Part Two
Continuing with the theme of
thanking people while they are alive. (See previous entry). This whole
process is in no particular order. This is just as the wind blows for me.
Today, I think about homes, both physical and emotional structures. Homes do
not always live up to what they should be, but for me, the idea of home is one
of safety and comfort, a place where I can let down my guard. So, to the following, you have shown me glimpses of home.
Laura L Lamberti, Michigan (my second favorite state) would not be the same without your open armed welcome into your life and home. The meals of thought that we have shared should be turned into a movie. I bet the film would win the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival, and most certainly, Roger Ebert, (wherever he is now), would throw up both thumbs. You have the most extraordinary way of making people feel safe, without ever intruding; sharing, but honoring the space between.
You have taught me how to see the place in which we live as a toy box of discoveries. You love your city of Detroit. You celebrate its creaks and crevices, its noise and hush, the music within and the music that has not yet been born, its simmering and frigidity. You help me to see towns and cities differently. You remind me that one never needs to travel far to find novelty or home. One just has to open his/her eyes.
When I think of you I am reminded of the words by Walt Whitman: "Only themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves,
As Souls only understand Souls." Thank you, soul.
Lori Weinberg Leonard, you literally opened up your home...and well, quite frankly, your...(careful now, Michael Mykee Fowlin)...heart to me. Our first meeting was at a conference, where I was the keynote speaker, and you panicked because you were on the committee that organized the conference, and you were convinced that I was a no show. When you saw me you grabbed my hand, and placed it firmly on your...(heart?)...and shrilled, "Feel this! Do you feel that?" It took me a few seconds to realize that you were referring to your thumping heart, and not where my hand was resting. And thus began our journey.
Here's what I learn from you, Lori. You have never been satisfied at pigeon holing yourself into any one thing. You seem to always ask yourself, "What do I want to be when I grow up?" Yet, you are content at where you are, and the moment you are not, you change it. You are free in altering the form with the quickest blink. This is what life is about -- Experiences! Seizing the moment or having the moments seize us. I love the experiences we have shared. You are home. In some of my darkest moments, I have reached out to you. (You know this, so stop doubting it.) Your heart (?) is luscious and giving in photos and life. Truly, your legacy twists and gallops through a multitude of spirits.
And finally, you literally belong to the smallest list in my life (don't you feel special now?): There are only a couple of people who I have accepted their invitations to be a sleepover guest in their homes, and no family home more frequently than yours. I celebrate you in my life.
Laura L Lamberti, Michigan (my second favorite state) would not be the same without your open armed welcome into your life and home. The meals of thought that we have shared should be turned into a movie. I bet the film would win the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival, and most certainly, Roger Ebert, (wherever he is now), would throw up both thumbs. You have the most extraordinary way of making people feel safe, without ever intruding; sharing, but honoring the space between.
You have taught me how to see the place in which we live as a toy box of discoveries. You love your city of Detroit. You celebrate its creaks and crevices, its noise and hush, the music within and the music that has not yet been born, its simmering and frigidity. You help me to see towns and cities differently. You remind me that one never needs to travel far to find novelty or home. One just has to open his/her eyes.
When I think of you I am reminded of the words by Walt Whitman: "Only themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves,
As Souls only understand Souls." Thank you, soul.
Lori Weinberg Leonard, you literally opened up your home...and well, quite frankly, your...(careful now, Michael Mykee Fowlin)...heart to me. Our first meeting was at a conference, where I was the keynote speaker, and you panicked because you were on the committee that organized the conference, and you were convinced that I was a no show. When you saw me you grabbed my hand, and placed it firmly on your...(heart?)...and shrilled, "Feel this! Do you feel that?" It took me a few seconds to realize that you were referring to your thumping heart, and not where my hand was resting. And thus began our journey.
Here's what I learn from you, Lori. You have never been satisfied at pigeon holing yourself into any one thing. You seem to always ask yourself, "What do I want to be when I grow up?" Yet, you are content at where you are, and the moment you are not, you change it. You are free in altering the form with the quickest blink. This is what life is about -- Experiences! Seizing the moment or having the moments seize us. I love the experiences we have shared. You are home. In some of my darkest moments, I have reached out to you. (You know this, so stop doubting it.) Your heart (?) is luscious and giving in photos and life. Truly, your legacy twists and gallops through a multitude of spirits.
And finally, you literally belong to the smallest list in my life (don't you feel special now?): There are only a couple of people who I have accepted their invitations to be a sleepover guest in their homes, and no family home more frequently than yours. I celebrate you in my life.
Lisa
Marie Carrillo, we go way back, my friend.
However, it is not just our history that I treasure; I treasure you. There are
countless examples of why this is so, but here's what I share. In the darkest period
of my life, so far, I brought you and a handful of friends into it with me. I
wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation of being on the cusp of having
two children, from two different women, within in a five month period. Like I
stated, I shared my sadness, my self-loathing with a number of people. The
responses varied. There was empathy, sympathy, concern, worry, and definitely
judgment from more friends than I care to admit. I didn't need to feel more
remorse or self-deprecation than I already felt -- (quite frankly, I was
already feeling suicidal). But your response, Lisa, shined like God. No one
quite approached your rejoinder. I told you of my situation, and without
hesitation, without judgment, without condemnation, you smiled and said, "Oh,
how wonderful, Michael! Your soul will now be in two more beings." I was
moved by your words back then, as I am now.
You taught me that darkness is like sadness, and light is like joy. We do not remove the darkness to increase light. We add the light to make it less dark, as we add the joy to make it less sad. Thank you for shining light through all these years.
You taught me that darkness is like sadness, and light is like joy. We do not remove the darkness to increase light. We add the light to make it less dark, as we add the joy to make it less sad. Thank you for shining light through all these years.
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