I am more than the sum of my parts

I am the delight in the sunrise, the joy in the face that now sees
I am the bounce in the step no longer hindered by disease
I am the tears of joy of one who takes her first breath
And I am the hope in the one who no longer fears death

You can find me deep within the confident doctor's craft
For one lost on the ocean of despair, I am his life raft
I am marked forever in the skin of the gravely burned
I become the spark in the new love that now is returned

I can dance in the lives of those I've never known
And am loved by their grandchildren long after they've grown.
You see, my body, my vessel, I am blessed to outlive
My plan for my form at my end - a donation to give.

I chose a great life on this earth, while I could,
My legacy of contribution still does me good.
I gave, and still do, with all of my heart
And, I am, oh, so much more than the sum of my parts.

                                                                         - Ellison 2/17/11





JOURNEY

Tracks of my destiny

Where might we go?

Deep into the wilderness,

Far across the snow?

Are we off to the big city

Or to see the rivers flow?

Perhaps to kiss a long time love

Of which you'd never know.

Tracks of my destiny

Where might we go?

Take me there post haste

As straight as the flight o'the crow.

~ Ellison 2/14/2011

The human mind- a fictitious tale

There's a woman I know who rarely leaves her bed. She has been this way for eight years. She is not bed bound. She can walk. She chooses not to. Over time, her body has atrophied and it hurts to walk, so she doesn't. She lies in bed, becomes more atrophied and when she does get up , it hurts even more. And the cycle continues. She also chooses not to eat. It almost seems that in all that not getting up that she was doing, her circle of influence got really, really small and now in order to have a sense of control, she can't eat. She knows it's strange. She tells me so. She's young- in her fifties. She used to be a successful business woman.  She's so used to this lifestyle that as the windows for change are opening up with the possibilities of successfully eating and strength building, that she is unconsciously manifesting new physical ailments to excuse away her not getting up and not eating. She sees it happening. She tells me so. But she can't see it stopping. She doesn't know how.
The power of the human mind...

On Being Present

Included in Miriam Webster's definitions of present are: 'something presented'; 'introduce socially'; 'to bring to one's attention'; and 'now existing or in progress'.


Presence, for me, is mindful.
To have presence as a state of being, is to have presence as a state of mind.
It's something one can have as an intention but something hard to plan for.
Presence is intrigue, intent and observation all rolled up into one.
Looking upon a situation, no matter how familiar, with new eyes as if for the first time.
Focusing your interest and sharing your value of that person through your silence, or your heart fully expressed affirmations.
Not listening to your head and how you relate to the issue, not comparing, not thinking about what you're going to say.
It's in the allowing someone to share their accomplishments and treasures without having to one up them with yours.
It exists when you breathe through your inclination to speak.
It is in the moments of time that pass without you noticing.
It's there when you watch a child's first steps.
It is in the conversation that delights, the forgetting of oneself.
It thrives in the closing of one's eyes to touch the music and dance along with the beat.
It's in the bird's wings as she soars along the edges of the strong breeze.
It's being lost deep within that artistic expression, or expressionless art.
It's being there, really being there for the person who is dying their death, their way. No agenda. No formula. Just love.


The ability to be present is a skill that we are born with. All it involves is remembering to take the "you" out of the equation.
Being present, for me, is mindful. Being present is a blessing, Being present is well....just that.

- Ellison 2/10/11

ELLISON

Several times, when I've shared a piece of literary creation, people ask " Who's Ellison?" referring to the named strategically placed at the end of the work along with the date. I don't write as often as I might want, and it's not always work that I want to share but when I do put pen to paper, or in this case, fingers to keyboard, I do so with intention.

I write for myself. For the me that has been, since childhood, and before, and for the me that will be in the future and forever more. In doing that, though, I also write for all of the aspects of me that I hold dear.

I write for my Mum, for her legacy, her origins and the things unsaid. As an only child, my mum didn't speak of her parents and when she did, it wasn't with overwhelming fondness. Kathleen and Tom, my maternal grandparents are long since gone. I write as a tribute to that belonging that is no more and that died with my grandparents- the Ellison name. In doing so, I feel somehow connected to a part of history and I install in myself a smoldering bit of pride combined with love and sorrow. It's a feeling I enjoy. I must, because I go there often enough. It's like a warm remembrance of days past, like how smelling a warm pie in the oven reminds one of carefree days. For me, it is the thought of bright blue kitchen tiles, appropriate manners and a cupboard with Maltesers in it. It's trips that Mum took to my college and walks around the grounds. Silliness and connections; boundaries being smeared and bonds being formed. A wonderful relationship that I almost never had, but that was generated despite the odds.

I also write for the child I've always wanted and that wistfully lingers in the maybe someday land of my mind, knowing full well that it is unlikely. She's a girl, my child- a daughter. I affectionately call her Lily, after my paternal grandmother- my Dad's Step-Mum. Her name is Ellison Elizabeth. Named after that nostalgic love that I keep contained inside that's on the fringes of bursting free. Lily is a relationship that I never had but that has been generated in my dreams.

I write for the part of me that roars womanhood. The connectedness with creative energy, drum circles, women's groups, girls' nights out and Bunko babes. For Friday wine nights, long conversations on the phone and for knowing that sense of being and belonging that is always there. That we are one, as women. I am sure men have a similar sense. I am a woman so can't be sure about anything man- you'd have to ask one. I am proud to be a woman. Intrinsically proud, to my core. Proud of what it takes to be who we are as an entity, as a force, as a holder of all things nurtured, and generated. The emotional beings connected to the moon cycle, the tidal waves and the heartbeat of Mother Earth. The gentle hand that wipes a tear, the laughter that cures a frown and that determination that brings down walls.

In this, and all things that make me who I am, where I've come from and who I hope to be...I write.
For Ellison. My past, my future, my sense of self. With Love.