I happened to chance upon this poem a while ago when I was checking my email. Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep is a poem largely considered to be written by Mary Elizabeth Frye (1904-2004), but of disputed origin. Of course the reason I am sharing this remarkable verse here is not to discuss who is the original author but to share with you the power and wisdom in the words. It was said that Frye first wrote this poem in 1932 for a German Jewish friend, Margaret Schwarzkopf. Margaret Schwarzkopf had been worrying about her mother, who was ill in Germany. The rise of Anti-Semitism had made it unwise for her to join her mother. When her mother died, she told Mary Frye she had not had the chance to stand by her mother’s grave and weep.
Frye wrote the poem as part of her condolences. Like Frye who wrote this inspiring verse for her friend, I would like to share this remarkable verse with you and to the survivors of Myanmar’s (Burma) Cyclone and China’s Earthquake. May this poem inspires, consoles and strengthens their human spirits.
Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush.
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there.
I do not die.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Beach
As I walk upon the beach
I listen to the waves.
I like to hear them
crash against the rocks
time and time again.
I think of an army
charging a stronghold
then the army
overcomes the stronghold.
But its only the waves
crashing against the rocks
time and time again.
My first published poem, published at Westport South School in New Zealand, in a school magazine when I was 9 or 10 years old. The second stanza is divided into two here unlike the original version.
I listen to the waves.
I like to hear them
crash against the rocks
time and time again.
I think of an army
charging a stronghold
then the army
overcomes the stronghold.
But its only the waves
crashing against the rocks
time and time again.
My first published poem, published at Westport South School in New Zealand, in a school magazine when I was 9 or 10 years old. The second stanza is divided into two here unlike the original version.
Seven Year Itch
Today seems like a good day to tell the world the true story of my third son’s conception. It happened on my seventh wedding anniversary， which oddly enough fell on Groundhog Day. I may possibly be the only dumbass who ever got married on Groundhog Day and didn’t know it for three years. A woman who’s too ignorant to know she got married on Groundhog Day should never be surprised by the circumstances of a day where a celebration， an ending， and a proposition all show up at the same occasion.
As aforementioned， it was our seventh anniversary. In the last paragraph， I had said it was our wedding anniversary but we had no such wedding. We got married at the courthouse， but we most certainly did not have a wedding. Shotgun wedding at a courthouse on Groundhog Day. “How romantic，” you snicker. This is the point in the story where I recommend that no one ever marry in the months of January， February， or March. Either you， your spouse， or one of your children are bound to have a cold， a broken leg， or cabin fever during these months， making the likelihood of a happy celebration next to nil. Mark my words.
We drove to the restaurant nimbly， our goal to avoid a slide on some newly iced roads. Upon arriving， we found that our table wasn’t ready so we went to the bar for some stiff drinks. Well， at least I had a stiff drink. I needed all the fortitude I could muster for my “announcement.” My husband and I chit chatted like old high school chums just catching up on all the news of mutual acquaintances. I filled him in on our kids and he let me know what all the guys at work were up to. It was awkward. After my second drink and no hope of our table being ready any time soon， I blurted out the real reason for our date： I wanted out of the marriage.
My husband being much older and calmer than I took another sip of his drink and a drag on his cigarette and coolly said， “You have a strange sense of timing for this announcement.” Somehow it hadn’t seemed all that strange to me. My need was for a place to give him the news， outside the house， and in a public place so that there would be no shouting or door slamming. We’d had a rocky marriage and two kids at that time， and hadn’t been sleeping in the same bed for most of the seven years.
Soon after my news was delivered， our table was ready so we grabbed our drinks and were seated. I remember having a great salad and a nicely seared steak， and chatting with glee about how I saw our future as we co－parented our kids and lived free from the shackles of our mostly unhappy marriage. I almost felt guilty to feel so happy. We drove home agreeing to file papers soon， to be amicable to the best of our abilities， and to be supportive of one another. It was surreal. It hadn’t occurred to me that two people who could not be civilly married could be civil as they unwound the life they had （kind of） shared for some years.
Upon our arrival home， I went to the master bedroom， and he retired to his leather lounger in the living room; our usual sleep arrangement. He preferred to sleep in front of the TV when he came home from the late shift and that pattern had started on the first week we got married. It seemed like a lie to even say we were married. My own parents never slept apart.
Sometime after I had fallen into a light sleep， a fluttering sound woke me a little. I opened my eyes as much as I could after three gin and tonics and two glasses of wine： was that my husband standing beside the bed？ What is he doing in here？ Naked？ Is he crazy？
“What are you DOING？” I whispered. “I’m trying to sleep， here.” I tried to make my voice sound a little drunky and sleepy but I knew exactly what he was doing. How could I not？ His manhood was only inches from my face. Gee， ya think？ Frankly， I was trying not to hurt his feelings. The sight of his naked member wasn’t exactly thrilling at this point in time.
Amazingly， he had a little proposition for me. It was a night of strange announcements， alright.
“One more. Now. Why not？ One for the road， our last stroll down memory lane，” he whispered back.
My brain ran a nano process and determined it was in fact a pretty good idea. There had been no nooky for ages so I agreed. I had my own needs to think of， after all. Who knew when my next opportunity for sex would present itself？ How many nights had I practically begged him for some affection when he stubbornly sat in his chair watching TV and ignoring my needs？
We did the anniversary last dance and he delivered the goods. I fell asleep as happy as I possibly could be： scoring sex and future free of him all in the same evening， on top of a great steak dinner！
Unbelievably， a few weeks later， I had determined that I had gotten pregnant and I sobbed for hours and hours. I considered my options. I sobbed more， and louder. It turns out I was not only stupid enough to get married on Groundhog Day， I was also stupid enough to believe that “one for the road” was a good idea， also.
Needless to say， one more for the road was an incredibly good idea， after all. The baby seemed to know the circumstances of his creation and came into the world screaming bloody murder. He’s an almost sixteen years old now. And an ever－present reminder of what the Seven Year Itch can do on a cold winter night.
As aforementioned， it was our seventh anniversary. In the last paragraph， I had said it was our wedding anniversary but we had no such wedding. We got married at the courthouse， but we most certainly did not have a wedding. Shotgun wedding at a courthouse on Groundhog Day. “How romantic，” you snicker. This is the point in the story where I recommend that no one ever marry in the months of January， February， or March. Either you， your spouse， or one of your children are bound to have a cold， a broken leg， or cabin fever during these months， making the likelihood of a happy celebration next to nil. Mark my words.
We drove to the restaurant nimbly， our goal to avoid a slide on some newly iced roads. Upon arriving， we found that our table wasn’t ready so we went to the bar for some stiff drinks. Well， at least I had a stiff drink. I needed all the fortitude I could muster for my “announcement.” My husband and I chit chatted like old high school chums just catching up on all the news of mutual acquaintances. I filled him in on our kids and he let me know what all the guys at work were up to. It was awkward. After my second drink and no hope of our table being ready any time soon， I blurted out the real reason for our date： I wanted out of the marriage.
My husband being much older and calmer than I took another sip of his drink and a drag on his cigarette and coolly said， “You have a strange sense of timing for this announcement.” Somehow it hadn’t seemed all that strange to me. My need was for a place to give him the news， outside the house， and in a public place so that there would be no shouting or door slamming. We’d had a rocky marriage and two kids at that time， and hadn’t been sleeping in the same bed for most of the seven years.
Soon after my news was delivered， our table was ready so we grabbed our drinks and were seated. I remember having a great salad and a nicely seared steak， and chatting with glee about how I saw our future as we co－parented our kids and lived free from the shackles of our mostly unhappy marriage. I almost felt guilty to feel so happy. We drove home agreeing to file papers soon， to be amicable to the best of our abilities， and to be supportive of one another. It was surreal. It hadn’t occurred to me that two people who could not be civilly married could be civil as they unwound the life they had （kind of） shared for some years.
Upon our arrival home， I went to the master bedroom， and he retired to his leather lounger in the living room; our usual sleep arrangement. He preferred to sleep in front of the TV when he came home from the late shift and that pattern had started on the first week we got married. It seemed like a lie to even say we were married. My own parents never slept apart.
Sometime after I had fallen into a light sleep， a fluttering sound woke me a little. I opened my eyes as much as I could after three gin and tonics and two glasses of wine： was that my husband standing beside the bed？ What is he doing in here？ Naked？ Is he crazy？
“What are you DOING？” I whispered. “I’m trying to sleep， here.” I tried to make my voice sound a little drunky and sleepy but I knew exactly what he was doing. How could I not？ His manhood was only inches from my face. Gee， ya think？ Frankly， I was trying not to hurt his feelings. The sight of his naked member wasn’t exactly thrilling at this point in time.
Amazingly， he had a little proposition for me. It was a night of strange announcements， alright.
“One more. Now. Why not？ One for the road， our last stroll down memory lane，” he whispered back.
My brain ran a nano process and determined it was in fact a pretty good idea. There had been no nooky for ages so I agreed. I had my own needs to think of， after all. Who knew when my next opportunity for sex would present itself？ How many nights had I practically begged him for some affection when he stubbornly sat in his chair watching TV and ignoring my needs？
We did the anniversary last dance and he delivered the goods. I fell asleep as happy as I possibly could be： scoring sex and future free of him all in the same evening， on top of a great steak dinner！
Unbelievably， a few weeks later， I had determined that I had gotten pregnant and I sobbed for hours and hours. I considered my options. I sobbed more， and louder. It turns out I was not only stupid enough to get married on Groundhog Day， I was also stupid enough to believe that “one for the road” was a good idea， also.
Needless to say， one more for the road was an incredibly good idea， after all. The baby seemed to know the circumstances of his creation and came into the world screaming bloody murder. He’s an almost sixteen years old now. And an ever－present reminder of what the Seven Year Itch can do on a cold winter night.
You Know
You know when I'm sad
by a sound in my voice
You are compelled to help me
as if there's no choice.
You know how to hold me
when I'm weak or strong
Followed by a kiss so deep
and breathtakingly long.
No arms can hold me
the way yours do
Comforting, cradling,
arousing me too.
You know how to touch me
inside and out
How to tease me in fun
and make me pout.
You know how to feel me
how to embrace my emotion
and rub it all over
like a soothing lotion.
I don't know how-but you know
when I need more of you
Especially at times
when our moments are few.
You know how to draw-out
the passions in me
Your ability to listen
you say is the key.
Then~you are the key-master
and you don't share
I'm not complaining
it's totally fair.
For there is no other
who compares to you
Who makes me feel
the way you do.
You know when to play
and make it just right
I look forward to a play-date
that lasts all night.
You know how to read
what's in my eyes
With a passion unmatched
that tells no lies.
You let me cry
and vent my hurt
You let the tears flow
that soak my shirt.
Then your voice soothes me
with its calming tone
It grabs me and tells me
I'm not alone.
I love to look into your eyes
for what you show me
there is no disguise.
It makes my breath shallow
and makes my heart pound
for all the love in this man
that I've at last found.
You know, I know
we'll probably never be
But you own my heart
because you know me.
The Affect of Electricity on Cancer
Can electricity cause cancer? In a society that literally runs on electric power, the very idea seems preposterous. But for more than a decade, a growing band of scientists and journalists has pointed to studies that seem to link exposure to electromagnetic fields with increased risk of leukemia and other malignancies. The implications are unsettling, to say the least, since everyone comes into contact with such fields, which are generated by everything electrical, from power lines and antennas to personal computers and micro-wave ovens. Because evidence on the subject is inconclusive and often contradictory, it has been hard to decide whether concern about the health effects of electricity is legitimate—or the worst kind of paranoia.
Now the alarmists have gained some qualified support from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. In the executive summary of a new scientific review, released in draft form late last week, the EPA has put forward what amounts to the most serious government warning to date. The agency tentatively concludes that scientific evidence “suggests a casual link” between extremely low-frequency electromagnetic fields—those having very longwave-lengths—and leukemia, lymphoma and brain cancer, While the report falls short of classifying ELF fields as probable carcinogens, it does identify the common 60-hertz magnetic field as “a possible, but not proven, cause of cancer in humans.”
The report is no reason to panic—or even to lost sleep. If there is a cancer risk, it is a small one. The evidence is still so controversial that the draft stirred a great deal of debate within the Bush Administration, and the EPA released it over strong objections from the Pentagon and the Whit House. But now no one can deny that the issue must be taken seriously and that much more research is needed.
At the heart of the debate is a simple and well-understood physical phenomenon: When an electric current passes through a wire, tit generates an electromagnetic field that exerts forces on surrounding objects, For many years, scientists dismissed any suggestion that such forces might be harmful, primarily because they are so extraordinarily weak. The ELF magnetic field generated by a video terminal measures only a few milligauss, or about one-hundredth the strength of the earth’s own magnetic field, The electric fields surrounding a power line can be as high as 10 kilovolts per meter, but the corresponding field induced in human cells will be only about 1 millivolt per meter. This is far less than the electric fields that the cells themselves generate.
How could such minuscule forces pose a health danger? The consensus used to be that they could not, and for decades scientists concentrated on more powerful kinds of radiation, like X-rays, that pack sufficient wallop to knock electrons out of the molecules that make up the human body. Such “ionizing” radiations have been clearly linked to increased cancer risks and there are regulations to control emissions.
But epidemiological studies, which find statistical associations between sets of data, do not prove cause and effect. Though there is a body of laboratory work showing that exposure to ELF fields can have biological effects on animal tissues, a mechanism by which those effects could lead to cancerous growths has never been found.
The Pentagon is for from persuaded. In a blistering 33-page critique of the EPA report, Air Force scientists charge its authors with having “biased the entire document” toward proving a link. “Our reviewers are convinced that there is no suggestion that (electromagnetic fields) present in the environment induce or promote cancer,” the Air Force concludes. “It is astonishing that the EPA would lend its imprimatur on this report.” Then Pentagon’s concern is understandable. There is hardly a unit of the modern military that does not depend on the heavy use of some kind of electronic equipment, from huge ground-based radar towers to the defense systems built into every warship and plane.
Now the alarmists have gained some qualified support from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. In the executive summary of a new scientific review, released in draft form late last week, the EPA has put forward what amounts to the most serious government warning to date. The agency tentatively concludes that scientific evidence “suggests a casual link” between extremely low-frequency electromagnetic fields—those having very longwave-lengths—and leukemia, lymphoma and brain cancer, While the report falls short of classifying ELF fields as probable carcinogens, it does identify the common 60-hertz magnetic field as “a possible, but not proven, cause of cancer in humans.”
The report is no reason to panic—or even to lost sleep. If there is a cancer risk, it is a small one. The evidence is still so controversial that the draft stirred a great deal of debate within the Bush Administration, and the EPA released it over strong objections from the Pentagon and the Whit House. But now no one can deny that the issue must be taken seriously and that much more research is needed.
At the heart of the debate is a simple and well-understood physical phenomenon: When an electric current passes through a wire, tit generates an electromagnetic field that exerts forces on surrounding objects, For many years, scientists dismissed any suggestion that such forces might be harmful, primarily because they are so extraordinarily weak. The ELF magnetic field generated by a video terminal measures only a few milligauss, or about one-hundredth the strength of the earth’s own magnetic field, The electric fields surrounding a power line can be as high as 10 kilovolts per meter, but the corresponding field induced in human cells will be only about 1 millivolt per meter. This is far less than the electric fields that the cells themselves generate.
How could such minuscule forces pose a health danger? The consensus used to be that they could not, and for decades scientists concentrated on more powerful kinds of radiation, like X-rays, that pack sufficient wallop to knock electrons out of the molecules that make up the human body. Such “ionizing” radiations have been clearly linked to increased cancer risks and there are regulations to control emissions.
But epidemiological studies, which find statistical associations between sets of data, do not prove cause and effect. Though there is a body of laboratory work showing that exposure to ELF fields can have biological effects on animal tissues, a mechanism by which those effects could lead to cancerous growths has never been found.
The Pentagon is for from persuaded. In a blistering 33-page critique of the EPA report, Air Force scientists charge its authors with having “biased the entire document” toward proving a link. “Our reviewers are convinced that there is no suggestion that (electromagnetic fields) present in the environment induce or promote cancer,” the Air Force concludes. “It is astonishing that the EPA would lend its imprimatur on this report.” Then Pentagon’s concern is understandable. There is hardly a unit of the modern military that does not depend on the heavy use of some kind of electronic equipment, from huge ground-based radar towers to the defense systems built into every warship and plane.
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