Game

“I’m going back to bed. Tell me about it in the morning, I’m sure it’s going to be really cool.”

“What? Really?” The Bohemian is standing in the dark of the room at the end of the bed where I have just crawled back under the covers and put my head to the pillow. It’s 3:11am.

I’m smiling to myself with my little joke. Loving to hear the tone of genuine disappointment in his voice – just for this quick moment – as it affirms to me that he actually wants to do this. Still surprising me, this man seems game for anything.

And this morning’s mission consists of a wee-hour drive to follow the moon. It’s the last total lunar eclipse North America will see until 2014 and Hawaii’s view time of the moon, completely shadowed by the earth, is set for 4:06am.

Joke over, I’m out of bed and making snacks. I throw some blankets in a bag and we’re off on to the quiet highway with the eclipsing moon above us through the windshield. We find a great spot on a country road that overlooks the ocean, though it’s so dark as the shadow seeps across the moon’s surface that we can’t really see the sea. But we can see stars. And in the two hours we spend laid out in the back of my truck, watching our celestial movie, we probably made at least 10 wishes.

courtesy of Paul Miller and http://www.universetoday.com

In steady time, there remained only a thin smile of light stretching across the bottom of the moon. All was hushed. No dogs barking, even the roosters that crow 24/7 were quieted in the darkening night. We watched in wonder when suddenly the shadow of an owl swooped low – with impeccably silent wings – right over our heads, our awe expressed in reverent whispers.

Eventually, it was time to come out from the shadow. As promised, the moon began to emerge, casting light on the coconut fronds and ocean waves below us. In the early morning hours the sky lightened, though the sun was not yet risen.

“How about a double feature?” I asked.

The Bohemian (though a major movie lover) is not familiar with my English term.

“You know, sometimes at the movies they’ll show two for the price of one and call it a double feature. Wanna go see the sunrise? I think we’ve got time to get to the East side.”

As always, the man is game. And we arrive in time to see low clouds on the horizon as small waves roll in warming air. We back the truck up to the sand and situate ourselves once more for the nature show.

Upon the sun’s first beams of tangerine light through the cloud line, I’m humming “Here Comes the Sun” and the Bohemian is offering his mantra “It’s another day! We get another day!”

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

And so with the morning officially on and the Saturday traffic beginning to resume its zoom, we’re sleepy-eyed and happy.

Did I mention the pending birthday party I was to host that day?

Yes, Jeb had a party that was scheduled to begin in a few hours and his dad would be bringing him to our place for the day’s festivities.

Celestial events and shooting stars aside, I had hot dog buns to buy. So we made our way to the bright lights of Foodland to pick up my last-minute party items. Then back home, where the Bohemian washed dishes and swept my floors – whistling all the while.

In the two hours, pre-party, the man had juiced 40 starfruit, cleared dead coconut fronds from the yard, taken down cobwebs on the lanai and cleaned the barbecue grill. Just when I thought he couldn’t do much more, he suggests the gorilla suit.

And so, yes, in the afterglow of a lunar eclipse and little sleep, party introductions to new friends, some hang time with Bodhi’s father, and a gaggle of eight year olds high on cookies, the Bohemian dons a gorilla suit. Well, at least the upper portion of it, which is saying a lot in the tropical heat of Hawaii.

From around the back of the house, through the bushes, he emerged as a sunglass-wearing gorilla, presenting Jeb his birthday cake. After their initial surprise, the throng of boys upped their alpha and all began attempts to wrestle the beast. Soon the Bohemian was surrounded (the cake safely in my hands) as the boys each took turns grabbing the primate and then being spun and flipped, ever so delicately, by monkey arms.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

By day’s end, the party was over and the boys had all gone home. I sat in a swirl of tiredness and amazement. The morning’s eclipse seemed like a distant dream. I observed the Bohemian with genuine curiosity, as he appeared to effortlessly switch gears from the mystical realms of night owls to the practical world of the garbage can with grace, never losing his smile.

Ok, so maybe my view is tainted by infatuation.

I know I’m smitten with the man in the gorilla suit. But so far, this guy seems game for anything. And I gotta say, I just love that.

Watching for Owls

“Watch for owls.”

I’m pulling out of the driveway on to the moonlit gravel road. Leaning forward in my seat, I look through the windshield, driving slowly, my headlights on bright to illumine the fence posts that line this stretch.

We’ve driven less than 100 yards and Jeb is officially asleep. It’s nearly 2 hours past his bedtime, but that’s what you get to do – even on a school night – when it’s your birthday.

The Bohemian is in the passenger seat at my side, his eyes quietly scanning the outlying fields. This is a one lane road. No street lights. No sounds but for the hum of my motor and the stones that get kicked up by my wheels.

I’ve driven down this road in the dark many nights, often getting the gift of a sighting. Powerful and silent, the white glow of owl wings swishing through my headlights. Once I paused just short of a night-time sentry perched upon the fence, allowing my lights to observe it, its head turning 180 degrees to peer inside my window.

On this track, we can only see as far as my headlights will reach. Beyond that is dark, only lit by stars and moon.

“You should write a poem about looking for owls on this road,” says the Bohemian.

“Mmm. I like that idea. I need a post for the Archives tomorrow,” I say.

He smiles in the dark. “Well that’s going to be about Jeb’s birthday party.”

“Maybe both.”

courtesy of Vic Nic

full of kabobs and chocolate cake
our hair still smokey
from a starlight fire
there are three
driving quietly
down the dark
one lane road

with a gallon of honey
and a sleeping boy
in the back seat
this man and I
we watch for owls

eight years ago
I was alone
when the water broke
and the labor began
bringing life into my arms
to grow
in time
and measure
“How tall am I? I think I’m at your chin!”

tonight we can only see
as far as the light will reach
just beyond its cast
shadowed fields
and dampened grass
soak in shooting stars
realms
too delicate and wild
to be revealed
for now
this man and I
we watch for owls

and he thinks I am a poet
that could possibly tell you
about the magic
of seeking signs
with dim light in darkness

about the beauty of the quiet road
a birthday
my sleeping son
the feeling of an open hand
resting on my knee

I lean closer
to the window
look up
for flutters
in the light

 

Crowning

It’s 5:28am and today marks Jeb’s official eighth birthday. His excitement will rouse him from bed early, I’m sure, which means there’s not much time here for me to wax poetic on that auspicious day eight years ago.

Besides, I’ve written about it before. Various versions, that is, as there are always more than one perspective on an event, especially one like birth.

Last year produced two accounts. “At the Threshold” (which my dad said was a bit hard to read) and “Getting the Darkness” which was a combination of heartbreak and spiritual crisis.

Ok, ok. So where’s the joy? The story of the miracle of birth? It’s actually all part of the tale, just complexly woven in, like most things in life. But yes, my journey through motherhood, beginning on the day the pregnancy test strip went pink, has not been all white in a world of b and w. There have been shadows of blackness. Definite greys.

But there, too, have been crowning moments of exhalation.

Playing with the verb (the majority of my birth experience was with Jeb’s head just short of crowning but not fully coming out into the world) I thought I’d gift both Jeb and myself with an honorary crown today. Acknowledgement of the Divine Yoga we experienced together on December 5, 2003. That we lived. And continue to live this life together. Learning, growing, loving through all of the whites and blacks and greys of in-between.

We are royal in our efforts. Regal in our path as mother and son in a vast world of shadowed doorways and opening skies.

courtesy of Jeb ~ all rights reserved

This morning I come across this featured photo. Taken by Jeb when he was six years old. I love his photographs because I get to see the world through his eyes.

The location, Polihale. Roughly translated as “the house of the dead”, where it is said that all human souls make a final pass through the earth plane before going on to the spirit world.

With a theme of the full spectrum of black to white, it seems fitting to include a rainbow. A burst of color and sunlight among the shadows in the place where life meets death. To feature the house of the dead on my son’s birthday. Mix all of these symbols and metaphors into one big potpourri of Everything.

This is Life, I think. All of it.

I’m still learning.
We are still living.
Maybe we are all still being born.
Crowning.