Heaven

Yes, Heaven is real.

I've been there, through the lens of death become birth.

First some pictures, then the poem.

 

How can I relate to you

where I traveled on that night,

make it bold and bright and true

that as I passed into the light,

that when a final breath did pass

I heard a lovely joyous song,

and stepped out on the living grass

to join a happy dancing throng

beneath a vast and coloured sky,

so fresh and sparkling clean,

a breeze that was a holy sigh

of happiness upon that scene…

on Earth I now know Heaven’s lack,

but also know that I’ll be back.

It’s very hard to describe the essence of a near-death experience, and that loveliest of destinations, without sounding like a bit of a crank.

But I promised I would try.

One thing that I think validates the experience is that while I am not a People Person, I was immersed in a crowd. I don't think it bespeaks a wish to be social; it's just the reality of the place, and, perhaps, a gentle nudge from God that I need to change.

(This first appeared as a comment to Bob Hostetler's post 7 Favorite Writer Destinations on the Steve Laube Agency blog.)

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is WHILE.

Coincidentally, Barb picked up a movie from the library for me..."While You Were Sleeping."

I love romantic comedies.

While I walk upon this Earth

I know that not far up ahead

there lies the glorious rebirth

that gives lie to the phrase, "He's dead.",

for I have been there and have seen

promise made actuality,

more real than a waking dream,

a solid practicality

that turns this sad world upsidedown,

that makes of somberness a joke,

that makes a Pharisee a clown

who from his inner dark has woke

to find the journey that he's on

is lit by an eternal dawn.

Four minutes thirty-nine seconds.

Music from Montell Jordan and Beckah Shae, with Shake Heaven.

And in heaven there  is ICE CREAM.

 

The Bleeding

 I guess God is in the editing business, too.

The sonnet below describes my body trying to bleed out on October 19. It's couched in literary terms because it first appeared as a comment in Tamela Hancock Murray's blog post for the Steve Laube Agency this morning, on developmental and copy editing.

I don't know what to say or think. I can't even state with certainty as I write this if I am on Earth, or in Heaven.

See, I am surrounded by love.

And yesterday the plot was changed,

a literal bloodletting 

in organs now so disarranged...

is this what's called Dev Editing?

And my grammar's diff'rent too,

words are spoken with more care,

respecting that which I've gone through;

am I still here, or am I There,

dead but called to higher days,

transition that I somehow missed

along the bleedout's paths and ways

that brought me with a happy twist

to blindly vault bright Heaven's fence,

and would I know the difference?

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is TESTIMONY.

I don't have a testimony,

I just have what I've been through,

and I will not be a phony,

and tell the story straight for you.

I am bleeding, right inside,

and it does not want to cease,

but I have no need to hide,

'cause bubba, I'm at last at peace,

and can let the ol' world go,

while I journey on ahead,

and in my heart of hearts I know

that dying never will mean dead,

and that what you see me as gone

is me awake to Heaven's dawn.

Three minutes. Maybe that means something.

'Bye for now. Maybe I will see you in the morning.

Oh, and this... I try to counter the blood loss with strong red wine and pasta sauce.

During WW2, blood donors were advised to drink a lot of red wine, so that they might give a pint every week.

The pasta sauce is on my own hook. It's red. Deal with it.

I am fully aware that pancreatic cancer and alcohol do not, to put it mildly, go together. I'm just out of options.

Should be interesting to watch.

Music from the Alan Parsons Project, with Closer To Heaven.

Wherever I am, Sylvia's glad to be with me. She'll even bring the ice cream.

 

Mirror, Mirror

I am going to have fun this week.

If you can't laugh at cancer, why even have it?

I really can't be clearer

in what I'm telling you;

when feeling down, I get a mirror

and just enjoy the view.

It's not that I'm good looking;

I've left that term behind

with biceps that are cooking,

and smile to eas'ly blind

someone who had not the sense

to quickly don their shades.

I really do not mean offense,

but the way that I was made

puts me upon a GQ page

while others simply show their age.

Last week I referenced high fevers and the old fried-egg-this-is-your-brain-on-drugs commercial...well, here's the link!

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is COMPROMISE. That's a big word. I like small words better, so...

You may sigh and roll your eyes,

and whisper that I'm odd,

but I don't think I'll compromise

with life, the world, or God.

I've seen fashions come and go

(and most are better gone),

but there's one that lets me know

the planet that I'm on,

so bring gold chains, slick back the hair,

button silk shirt halfway up,

channel Travolta through Astaire

and drink deep of the disco cup

because I am a true believer

in Bee Gees and the Sat Night Fever.

There! Five minutes, and with a squirrelly brain keypad too!

Appropriate music for today can only come from Right Said Fred.

And in the interest of transparency, I do still work out and eat right (and, yes, both REALLY hurt), and do look a bit like this bloke in the video (think Asian, shoulder-length dark hair with fashionable sun highlights, and NO I will not post a picture).

Well, OK. Here's a picture. It's just not a picture of me.

Sylvia would roll her eyes (as Barb is doing as I write), but she could thereby miss a lick of ice cream to the Chihuahua Pirates.

 

It Rains In The Desert

So it does really rain in the desert.

This post might have taken another direction, like "it hurts so much, what do I do NOW?"

Today I can't explain how to cope with the pain cancer brings, except to delight in God's blessings, great and small.

The blessings that He rains down on us.

Maybe that's why the symbol of His promise is a rainbow.

So, Chihuahuas.

Chihuahuas in the morning,

Chihuahuas through the night,

Chihuahuas that are learning

the world is theirs by right.

Chihuahuas roar at teatime

and thunder in the dawn,

Chihuahuas always in the prime

of a five-pound brawn.

Chihuahuas at the table

(they shoulder Pits aside)

for they are not able

to tolerate, abide

that anyone, however fine

might usurp their place in line.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is BECOME.

I am each day what I become,

and become what I must be

to earn the right to walk among

all the people that I see.

Too many fevers left their mark;

there's much now I don't comprehend,

but wandering though the mind's own dark

must become means to an end,

and I must see in diff'rent light

what others eas'ly ken by day,

and thereby try with all my might

to show it's not grimmest futility,

this fight against a disability.

Four minutes, and while I hate to admit it, it's true. Remember the commercial where a dude held up an egg, said, "This is your brain."?

Then he cracked the egg and dropped the yolk into a frying pan. "This is your brain on drugs."

Have enough very high fevers, it has the same effect. I can mask it in writing, but in person, no way.

Music from Wall of Voodoo, with the politically incorrect Mexican Radio.

Sylvia prefers ice cream to barbecued iguana (did you watch the video?).

She also prefers ice cream to fried eggs. If you ever watched a Pittie trying to eat sunny-side-up, you'll know why.

 

Too Happy To Be Sad

 A recent conversation...

Me: "I heard that this cancer can cause depression, and that I should be open to speaking with a mental health professional."

Barb: "Quite so."

Me: "But I have NO IDEA what I'd say to a depressed mental health professional!"

Barb: "Uh...."

The thing is, I don't get depressed, or frustrated. Sure, I can't sleep for the pain, and yeah, five steps and I'm out of breath, but so what?

It's life.

Last time I went to my (sadly deceased) doctor...

Doc: "You must be depressed."

Me: "Nope."

Doc: "I'll prescribe some antidepressants."

Me: "I don't need 'em."

Doc: "I'll give you some samples."

Me: "I'm not depressed."

Doc: "Okay."

And then he left, and the nurse came in

 with a prescription, and samples.

So, I don't know. I should be sad, personally and existentially, and I am not.

I'm living the dream.

So, here, tongue mostly in cheek... mostly...

I expect you'll be impressed

with sterling qualities I've got,

like, I'm supposed to be depressed,

but, dude, I'm truly not.

It's not that I'm superior

(that is, of course, a given),

and not by deep ulterior

motive is my virtue driven.

It's just that I'm a happy bloke

(or, a drongo, that's your call)

to whom all life is but a joke,

and the final curtain call

will be a spinning swirling jig

with two Heelers and a pig.

Music from Cat Stevens, with Another Saturday Night.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is ROAD. Tough one!

This is the path I'm taking,

but not the one I chose;

still, I am not forsaken,

and my sore heart still knows

that through the darkness of the night,

and through the stormy day,

I can depend on Holy Might

to guide my twisting way.

And so, my friend, I'll skip along,

not fear to stub a toe;

I need not be hard and strong

for I now truly know

that this here is my own Green Mile,

and I'll walk with God in style.

Four minutes!

Here's Barb wearing her anniversary present. Stylish, yes?

The only thing that makes Sylvia sad is lack of ice cream.

Never happens.

 

God's Attic

 

This is a morning rainbow over a mountain called Ladron, which means 'bandit', and is fittingly the peak after which my dear service dog was named, for she stole my heart.

But I can't stop to look back. Not so much because there's a lot ahead, but because the pain of loss leaches the joy from today.

I think that for anyone with cancer, maybe more is lost than is realized.

Like, a shared cup of coffee, or a stroll around the block, or the comfort of a marital bed.

I can scarcely remember what these things were like, and don't want to, because loss will weaken resolve needed for the present moment. There may not be a vast bright future, but I believe, and HAVE to believe, that I still have something worthwhile to give in the now, and that it's wrong to allow sentimentality to dilute that.

So I leave the memories in God's hands, to be unpacked, to live again, in another time and place.

I think back to The Good Old Days,

the hikes, Starbucks, and pillow talks,

offer for them thanks and praise,

then put them in God's attic box

that is marked 'Not To Be Opened'

as I walk upon the Earth;

its seal will stay strong and unbroken

until I pass that great rebirth

into the place of God's own time,

when yesterday lives side by side

with today, fresh in its prime,

and there is no need to hide

from sorrow over what is gone,

for there the past's a bright new dawn.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is REPRESENT.

I come from far Mongolia,

perhaps birthed in a tent,

no scent there of magnolia,

so I shall represent

the line to which I have been born,

the Horde and Genghis Khan,

and from this I cannot be torn;

it's simply who I am,

ready now to go and ride,

to raid and loot and pillage;

try to run, or try to hide,

we're coming to your village,

and we'll live in your memory

in our ruthless majesty.

Three minutes flat. Maybe that says something I maybe didn't want folks to know?

Music from The Moody Blues, with I Know You're Out There Somewhere.

 Ice cream keeps Sylvia in the Now.

 

I'm Always Chasing Rainbows

 

Rainbows are one of the things that make life worth living. I should say it's because they're the symbol of God's promise to Noah, but when I see one, I have to be honest, I don't think about that.

They're just pretty. And pretty can overcome the bummer cancer can be.

As, yeah, so does Barb, who took the picture.

Pain's the gift that keeps on giving,

reminder with a flaming touch

that it's rainbows keep me living

even when it hurts too much

to live as normal people do,

go to Starbucks, take a walk,

watch a movie full way through

or, even, sit down and talk

about the small gay things in life,

like when the pool guy, tan and hearty,

ran away with neighbour's wife,

and neighbour's days are now a party

to which I have not been invited,

but I hurt so much, I don't feel slighted.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is SPONTANEOUS. I shall now sonnetize spontaneously.

Spontaneity of rainbows,

and of shooting stars,

sudden touch of dog's cold nose,

no-warning fights in bars.

Alarums sound without a clue,

ceasefire comes without a hint,

bills immediately come due

when I'm really truly skint.

I wonder if God queers these pitches

to keep us diligent and fit

according to His inner wishes,

or is it needed that He's lit

a flame beneath lazy backsides

that we may stay alert and wise?

Four minutes! YESSSS! (As the reader cries, NOOOO!)

For a Rainbow Connexion, over, now, to Kermit the Frog.

Sylvia prefers plain vanilla to rainbow sherbet. Strange dog.