by Sheila Finkelstein on December 27, 2010
I came across these random thoughts written on a pad as I walked in Green Cay a couple of months ago. Thought I’d add them here, since all writing, for me, adds to some form of healing.
Seeing loads of snail shells, large ones, out of their element, or is it me?
Breezes sweep past and caress my legs as I look out -
Cameraless, Partnerless, here at Green Cay.
Pad and Pen – Spaces for Tears.
Well, I let them come. No camera to hide behind tonight.
Feeling breezes again
Quick caresses on my legs.
Oh, how I wish they were yours, that you were here, my Beloved.
Spoonbill was on dry land, dried out spot -
Found way back to walk.
Only for me, dry land – wet land.
There is more to find here on Earth.
Anhinga is spreading his wings and don’t know why it is.
Is it you, my Darling, letting me know through your favorite bird that you’re here?
by Sheila Finkelstein on September 24, 2010
I had a full “plate” of classes and “to-dos” today and once again I got a nudge at 11:30 AM to finish the call I was on and drop in on Julie Jordan Scott’s WRITING CAMP. From my experience of being in the spaces that Julie creates, I know something is bound to open up for me. I my not always know what it is or will be and I was surprised today to find that memories of Sam flowed from my, interestingly, red pen. Was the “red” for my heart?
The prompt “Blessings in front of my right now“; the floor and the tiles that take me anywhere I want to go in my house: to the riches or the distractions; to 3 carpeted rooms, two of which house my MacIntosh computers; the other my bed for rest and memories of Sam, of being held closely, tightly, lovingly and being gently caressed on the flesh of my abdomen when I lay on my back.
I hated this. It brought my attention and awareness to what I felt was an excess of fat, more pronounced, for me, with his caresses. I always stopped him, removed his hand; never thought to ask what pleasure he derived from this. Too late now.
My writing continued, given there was more time before the timer had Julie state, “Complete your thought and end for now.” I continued writing about the pot in front of me, in the center of the floor, remaining from a fire ritual I did last night, celebrating the Fall Equinox. And that story is unimportant here.
Suffice it to say, “Life does go on and we can continue to find richness and blessings if we put ourselves out in communities which support us.” Thank you, Julie.
by Sheila Finkelstein on March 9, 2010
Photo by Sam Finkelstein - Morning Fog overlooking Long Island Sound in Harkness Memorial State Park, Waterford, CT
I come to know aloneness, intimately, when I remember the fogs that Sam and I stood in… Harkness Gardens in Connecticut and the beautiful image in the distance, the broken fog. I leaned against him to enjoy together. And he is no longer here.
Then there was the fog of Bar Harbor, Maine, the year we couldn’t see in the distance beyond it and had the experience of studying that which was beneath us and closely all around. The boys, came up to us and we were all together – a family.
The family still exists, though, distant somewhat, with their own. The intimacy still exists on a different level and though they say he’s with us in memory, they can’t miss the feel of him against my body. Memories don’t quite suffice and the gratitude for having had it exists always.
The intimacy of aloneness, what does it mean? I surround myself with stories when I think and look at things, and they are not the stories of Sam or us. They are the stories I make up from what I currently see.
Would stories from the past make a difference? I think not. It’s being in the present that will most empower me, knowing I’m blessed with those intimate memories, plus the love notes and photos from Sam still present in my home as well as my heart.
(Note: This writing came out of a visualization, breathing exercise, in Julie Jordan Scott’s Writing Intensive Winter Camp. Thank you, Julie.)
