There are people we meet who live ordinary lives, and there
are people we meet who lives of great import that seem ordinary. There are
those whose magic oozes off them as if the capacity to enjoy and celebrate life
were little crests of the dancing ocean
and their salty skin serves as an indicator that they are always riding
the waves of a deeply magical life.
I know so many of them there
aren’t enough digits on all our bodies to count, the mushroom clouds of light
that blooms forth on these creator beings, that’s not what they would call
themselves, when their wiping your tears, or listening fully to your stories,
or asking you questions that rattle your soul.
Many of these iconic people mow
their lawns and sweep their floors, and look at you in the eyes when you or
they are talking, and they don’t correct your grammar, or finish your
sentences, because they are glued to the present moment. They know that you
know.
They sit and wait for you to truly know that inside you is a
universe as bright and bold as 1000 suns shining. While you in some deeply
unknown to yourself way are waiting for the right kind of eyes to see through
the blinds and slats of wood hardened feeling covering that well of love.
Let me see you,
they say silently and between their words.
Let me really
know you.
When you do
you’ll come to know yourself better, having been clearly seen.
The mysteries of life are on our lips when we breathe and
notice we are breathing.
A tall and formidable character, shaking her hair in the balmy
breeze that’s where this slice of pie story begins. 6 friends joined by mutual
admiration and the cosmic orchestration of the unending fun they have together.
The tall one often growls at the starry eyes of night, saying to those haloed
ancestors nesting in their beds of molten light, high above, I’ve got
questions, for all you ones, I’ve got questions and I know that because your so
high above and so old that you’ve got perspective, I expect you to answer my
questions. Though she begins with growling, she crawls into her soft nest
satisfied. Having all the question that bubbled up throughout the torrential
storms and languid or mellow days, all the questions answered, all the
questions accept for telling her who is answering her questions, under the inflorensence
of the blushingly beautiful starry nights.
The loud one who you will come to know by name soon enough,
literally shakes the earth with her laughter, and wouldn’t know her business
from your business, gossip is not a word shes familiar with it’s an action she
lives by, it’s a way of life.
To suss out others predicaments and tell tall tails that
reach sky high heights and then some is what brings her pleasure, it’s as if
your stories are her drug and passing those stories on out loud gets her high.
In her group she is loved, because she like every other person has many other
dimensions beyond their penchants and pastimes that fold and unfurl inside the
complex sanctuary, that is identity. She’s also an incredibly inventive cook,
who makes many a mouth water and provides satisfaction to many a grumbling
belly.
The prayerful one has gaps in her teeth that let the light
of life flow more easily into and out of the sacred opening of her mouth. She
speaks the aliveness of life and the electricity she emits makes hair stand at
faithful and humbled attention on the arms of those in sight and hearing space
of her musings. A rumble of her laughter often surprises those who huddle close
for the first time to get inside
the words she speaks, shes really getting inside you, making a fire, boiling
tea and resting in her peace in your heart, until your love can’t help but
color the room with your delicious frangrance, of a genuine contentedness.
The dutiful one is clutching her hat when she arrives,
looking for the right table or wall knob to adorn with her hat upon…. She seems
to not take vacations and is always in service, yet she looks as though she is
completely here (which she is, I can attest to that) and yet always on
vacattion as if this world were easy, compared to where she hails from, as if
this were the ultimate simplicity that she has yearned for and that she has
found it here and is savoring with every breath, glance and bite ..
The widow walks in markets weaving leaving trailing yarn in
her wake, for mere moments until it is swept up and looped into her web of
knitting that shimmers as a school of dicroic ( shiny and rainbowish) fish
under sunlit water. Her touch is luminescent and her laugh is a head dropping
and gently landing on a pillow after working your body all day without rest,
until that moment… her laugh is inseperable from the happiness of hummingbirds
and a baby’s discovery of its fingers.
She may be a sorrowful widow as Laurence says --- joy and
grief share the same bed.
She knows, and her friends have always loved her for
guarding what she knows with a faithful and unending love. We all should be so
lucky as to know a unconditional self love.
The athlete is lean, strong and relentless, she is Athena’s progengy though they
haven’t met in person, she knows mount Olympus and the greek gods don’t have an
official zip codes so all her return to sender letters originally mailed to
Athena are an indication of her tireless faith, that she is the offspring of
greatness.
Together these women make an incredible team of thinkers,
healers, teachers, artists and
Down right remarkable people.
How did they meet? From one’s perspective it was school, in
the play yard where the girls diligently planned an escape to admire the beauty
of Adelle Ruiz’s rose garden down Mulberry Lane, mere blocks from the school
yard, light years away from their current privileges. A few of them didn’t attend the public school instead they
were sent by a short pixilated green bus to the Montessori school across town a
long drive and well worth the time in transit, as far as the girls were
concerned.
As the
Montessori school and middle school granted the girls incredible freedoms, that
would have made the ps school administrators take in more air than is
comfortable and often made their friends coo with delight or howl with envy,
depending on how far beyond their own boundaries there dear friends were
allowed to travel.
Did they meet at a religious institution or a social function that their
parents had individually dragged each one too? According to Tara, the historian
of the bunch also called the widow, they met in the nursery as they were all
born in the same hospital within hours of one another. By virtue of this
astounding coincidence they had dubbed themselves the synchronicity
sisters, which was one of their
thousand nick-names.
Ahava also
known as the tall one, recalls the meeting happening in a staggered form much
like her favorite childhood toy the Jacobs ladder, one met another, than that
one who just been met met another and the second one to have been met met yet
another, until it equaled out that they all met each other. Often packs of
girls so large tend to be territorial or non-inclusive, that’s not so with
these women once girls, many other friends were easily able and welcome to
permeate the boundaries and enjoy the company of this fun, interesting and
loveable bunch. Boyfriends came and went like seasons, some stuck like gum
underneath a low hanging table, others wove in on skateboards, bikes, sporty or
rink a dink cars, or on foot and wove out as if a marching army of fire ants
were poised and in hot pursuit.
Clem, the dutiful one … whose full name is Clementine,
remembers the park near the 6 block radius that connected the dots to each one
of there family homes as the stomping ground where their paths all crossed
simultaneously and with a reverent and instant bond and lasting bond, that had
