Endless Silence

A Day of Silence — April 30

A Wall of Block Glass

When I was a child, on each side of our front door there was a pnael of block glass. I was there when then men built in the porch, set the door, and placed the glass blocks to stand beside it. The squares were the first block glass in my experience.

I wondered about how they were like hollow ice cubes. Phoney and dry. They were cold to the touch, but sort of green. That just wasn't right. Nothing was friendly about the block glass, yet my mother so liked it. I tried to see why.

When I grew up and learned that block glass was a symbol, a statement about a time, I warmed to it, especially when I saw it on home shows on television. I liked it when it was used inside as a part of the house design. For some reason it made more sense to me then. Block glass and I struck up a friendship. It's a reminder and a protection.

This night when only clouds without stars hang from the sky, I feel strangely like I see a wall of block glass keeping watch over me.

--me strauss Letting me be

When the Air Is Smiling That Way

It wasn't a big stick that I used to draw in the sand. Big sticks aren't easy to come by when you're the moving water on a beautiful day. Who thinks of sticks when the sun is shining, and the air is smiling, and a friend is walking just a feet over on a parallel path?

When you have all of the time that you need to STOP whenever you want to take in the view, to feel the sand under your feet, you worry about sticks to move things away. You bend down with your hand and make the shape of your heart in the sand.

You let the waves carry it away, light as a float, soft as the breeze, lovely as the sky that seems to be dancing.

You don't need a big stick on day like that or any day after, because a big stick can't be had on a day when the air is smiling that way.

--me strauss Letting me be

For Virginia Tech

A Day of Silence — April 30

The Universe of Understanding

--me strauss Letting me be

Head and Heart

I can't help but think of where I was living and what I was doing and how hard held on and believed when I was 36 and 37 years old. I remember so well once when the world so let me down and I said to a friend, "I won't give up. I don't want to believe in a world that works like you say it does. I won't. I can't."

Yeah I know how it feels from the inside out. I know it's not about things on the first or second layer of an onion.

But you see, when you're in twenties, life is about learning how to not be kid, even though the world still really treats you like one. . . . And it seems all about belief.

And when you're your in your thirties, it's about figuring out that your life is your own and you're on this planet for real for three decades already -- oh my god. Somehow it seems all about skill and belief.

Then you get past forty and you notice that all of the problems and decisions look like problems and decisions that you've seen in some form or another before. It seems all about experience, skill, and belief.

If you're lucky and rich in friends, and maybe once somewhere you touched some unconditional love . . . you remember that it's about all of the above and . . . . never separating your head and your heart. When they're together, it's a lot easier to know what to hold and what to let go.

Head and heart, that's my secret.

--me strauss Letting me be

One Moment Before Spring

One second before spring finally comes, a moment happens when all the world lifts head and is filled wondeful new beginning. Only one brief moment, it'a breath of free, fresh air.

One second before spring finally comes, a thought passes over every person. Maybe this year will be the special one. It will carry the promise that we used to believe in when we were little, laughing kids high on swings in the air.

One second before spring finally comes, every flower seems to shimmer with a glow seems from a spectacular light above, and the flowers look like they stand taller and more beautiful than any flower in history might ever have.

Then a moment later, spring breaks out in full-blown, undeniable, living color love.

--me strauss Letting me be

The Definition of Love

When I was a child, in my father's eyes, the sun rose and set on my head. The relationship was round and whole, always my hand inside his, always my chin turned up toward his, I knew he hung the bright moon. We spoke the language of unconditional love and understanding. The perception between us was at the deepest soulfelt level. He never once said no to me. He always asked if I was happy. Somehow my life was filled with deep take care for his happiness too.

At no moment in my life could I think a thought, say a word, or wish a dream, that would bring harm or hurt to him. It was beyond imagining to allow even the slightest sadness to cross those brown eyes that would so soften when my reflection was in them.

I knew every cell of him. He knew every cell of me. No hidden motives or baggage ever came between. No mistrust, no mistaken words, two hearts fully open in joy was the reality.

When I was 26, my mother, his wife, was dying. She was in an irreversible coma.

Like so many days, through my entire life, my father stretched back on top of his bed. I sat beside him my head his barrel chest. This time instead of him listening to me. I was listening to him. He spoke for less than 10 minutes. It was the only time he spoke of what might have been.

As the youngest child, the way my parents did things was the way that families worked. For as long as I knew, my folks were like early TV parents -- they didn't sleep together. My mom would fall asleep on the couch. She said she liked the couch behind her back. . . . besides he didn't get home from the saloon until 4 in the morning. Then he snored so loudly you could hear him two rooms away. My mom got up at 6 a.m..

That day when I was 26, my dad asked me a question about himself.

He said, quite simply, "Do you think I wanted to sleep alone all of these years?"

I was stunned to hear it, because my mind went Do I think? Do I think? Oh my god. Here is this person I know better than I know me and I never had this thought. How did I miss this chance to care about him?

Then he said what is the definition of love, "It made her happy."

This man, my father, the man that I knew so deeply, told me something about himself I never saw -- "perceptive, deep feeling. live my life to never hurt him" me-- I never saw it.

I never saw it, because he didn't need me to see it. He didn't need anyone to see it.

On that day in his quiet voice he told me for a reason. He wanted his daughter to understand how he loved the woman who was dying.

I laid my head back on his his barrel chest. I heard his heartbeat for her, for him, for me.

He made sure that love lived on.

It made her happy.

Four words that made me.

--me strauss Letting me strauss

Wondering about Stars

How many stars does it take to make a sky? How much blue black, I wonder? Where in the world am I right now?

People are made of the same stuff as stars. People often reach for them. People can shine as brightly as a star, giving light almost everywhere without even knowing.

Like the stars or on a cloudy night, some people might almost disappear from view, if you don't know where to find them.

Yet the stars are hot, gaseous balls of fire, and so many people don't seem to have a fire inside them.

How do people remember they are stars?

Isn't that why we walk at night staring up at them?

I wonder if stars could, what they would think about the people who are made of the same stuff as they are.

--me strauss Letting me be