PRAYERS FOR THE DEPARTED AND THE FLOWERS OF THE SUMMER SUN

I said to the guy in a large auditorium; Don’t forget about the ones that have left us, the good friends and such…

 

But, since the guy was a pragmatist, a stoic type, his reply was simply, What can you do with them? He didn’t mean anything by it. He was saying in his own way that he himself was in the here-now. I understood and understand, - but still I am a willful one, - and have always thought on them, - those departed ones.

Perhaps I always shall.

And who is right? Which one? The grounded one or me? The achieving one or me? The one who deals in ‘what is,’ or me? The one that navigates and negotiates this secular world with a great type of acuity and prowess, or me,- …me who stares at clouds, at the rain, at the birds passing across an Indian summer sky? 

Who is to say? 

Maybe we are both right.

Maybe we are both wrong.

Maybe there are shades.

Maybe there is no answer.

There are the city flowers and there is the country sun. But, - the country sun is the same sun that shines on the city flowers. In both places, - I think on the departed. There was the one who I didn’t know too well, - but he was tall, affable, smiling. You could see his kindness in his aura, - truly I say. He was taken in a summer car accident. And the woman, blonde, - with perhaps four hundred souls at her funeral, - taken in another one. We once sat on a bench in the night and the talk was easy, on the level, incredibly familiar and forthright. 

What of the others? The most shining one for some reason is Tom, - the only one that shall be

named. He stood in the sub-tropical sun and we talked about remote control cars, the local fish, and other things like snakes, birds, firecrackers. He is the one that said what to me is a famous saying that will never be known or cared about perhaps and it was as follows: He looked at the outside world that he was supposed to work in one day,- and it was a perfect cloudless summer day. We wanted him to come with us and play hooky. He wanted to also, so he said,

It looks like rain...

meaning it is not possible to do that type of work in the rain. We all went off and had a grand time in the Southern Floridian world. I don’t think it rained then or for days after.

So many, many others if one thinks on it. The man who said hi in a crowd when he didn’t have to, - when others just move on. The old ladies that made things, that recited decades, that were surrounded by cookies and prayer beads, by great auras and good light.

Hey, what about that old Indian man, - the Scorpio, - so strong and funny in his own odd way. I told him I knew of an avatar, and he said he was too old for that, and didn’t really care. And who cares about that now anyways I guess. 

So many. A flower for each I say, - a yellow flower valorous and unapologetic, - rising to meet the light, - opening, tall, faithful.

Proud and graceful as the blue sky observes and I recite quiet lamentations to the sun.

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