down. It made me realize they are both very much a part of my life.
Before all the family loss in a Dostoevsky sort of tragic twist of events, I felt very secure about my world and my place in it. Studying abroad, traveling to faraway exotic countries, marrying my American husband and being mother to our wonderful, loving son, the world was a kind, hopeful place. Then my youngest sister was diagnosed with bipolar depression, went off her medication several times, and slowly unraveled, eventually committing suicide short of her 36th birthday. My father unraveled, eventually slipping into dementia, hastened in its symptoms by being thrown out of his house by my alcoholic, manipulative mother. He never fought back. He died in an Alzheimer institute in Oostende, Belgium 8 years ago, and my mother succumbed to her physical problems due to her alcohol abuse a few months later. In between, my other younger sister died of cancer at the age of 44, leaving two young children, ages 8 and 6. My brother still lives in Texas and no longer wants any contact. During those years, the world stopped for me. It became absurd. I eventually found support and renewal in therapy in the skillful care of an amazingly kind and perceptive woman. I started writing, under her encouragement. I started perfecting my embroidery interest that I had discovered 20 years earlier, and it has now become a great artistic outlet. I am grateful to my husband for encouraging that skill that was dormant, just waiting to express itself. The therapy, the writing, the embroidery, and recently, photography, have allowed me to anchor the dingy that had become my soul and that was lost in a sea of grief and anger, to reconnect to my husband and son, to my own sense of identity and being. It took a good ten years, but to be on the other side of that dark night feels really good. The experience of feeling that I did not matter, that my life was just a series of nonsensical events, the hurt, the anxiety, the sadness, has taught me to be sensitive to other people who have endured loss and tragedy. Humility is a good seasoning in the courses life offers up, and the misconception that I thought I did not matter, that I was invisible, just a number in a huge crowd of humanity has worn off and is now replaced by a warm gratitude that I made it to the other side of that despair. I have always found great solace in the peace and grace nature can offer, and my photographs of the flowers and creatures in our backyard, like honeybees, have brought great joy and I love sharing them. Being outside in the abundance of flowers and trees makes me feel connected to life in a larger way, it is the same way I feel when I look up at the stars at night. That feeling gives me peace. I no longer feel disconnected, I feel part of the larger picture and life now once again feels like an intriguing mystery, not a frightening, dark road.

Walking through the walls

I recently got back in touch with a friend who has been dealing with some personal challenges.
My gladness at speaking with a friend dear to me after a number of years spilled over in an enthusiasm to share certain perspectives and some of my own challenges of the last ten years.
My friend listened with grace and patience, and after our conversation I started thinking about a recent sermon our head pastor at my church gave a few weeks ago. The most important part of the sermon was focused on having a heart open to spiritual cues, open to the deeper mystery of life, open to a presence deep in our souls and hearts that goes beyond the mere physical when we quiet our distracted, hurried 21st century minds. I later shared some thoughts with my pastor, because his words in turn inspired me to explore further this appealing idea that what is truly profound about life, what is truly sacred about our existence in its purity, lives deep in all of us when we stop and listen, when we allow the silence in our being to reveal its wisdom and insights.
The image of walls came to mind. They are traditionally seen as an image invoking obstacles, hindrances, of various magnitudes and depths. I remember growing up hearing the idea that the path of least resistance was the way to go, just quit trying so hard, go with the flow. There is a lot of wisdom in that, to be sure, but it can also lead to a certain indifference, and it got me thinking about walls instead. I thought of them in that moment after the sermon of not obstacles, but opportunities. I started seeing the walls in my own life as challenges, as invitations to just walk through them. What is required for that, on a spiritual level is a profound conviction that what motivates you to take these walls on is confidence, steeped in a deep belief that the passion giving you the courage to walk successfully not around them but through them is far greater than any resistance their mass could give you. It was a crucial moment for me, a deeply personal revelation that spoke to me with thundering
affirmation, and for all the force of the imagery, it has left me with a deep peace. Not a peace where you just sit around and ponder, but an activating peace, an energizing peace that is driven by the knowledge, yes, knowledge, that we are all far more than the individual number of our own soul, our own identity, our own life. We are all connected to a reality far deeper than the latest trend, the latest tragedy, the latest outrage, the latest national or international struggles. When we quiet our minds and walk with confidence, the walls give way because we are bigger, stronger than them. Does that take effort? It sure does. Continually. But the inner strenght that comes from stopping the fear inside will fuel the energy, the courage needed to keep walking until, perhaps years later, perhaps a lifetime later, those walls are putty in our hands. 

The Poppies

Through a window large and opening in my dream,
I saw a field of giant red poppies calling to me.

Glowing blue in the sun's strong light,
I called to you to go outside, and we laughed
together as we ran like children in a wonderland.

I must photograph them, I shouted out loud,
these giant poppies were brought here just for
you and I, we must go see them, touch them now.

You shook your head, and chuckled under your breath,
let's go have a pic nick out there, grab that blanket
and let's go, you ran beside me, wind in our faces,
there was no time, only light and joy drenching
the poppies and our hearts with red and blue
from flower and sky beneath, above.

I woke with a start, where had you gone?
The sky outside my window silent, its blue vanished
together with the poppy field that was glowing still, red and
deep in my eyes and beating heart.


Trudi Ralston.
June 8th, 2016.
For my brother Bart Desender,
who has been vanishing from my life since April 20th, 1998,
the day our youngest sister Ludwina died.

Summer 2016 Photo Gallery

Through

There is a sky out there, all bright and blue,
free of shadows that try to follow me inside
on this cloudy, humid day, full of whispering songs.

Glass is see through, of course , I know,
but I see it all around me, dripping with heavy breath
leaving its wet soft sighs on the inside of my eyes.

Wrapping its hard walls all around my steps and height,
I touch the glass that sings its chorus night and day,
the harp of my dreams bright and dark.

Through and through, I reach out and beyond,
only to feel the glass push back, mute, indifferent,
to my longing to break out, away, these clear, dazzling walls.



Trudi Ralston.
June 1st, 2016.
The hardest chains to break are the ones that trap our mind.