Passages: Remembering my father

On Monday morning this week, we said our final good byes to our beloved father, Bill de Alva.  We'd spent the last 11 days in a vigil by his bedside in the ICU - a heart-rending and rich time to be together. I'll carry memories of that time, of the stories shared, of the occasional smiles Dad had in response to the gathering of up to 25 family and friends that gathered around him.  Next week, we will gather again, to celebrate his life and memory.

(The photo shows four of my siblings when we were gathered together with him. From the left - brother Bill, John, me (Marti), Dad, and my sister Susana. Missing from this photo is my brother Paul.

In 2008, I did a StoryCorps interview with Dad, which if I can - I'd like to post here.  Hearing his voice and stories will be a treasured way of keeping him close.  (Hoping the uploader will accept an audio file in place of a video file.  Have not done this before....)

As it turns out, I've not been able to successfully get this interview uploaded.  If I find a way to add it later, I will.  In any case, I will be posting other memories as I go....

My brother Bill found a way to post the interview so that it can be listened to online at this link:

StoryCorps Interview of Bill de Alva Sr., by daughter Marti de Alva in 2008

Returning Song

white edges begin

to recede, days grow longer

robins' song is heard

Haiku Bones: 'Radiant'

After a very long absence......

Between showers, bare

feet in the grass, light dances

tiny miracles

Haiku Bones: 'Uncanny'

Contemplating the alchemy of inspiration and creativity...

Called out of time and 

memory, lines rise up and

spill across the page

 
www.haikubones.com

Inner Voice

"At the still point of the turning world.
Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point,

there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement.

And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered.

Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline.

Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance, and there is only the dance."

TS Eliot, 'Burnt Norton'

I love the 'Inner Voice" prompt from OSI this week. One way I pay attention to my own 'inner voice' is by noticing what catches my attention in a certain way -- a scene that causes me to draw in my breath, a poem that lifts off the page. Experiences that catch the soul's attention, and stimulates an inner response, like a wind chime to a breeze....

My offering this week is not my own writing, but a favorite poem excerpt by TS Eliot, paired with a photo ('haiga') I titled, "Still Point'. This image is of one of my 'singing trees', -- a birch that treated me to seasons of birds, light, and leaf shadows that danced on my kitchen table. One foggy, wintry day, as the sun began to break through, illuminating the ice on the branches & leftover leaves (that 'forgot' to fall), I recorded this scene.

Saving Luna

This film by the husband - wife film makers Mike Parfit and Suzanne Chisholm is currently at the Cannes Film Festival.  This is an extraordinary story of a killer whale unmistakably reaching out to humans for companionship and...?, as well as the passionate responses it provoked from the people it encountered.  The film has received an impressive number of awards already, is now poised for its next breakthrough.  

You can view a clip here:  http://www.savingluna.com/

You are also encouraged to look at the Cannes Film Festival site, and leave any comments about the film, or your interest in seeing it: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/Dispatch-From-Cannes.html

OSI - Prompt #59: Live Water

spilling down the canyon
through beavers' dam, tumbling down
over rocks and stones
into quiet pools
where trout linger,
huddled 'neath
birch roots, pouring out
in this gentle creek
where I sit, cooling my feet
listening to its song

OSI - Prompt #58: Listening

Listen

Clouds float by below

behind me, baby's giggles,

like water out of

a spring, carry me forward,

my son and wife expecting

OSI Prompt #55: Farewell

This week, my daughter and I have been working to clean out the beloved house we called home for 31 years. We made the difficult decision to prepare it for sale. So this week's prompt is timely.

Scrubbing windows in

this empty winter house,

memories echo here,

music, laughter, tears -

let the blessed light in!

Bare old plum tree

through the bedroom window,

split so deep now --

will you bloom again?

Closing my eyes, I see

your spring blossoms, white petals

pirouetting down,

chickadees nesting in the hole

under your precarious branch --

the one my grandfather trimmed

and patched so many years ago

Late summer, mouth and

baskets full of yellow plums,

then copper and gold leaves

litter the ground, stars appear

like Christmas lights in your branches

One moonlit snowy

night, two fawns, two does appear;

ears upright, eyes bright,

standing beneath your branches -

I held my breath!

OSI - Prompt #54: Fork in the Road

The good road, and the

road of difficulties cross;

that place is holy

Holy is the place

we begin again in the

broken heart of now

Now stepping on an

unknown path, seeking only

to be whole again

Do you sometimes encounter ideas that hit you with such force that they immediately penetrate your psyche and become part of the fabric of how you see the world? Perhaps even become a kind of spiritual talisman that you return to again and again? This week's prompt brought to mind two such ideas for me. The first was revealed to me in a prayer spoken by the Ogala Sioux medicine man, Black Elk, in Black Elk Speaks, by John Neihardt (paraphrased in the first stanza.) The idea that when we come to a place in our lives where we are faced with this kind of soul-compelling choice -- that it is a holy place --has stayed with me all my life. The second talismanic idea attached itself to this one, and came when I learned that the words 'whole', 'healing', and 'holy' all share a common Sanscrit root.

OSI Prompt 53: Circles

Happy 1st Anniversary OSI! Here is an older piece, written nearly 14 years ago, the night before the birth of my first grandchild. My daughter had already named her, Sequoia. I presented this poem to her on her 13th birthday last summer, as part of a 'coming of age' collection of writings that my daughter put together for her.

To Sequoia, under the Full Moon

Standing now

as I did then, window-framed,

body carved in moonlight,

soul lit with wonder --

Then, at the edge of my girlhood,

unspoken, unseen, unimagined possibility

beginning to dawn within.

Full moon floods the sky tonight,

blanketing now

child of my womb --

womb-full,

ripe now, ready to begin

a new circle.

Now, on the eve

of my grand-mothering -- this too

unknown, unimagined possibility,

this grandmother body

still encircling (not enclosing) my own babe,

her womb full of potentiality,

reality, already named (before the dawn)

Sequoia ('close to God')...

I am woman,

now under the full moon

womb full of wonder,

grandmother to be.

OSI - Prompt 52: Twilight

Light lingers here

like a lover,

reluctant to leave the Beloved

Meanwhile

these waters - ever jealous

look on, recording

every nuance of their

tender encounter

OSI Prompt #51 - Spectral

(Photo by Michael Gallagher for Missoulian)

This last week, a wake was held for Agnes 'Oshanee' Kenmille.  She was ninety-three years old when she passed, and one of the best known and most beloved elders of the Flathead Reservation, where I am blessed to call home.  Oshanee was nationally renowned for her hide tanning and beadwork.  But beyond her mastery of the traditional craft she practiced and taught, she was known and loved for her remarkable spirit. I am not a Tribal member, but every time I saw her, I was deeply aware of what a treasure she was, and thought to myself that this beautiful woman knows something about living that we all need to know - about finding meaning and purpose in life, about enduring, loving, and about finding joy in what one has in the present.   I only saw her a few times a year, but she left an indelible impression on my heart.

  

Thank you for the prompt.  I offer this in memory of Oshanee .....

Crescent moon eyes

look up, twinkling

round shoulders shake

with laughter's echo

So many years, showing

the way, with nimble hands and heart

softening hides, velvety white

then gloves, vests, moccasins

Ninety-three years walking

this earth, again and again

the joy of now

Incalculable

the loss, a perfect Oshanee

shaped hole in their hearts

Yet time will endow

star-studded skies and aching

hearts with twinkling eyes

and crescent moons

OSI: Movement

Having trouble sleeping tonight.  Full moon!  Why fight it?.......

You may have to click on the image in order to read it.

OSI Prompt #46 - Summer's Day

Late start this week! I confess that the prompt did not compute at first -- with lots of old snow and ice in the yard, 'a summer's day' seemed out of reach. But then........ I remembered all that sleeps under the ground. I felt how tired I am, and how much I need to rest. So I took a nap today, and what was on my mind when I awoke was the yin / yang symbol. This was what came out of the prompt and reflections. (You may need to click on the image to be able to read it.)

Prompt 45: Skin

It has been a year and a half since my mother passed on. I have many precious memories of the time spent with her after she moved here to be closer to family. Among my favorites are the ways my granddaughters spent time with her.

aged hands, once slender

and graceful..... lemon lotion,

tiny hands, big smiles!

Then there are the memories of first contacts with your own grandchildren:

rose petal sweetness

lips to cheek, grand baby in my

arms - time, stand still!

And the daily contact that sweetens the day......

sweet breath on my cheek

lapping like waves on the shore

of the dawning day

Prompt 44: Stardust

This is my first entry in response to a 'OneSingleImpression' prompt. (In fact, it's been a very long time since I posted here at all!) The 'Stardust' prompt immediately recalled my daughter's story about her five-year-old daughter, Gaia, who awoke one morning still half in her dream, stardust in her mouth. These are the words she spoke. (Click on the image to see it & her words at a higher resolution.)

Here is the link if you would like to explore the haiku prompt site: OneSingleImpression.

One Deep Breath - Childhood Story

This weeks prompt brought back a favorite memory, story, and family (silent) movie....

Turning Round

Empty tire, perfect hole
curled inside, little brother
grin-lit face shining!

my father's camera,
rolling reel, on silent film
delight recording

my face too, lit by
a grin, my brother inside
the tire I'm rolling

up and down, around
he goes, his eyes crescent moons
his song is laughing

now upside down, his
face a frown? fingers pinched
grimace accusing!

camera records the
silent 'ow!' - my smile melts too,
now tears and hugging

forgive and forget
then begin again, his turn
to set me rolling!

love is for living
play for enjoying, hurts come
and we learn forgiving

Etched in Stone

layers of love and

memory recorded here,

etchings bridge the gap

This is my first entry in many weeks -- the time in between full of all the deep work of my mother's passing, memorials, etc., and so much to catch up on. I hope to reintegrate the haiku & photography practice here again!

This week's One Deep Breath prompt is 'Boulders, rocks, stones & pebbles'. I've been something of a stone collector since a child, and stones* seemed a fitting expression of so much that we felt and needed to express...

(* This might be a good place to thank Claire (Claire Emery Wood Engravings & Illustration) --in 'favorite places to visit-- for her beautiful design on this memorial stone, and Barry Chandler & Janet Haarvig (Written in Stone) for finding the perfect stone for us, and the exquisite job of cutting the design into the stone. The result was deeply gratifying!)

My brother's poem for my mother

This is a poem my brother, Jon, wrote for my mother some years ago on mother's day, long before he ever dreamed of having children.. The evening before she passed, he knelt by her side, his arm wrapped around his three young boys, and recited this poem to her. (This was one of many beautiful revelations that I witnessed during our vigil. The shared experience calls forth layers of spirit our ordinary lives don't reveal.)

time passes by
like breath through our lips
and each day I smile
from the warm place in my heart
that is forever filled by you
as it fills the hearts of my children
and my children's children

. . . forever.

jon