They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, We will remember them. Laurence Binyon
The Hospital Window
By James L. Dickey
I have just come down from my father.
Higher and higher he lies
Above me in a blue light
Shed by a tinted window.
I drop through six white floors
And then step out onto pavement.
Still feeling my father ascend,
I start to cross the firm street,
My shoulder blades shining with all
The glass the huge building can raise.
Now I must turn round and face it,
And know his one pane from the others.
Each window possesses the sun
As though it burned there on a wick.
I wave, like a man catching fire.
All the deep-dyed windowpanes flash,
And, behind them, all the white rooms
They turn to the color of Heaven.
Ceremoniously, gravely, and weakly,
Dozens of pale hands are waving
Back, from inside their flames.
Yet one pure pane among these
Is the bright, erased blankness of nothing.
I know that my father is there,
In the shape of his death still living.
The traffic increases around me
Like a madness called down on my head.
The horns blast at me like shotguns,
And drivers lean out, driven crazy—
But now my propped-up father
Lifts his arm out of stillness at last.
The light from the window strikes me
And I turn as blue as a soul,
As the moment when I was born.
I am not afraid for my father—
Look! He is grinning; he is not
Afraid for my life, either,
As the wild engines stand at my knees
Shredding their gears and roaring,
And I hold each car in its place
For miles, inciting its horn
To blow down the walls of the world
That the dying may float without fear
In the bold blue gaze of my father.
Slowly I move to the sidewalk
With my pin-tingling hand half dead
At the end of my bloodless arm.
I carry it off in amazement,
High, still higher, still waving,
My recognized face fully mortal,
Yet not; not at all, in the pale,
Drained, otherworldly, stricken,
Created hue of stained glass.
I have just come down from my father.
if you stay awake
for an entire night
watch out for a treasure
trying to arrive
you can keep warm
by the secret sun of the night
keeping your eyes open
for the softness of dawn
day is to make a living
night is only for love
commoners sleep fast
lovers whisper to God all night
Excerpts from “Rumi, Fountain of Fire”
There is a story told that once a Sufi was healing a child that was ill.
He was repeating a few words, and then gave the child to the parents saying,
“Now he will be well.”
Someone who was antagonistic to this said to him,
“How can it be possible that by a few words spoken, anyone can be healed?”
From a mild Sufi an angry answer is never expected,
but this time he turned to the man and said,
“You understand nothing about it. You are a fool.”
The man was very much offended. His face was red. He was hot.
The Sufi said, “when a word has the power to make you hot and angry,
why should not a word have the power to heal?”
Love – Two hearts are intertwined, signifying eternal harmony and unity.
Wisdom – The intertwining represents working through, evaluating,
discerning and resolving — finding a pearl of wisdom in our center.
Release – Spiraling up and letting go, working through
and bringing to the surface things we need to release.
Anonymous Women: Draped
"My series of photographs, Anonymous Women: Draped is about becoming the dwelling itself: experiencing the dichotomy of domesticity. The home is a place of comfort but can also be camouflage for individual identity when idealized decor becomes an obsession, or indication of position or status. “Staying home” is a state that some women also aspire to as a place of power, while others abhor because of its prison-like atmosphere. In all cases, women need “A room of their own.” This series has references to draped statues from the Renaissance, nuns in habits, women wearing the burka, the Virgin Mary, priests’ and judges’ robes, ancient Greek and Roman dress, among others. The series is also a small tribute to Scarlett O’Hara, who, undaunted by wars, pulled down her drapery to fashion a beautiful gown, and would do anything to keep her home, Tara. Hopefully, I am bringing humor to pathos." - Patty Carroll