The first night back in New York is always the hardest. I hear my mother's voice, not as an eternal cradle song but as a memory with actual tone and emotion. I see her playing Chopin on the grand piano or calling me to the living room to sit and as she would say... "tell me everything, everything!" If only I could, I would...oh how I'd ramble on...all about Columbia, The House on St.Joseph Street, all the angels flying in and out of my court, about the beautiful buffalo and the rising, and laura's being deeper than all the oceans deep, the saturday hospital healing from Paula and Ken, some of the infinite family found... but I can't tell her, not in words anyway. it makes me feel better when the buffalo says, "she already knows everything, she's 'conducting the orchestra, lizzie', (quoting "louise"). The Dharma sees me on my knees. he barks the same wisdom that the buffalo shares. I'm sure they're right... but I miss her bountiful hug, her excited eyes opening wide with my stories, her feeding crackers to fig while we walk and talk, her physical being was such a wonder. Since I can't sit beside her, I've decided, this morning, to come and sit beside you. Is it alright if I tell you everything....the holy road is neither good or bad but always winding, I'm heading Home, chanting this with every step.... If you don't create your reality, your reality will create you...Howling to you from the holy road, your friend in life and song, Lizzie ( X=h/m)
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