A Little About Pat O'Connor

Originally written September 3, 2003

Am old enough to understand the difference between the Bay of Pigs - and roasting a pig at a epicurian feast. Been thru the hippy, yippie and yuppie years - always remaining who I am.

Very much believe in "Sing your own song - weave your own tapestry"

Am young enough to still know the thrill of new discoveries, the beauty of the evening, to celebrate the joy of another tommorow.

Survived these many decades with a severe medical problem. Sorting out the maze of now having two lymphomas and all their nasty little companions, but I continue.

Besides, being a simple iconoclastic eclectic, have been called many things. An incurable romanticist - with a strong touch of reality. Thinker, intellectual (God, how I hate that term) - been told I am a lion with the heart of the poet.

Know how to wage war and conquer my foes - but would rather be known as one who brings hope and life. To bring hope into anothers life is the ultimate of joys.

Life should be about bringing hope, peace, vision... a sense of purpose beyond yourself.

"The needs of the many.... outweigh the needs of the one."

Where are the gentle people? Where are those who seek truth, instead of just regurgitating their own ignorance? Where are those who question... even themselves?

Were I rich, I would be called eccentric.... but as a middle class person... I am just off the wall.

If I havent scared you off - respond - share your thoughts.

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Two long years have passed since I wrote that...and much has happened. Hopefully, I have grown, become a bit kinder and more caring. Hopefully too I have been able to make a small difference in a few lives with my website Lymphedema People and its many online support groups.

I do think my life is happier and more fullfilling and has a renewed sense of purpose and for that I am grateful.

I will be adding regularly to the blog and hope you enjoy it.

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Most of the photographs used will be mine. Other artwork is freely available on the internet and I will provide credits and links to those as well.

Finally, all writing is my own creation, unless I specifically say otherwise in the title line

Enjoy!

My Brother, the Hawk

My Brother,  the Hawk

September 20, 2003 - Saturday

In the dusk and in the dawn, you have been my friend. Our hearts have touched.. and I long to be with my brother. When I go outside and if I don't see you, I miss you and long for your companionship. I am honored by your friendship and comforted by your spirit.

We share so much my friend. When you take wing upon the wind...my spirit joins you among the heavens. Your cry is my voice, your sorrow... my tears. Together we journey through our lives seeking to know the truth and the purpose of our lives.

Two solitary spirits.... yet, one, in a mystical union... a celebration of life and creation. We have been so blest by Grandfather Spirit to be brothers.

Share with me your strength and I shall share my joy. Share with me your wisdom and I shall share my desire. Share with me your pain and I shall share my hope.

Fill my heart with the understanding of Grandfather Spirit.... teach me to be strong.

Fill my spirit with respect for Grandfathers creation and I shall be a faithful steward of the beauty of His world.

Soon, my brother... he is who is Spirit of the Sky shall rejoice with He Who walks in Two Worlds

The Tomorrows Are All Gone

The Tomorrows Are All Gone

Wednesday, September 3, 2003

I remember when we met, on that chilly and wet October morning in 1973. We were so young, only 18.. and life was full of hope and reverberated with joyous expectations.

You soon captured my heart with the beauty of your smile, the softness of your heart... the life in your eyes. How I loved to be lost in your eyes and to explore the secrets of your soul.

But even then, the demons lurked... like evil shadows crouching in dark corners. Why could I not see them? Did I even want to?

Spring and Summer came and our spirits intertwined in a celebration of life itself. The Autumn we spent wandering hand in hand thru the Alps..... how can it be... that it really happened... such ancient of days long ago in a forgotten lifetime.

The years blended into decades with monotonous regularity.... and then who you were died. Like a flower consumed in the heat you faded into oblivion.... and the demons came and the fog settled over your spirit..... and there were no more tomorrows.

Who you were died...... and I wonder how much beauty was forever lost when you died...how much joy was left unfulfilled ... how many promises of hope lie buried in a graveyard of emptiness.

And I couldn't even save you..... the more we run from our demons, the more we become their prisoner. To be free from our pain, we must embrace it and allow it to sculpture our spirit,,, to create beauty.... other wise it will consume our souls.... and no one can save you.

I couldn't even give you the bouquet of forgiveness... how I wanted to set it at your doorstep.... but the petals would have withered and fallen in a crumpled pile.

Now, you have woven your own reality.... hidden away in your home (your car)..with you only companions a cellphone and a lap top. You are safe, even from those who love and care.

How I mourn for who you were... how my heart weeps because of the fog that covers your soul......am I one of those who can only love once? "If I give my heart.... it will be forever.... or I'll never fall in love".... but there are no more tomorrows.

Only the sorrows of today and the memories of a forsaken yesterday.

artwork: Web Musem

Why Must It Be So

Here is my very first attempt at writing from my heart. my daugher found it tonight, and I didnt even think I still had a copy:

WHY MUST IT BE SO

The soul is an empty shell. The heart is lonely, it breaks with pain. Hurt, battered and worn with time, it continues it's anguished beat.

For a fleeting moment, love had entered in and at last it could exclaim, "I have found the one for me!" But then as the black clouds of despair covered the sun, the brief, flickering flame died out; and all was cast into cold.

The heart cried out in bitter agony, "Why, why, oh my God must it be so? Why must I always be alone, so all alone? I can not long continue my lonely vigil for the pillars of my temples crumble in the wake of my enemy...loneliness. I bleed fatally with pain, hurt and agaony! Please, I beg, lift me up from this dark and forbidden sea."

The storm raged relentlessly, lashing out it's cruel and bitter fury and the desolate heart. Pain, agony and despair grew, and Grew, and GREW.... until... all was quiet... tranquility prevailed.... the war was over.

The heart lay still, it was alive... but dead. It was forever destined to continue it's lonely, ever so lonely life.

And all it asked was.... Why, Why must it be so?

11/13/1969

The True Warrior

THE TRUE WARRIOR

Sunday, September 7, 2003 9:42:00 AM EDT

Is one who walks in humility and obedience before Great Spirit

One who seeks the Wisdom of GrandFather Eagle as he embraces the heavens and touches the stars.

One who lays down his own life for his people, his village, his family

One who has the strength of great bear, but the gentleness of a butterfly

One who has the courage of a lion, but the heart of a poet

One who respects and seeks the counsel of the elders

One who is a father that nutures and guides not only his children but all children of the village

One who stands as a protector of the unprotected

One who respects mother nature and all her creation

One who always does that which is right, without regard to personal cost

One who even while alone in the forest, maintains his purity of heart and soul

On who seeks always to walk in peace, who only wages war to defend and protect his people.

"Oh Great Spirit, search me and try me. Create in me the spirit of the true warrior that I may serve you and be a river of life to all who trails I cross."

nvwadohiyada ulihelisdi utugi ayelvnudvnadegv
peace joy hope health

Requiem for Methuselah
09/03/03

How I cherish the solitude of the night. Sitting on my patio, I fill my brain's hungry neuro-transmitters with adequate doses of nicotine. While the fireflies sparkle in the darkness, beaming their hopes to the world beyond, I cast my soul forth to embrace the heavens and wander among the stars.

The woods beyond reverberate in a jubilee of life. The joyous songs of the crickets blend with the audacious symphony of frogs to give birth to a sweet rhapsody of harmony and peace.

But, the wind changes, and as the moon wanes, the rhapsody of the night is hushed, pierced only by the painful cry of a robin or the lonely call of a solitary whippoorwill.

For it is the time for the shadows. They scurry forth and in solemn procession they journey to the rivers edge to whisper a requiem for all the thousands of yesterdays that have been abandoned and forgotten. To remember only briefly the sorrows of a forsaken humanity.

"A Requiem for Methuselah"

But, there is no time to mourn and no comfort to be found inthe hollowness of today. For on the waters, a gaunt and haunting figure pushes his boat to the shore. He is the guardian of the underworld and cries, "A ride for a coin."

Spare change - anyone have any spare change? I need to journey across the river Styx but I have no change....but soon...it is too late and the boat is gone. Again I am left alone on the shore. Even the shadows hide and tremble...and all I hear is the gentle splash as the guardian guides his boat back across the water....and again I am left alone on the shore.

The quiet fills the air....shall we sing of sorrows or sonnets....a hymn or a soliloqouy....shall we celebrate a wake....or just whisper a requiem for Methuselah?

artwork: Visual Paradox

The Tormented Soul
09/20/03

Listen to the quiet..... listen my friend, to the stillness of the night.....do you hear? Do you hear the weeping of the tormented soul? Do you hear the anguish and torment of the damned?

The sorrows of a thousand yesterdays turn into the emptiness of a million tomorrows and always, always, there is the quiet.... and the solitude of thelost soul.

The lonely paths untaken, the journeys unknown....the endless roads where the only footprints are those that follow you. Where does the tormented spirit go for peace...for comfort... for love.

Bouquets of sorrows, songs and sonnets.... and you cry out to your God for answers...only to have the echoes of your cries bounce off the walls and disappear into nothingness. And you wonder.... is God asleep or maybe he has just forgotten.

Perhaps we are as Milton said, "Helpless sinners in the hands of an angry God."

And there are no answers, no faint whispers of truth, not even a dim light to guide you. There is only the meaningless of the now. Am I one of the damned...destined now become one of the lost...one of the wretched.... one of those who aimlessly wander through the bareness of existence.?

And no one knows.....and you play the role... and who you are expected to be...and do what you need to do... all the while withering and dieing... fading into oblivion...disappearing into nothingness.

*"Have you ever heard a Robin weep, as Autumn leaves begin to fall.... It means she has lost the will to live."

artwork: Sue3Hawk

Sorrow's Song
10/03/03

It is dawn, but there is no sun. It is a prisoner of the thick gray clouds lie a captive soul bound in chains and hidden away in lonely isolation.

The cold dampness of the air torments my bones and the monotony of the dreary rain echoes through my head and numbs my senses.

For to live is to journey towards death...and in the journey the spirit sings sorrow's song.

Oh! quiet shadow of death, where is they sweet kiss, thy gentle touch.... the soft embrace that frees our spirit.

For so long you have snatched away those I love, those whos presence gone leaves a sorrowful mourning. But, have you forgotten my name?

Did you not see the candle I left burning for you in the window or has the rain blinded your sight?

Did you not see how I wrote my name in your book or was it erased by an uncaring fate?

Come and let us embrace with passion's dare, take my hand and know the secrets of my soul.

And in mean... sorrow's song continues....line by line....verse by verse.

Emily
10/25/03

How can words possibly express that special love a father has for his daughter. They seem so very inadequate and superficial.

Just like it was yesterday,I remember that day when a new little baby girl cam into our family and our world. When you were little, you were so excitable and spilled over with glee at every new delight. That laugh, those beautiful little eyes were so full of life and joy. That joy still overhwlems my heart when I remember those times. How can one tiny little girl bring so much fullness to a heart?

Then, as you grew, you became timid. With every new thing you always said, "but daddy, I can't".... but you always did... even learning to swim...do you remember?

You always tried and tried and you never failed.

The seasons went by so quickly...Spring and Fall, Winter and Summers....suddenly my little girl was all grown up. You had become a beautiful woman strong and independent in your own right.

How I respect the woman you have become. How I admire the person you are...your courage, your strength, your determination... and your unwillingness to let the sorrows and trials of life break your spirit.

One day, not so very long ago, you came to me and said, "There is a song that makes me think of you, it's called "Your Song"... I can never listen to it without tears whelling up in my eyes. That my daughter should think that of her dad is beyond what any father could hope for.

Remember, no matter where I am, or where you are, listen closely to the whispers of the wind and I will be singing it, just for you.

Sometimes, you tell me about something that happened and the first thing you though was, "I want my daddy!".... how my heart dissolves like molten putty.

Take wings with the spirit of the dawn, little butterfly. Embrace the heavens and touch the stars. Dream your dreams and watch them become the beauty of your hope.

Let all the world celebrate your life and rejoice with the comfort of your presence.

Happy 22nd Birthday

Love

Dad

Little Boy Lost

Little Boy Lost
09/08/03

Little boy lost...why do you sit alone in the frigid night air... alone on the first stair?

Little boy lost...what is it you fear? Are there monsters hiding in the dark at the top of the stairs? Or is it the rage and anger of those who have so brutlized your young body?

Little boy lost... why do you cry? Is it from the pain and sorrow that has already seared your tender spirit? Or is it the bitter lonilness that comes only from abandonment?

Little boy lost.... where is your mom, to wipe those tears.... or your dad to hold you in his comforting arms?

Little boy lost... so all alone ... so all alone.
Take my hand my little friend. Together we'll find your place, we'll find your home.
Sorrow is a river that runs so very deep, and never really ever goes away.

But beside the river you can plant a garden. You can fill it full of beautiful flowers and trees. It can be a sanctuary where hummingbirds and butterflies dance and play, a place where robins and bluebirds fill the air. Your hideaway where sweet music drifts downward from the boughs of the trees.

A home, where joy begins anew and where your spirit can be healed by the warmth of a new sun.

artwork: Hyena Storm Cub