She is sixty-three years old this morning , dressed in blue jeans and a grey tee shirt , barefooted . Someone who talked with her earlier described her as having a mystics face , sultry eyed and secretive like a cryptic message , and it’s easy to believe . This story , based on many independent interviews , is an attempt to take a closer look and to explain how a seemingly quiet and socially awkward grandmother , an artist , from a conservative city built on a river in Michigan , found herself in possession of civilizations most carefully guarded secret , being found in the northern woods where mighty owls fly in and out of this scene like leaves blowing in the wind , a tint of blue noir in the air . Her mother once described her as a gentle child of exceptional intellect ( unknown to others ) born before her time . I saw a last photo after her disappearance , a self-portrait dancing in the mirror , a mirror of cloudy reflection where we see her winter fur coat , a copy of Vanity Fair , her Mexican Bag , a pair of glasses and a copy of a drawing done by Rembrandt .
Look now , I want to show you something . Look at this , this best drawing in the world , there’s none better . Rembrandt does it with the tip of a rod dipped in ink . It’s a masterpiece with no pretention of being a masterpiece . Observe the tenderness of the scene . The position of the child’s arms enables you to feel its footsteps , it’s insecurity and doubt . And even though you don’t see his little face , you can feel his joy , his first steps . Look at this figure now , at the young girls arm drawn in haste and little attention to detail but who cares ? What matters is the love she feels for the child . She holds the baby and notice how she is about to let it go . But look carefully , even though her back is turned , from the angle of her back and head you can feel her attention focused on the child who laughs , laughs excitedly before he begins to walk . How is such wisdom possible to draw ? And this here is his mother . She’s use to this . This isn’t her first time . She’s standing nearby to intervene if necessary . Notice her heavy clothing , it’s course , dirty perhaps . And this is the father . He just got home from working in the fields and they want him to see the baby take his first steps . And this , who is she ? Perhaps a neighbor who happens to be passing and observes the scene . Do you feel the weight of the bucket she carries judging from the position of her left arm ? Rembrandt uses her to recreate that instant , to capture a slice of life , something as simple as life . It’s almost a photograph , a snapshot but time doesn’t matter here , it’s the idea , he had the idea !
What is her idea in leaving this last photo we have of her ? Her brother tells me she had phoned him and spoke of the hours in that day , that last day before her resurrection . She goes to her childhood neighborhood , takes photos . Look , here is the rusty sewer grate of her memory , she is once again here and looks where the sewer rat lives , water drips and still scares her like an old nightmare .
Here begins this day of roaming reminiscence in front of her old house . And look , here is the tree , the Supreme Being Tree she climbs as a young girl and teenager where she watches the world change as her little dog sits below and barks devotedly at anyone passing by .
She tells her brother she walks ,suddenly aware , and feels her ten year old self with braids wrapped round her head with one loose that swings slow like a pendulum , holding her now aged hand . They walk together down the streets past her playmates homes , past their old grade school now boarded up with graffiti that changes it into a canvas of mayhem like the bell that sounds at closing time , past the YMCA where they cry sitting on the steps after President Kennedy is assassinated , waiting for her mother to come . They walk past the house where she spies on her teenage cousin and boyfriend kissing and past her aunt and uncles house where life is more raw and free .
I don’t know why she returns to the streets of her childhood . Sometimes you do things without knowing why . Is she traveling , is she alive ? Is she living now with only the essential things … air , sleep , dreams , the sea , the sky ? Many months have passed since beginning this story and I can barely see her image now as I have come to a barrier like crashing waves immersing me under a beautiful sunset , cherished soft in my mind . And what about her secret possession found that day . I think she leaves clues for us to find in nature , in the animals , in the music , in museums , in life , your life , my life , something as simple as life ! And I can hear her voice sometimes , “Can you write , can you talk truthfully , can you grow your own food , can you raise consciousness , can you sing , write poetry , paint art . Can you tend to the forests and plant trees , can you listen for the truth , can you silence the wrong ? Can you meditate , can you teach , can you be a light bearer for the world ? Can you wake your heart and will you open your eyes now “?
Look once more at the tree she climbs . It bears the stars themselves in the realm of everlasting life , and see , see it’s roots forever pure , forever immortal , forever true . And look now , look closer , there is a poem hanging on the tree . I see her of my story young, I see her old and now I too know the carefully guarded secret ( no longer guarded )she holds so dear … I see myself , my Love self , my Divine self …. Life, simple Life …..aaahhhhhhhh
Above photograph mailed to me after article was published … signed with her signature and postmarked , Planet Jupiter
I would like to give credit to Henri Cartier-Bresson for the beautiful photographs of the girl with braids and woman on beach …. And also to Lara Zankoul photography for the last photo entitled “Orbit”
LikeLike
Happy happy birthday!
Cathy Metzger
>
LikeLike
Thankyou Cathy !
LikeLike
I just had to come back and visit those amazing trees, Meg, and those closing lines, well, goosebumps on goosebumps… these are deliciously wondrous masterpieces… they all feel a part of the novel that is being written by your hand as we breathe and live.
LikeLike
Janet ….you write such lovely comments … Thankyou from my heart .
LikeLike
This is written beautifully. Several lines stood out to me as I was reading, and I had to read them again because I so appreciated the words that you chose and the music of the way they sounded.
LikeLike
How kind and encouraging you are Kerri …Thankyou so much
LikeLike
Bélier, animal totem le Faucon, comme mon fils …!!!
LikeLike
Laurent , …I haven’t read this post since writing it in April ….I’m going to change that owl in the story to a Peregrine Falcon !!! …thank you so much xxx
LikeLiked by 1 person
My pleasure …!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Merci Laurent ! ….visionary power , wisdom , guardianship , message of transition , travels far distances ( spiritually ) ….xxx meg
LikeLike