The Visitor

•April 21, 2013 • Leave a Comment

The visitor comes and goes, in a very gentle way.  The first time  the visitor came there was a sense that a soft  but non invasive cloud touched every cell .  I felt very tired.  For me, unnaturally tired. I hardly knew that the visitor was taking up a long term residence in my being.

It took me a stupidly long time to realize that  I was not paying appropriate attention to this visitor.  This visitor was gently communicating with me.  Yes, I said this  visitor is talking to me.  Not a conversation as we know it but a presence –here –and –then there- in my body  that is significant and strangely periodic in chance locations.  The truth is that doctors don’t favor things they do no understand and MCL is one of those things.  So I have decided to be friendly to my guest whom I call,  Lymphy.

It is beautiful, actually to have a long conversation with one’s own body.  It seems a new way for Spirit to speak.  So I have freely become the host for this guest.  The guest is here to stay and I am quite at peace with my visitor.

mosswood 2013



•April 21, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Created – March 10 1982

A breath ago an aching blow was rendered by an insensitive fellow.  The income- tax was nagging to be dealt with.  The innocent needs of young persons were waiting to be met.  Oh! yes, the outrageous future was waiting to be claimed.

Uninvited but welcome, an ambience which fostered respite took hold.  It doesn’t matter how the woman came to be propped up against this strong tree.  It does, however, matter that this supporting tree seems to direct the obliging rays of the sun to share its broken bits of warmth.  It does also matter that the supporting tree is in close proximity to the river.

These triune of symbols through benign charity, facilitate the detachment of the encumbrances of the soul.  The liberation of the inner spirit dances into focus  revealing all the strengths of the woman,  strengths as strong as the tree on which she leaned.

Repressed and potential gifts  bubble to the surface.  The river reminds in whispers:  that it is moving behind in history but it moves with me.  That which is seen flowing in front  is the affirmation of the present and still it moves with me.  That river rushing toward me is the promise of tomorrow and it moves with me.

A broken branch falling,  signals the end of the respite.  As the river must move on so must the reverie be left behind.  The Triune symbols of strength, warmth, and movement -leaves with the woman the courage to face the outrageous future.  The river  moves with me.


The Civility War

•March 8, 2013 • Leave a Comment

The civility war is upon us.  Many– too many of our political leaders are using language where tact has been replaced by shrill blaming.  A pithy style has been replaced by unimaginative rebukes.  Wounding shots across the bow are cheap replacements for a clever diplomatic style.  Can we not as a society reclaim the vast number of words and styles in our overflowing word arsenal, in order to  influence the conversation and garner allies in a more congenial and collaborative way.

As it is now, Verbal Philistines plunder through our public conversational fields, obliterating gems of insight and most of all killing moments that will never return.  We are a great Nation with a noble history and we deserve better than the, “My dad’s bigger than your dad” style of  “my Party is better than your Party”.

We The People,  deserve two strong parties filled with Statesmen(women).   When the blame stops and reality sets in and when the casualties of this Civility War are counted, perhaps will start again to reflect and express in a manner worthy of our History as a Nation. Perhaps we can then tackle the amazing future that is ours for the taking.

This might be the moment when we must decide whether we must flee the offending syntax or brace our souls for the long term of language assault.  This could be an opportunity for a  proactive journey of understanding and human dignity.

Language reflects where we are in civil society.  Let us reflect well.

mosswood  September 2013

The Song

•March 6, 2013 • Leave a Comment

I long to hear the Mockingbird  sing .

…never mind  my dear,

you have heard  hm sing.

mosswood September,  2013


•January 20, 2013 • 2 Comments

Have you not guessed there is so much to say-

How is it thoughts turn into clay-

Stunning insights capture the brain-

but then suddenly elusive as a summer rain-

Why let me see with brilliant clarity-

only to escape from others to see-

When thoughts come and go like humming birds-

Would that one could pause and  capture the words-

They are beautiful words hiding within-

Only  distracted by the din-

Yes,  hug them like gold until they release-

It is only then will life be replete-



January 2013

A Glimps is Not a Lifetime

•December 9, 2012 • 5 Comments

It seems as if  most  humans limit selves  by relying on the mere  memory of others as we last perceived them.    That perception could be years or that perception could be yesterday.  Self meets other(s) and the tendency is to convince self that what is in front of us “is” the whole of the other.  Time marches on at a great rate and dimensions are breath taking.   Individuals,  adults and children alike,  twirl, each in his own sphere of  hurts,  joys– oh! let’s just say challenges and successes of all kinds about which we have no knowledge.

So in-spite of our amazing intelligence  (yes,  we all have an amazing intelligence) that would tell us otherwise, we most often take the easy way which is like a magnetic pull  of remembering the inadequate mental snap shot last seen.   True,  persons can get stalled and as we all know:  we either progress or regress.   But there is no standing still.  It is some kind of natural law.

Knowing this, we often  see each other or the  11 year old (for example) as we knew him or her when last we met.   Heaven forbid that we allow our leaders, our youth or simply  the other guy the compliment of allowing for his place in time.   Actually,  each of us  is a miracle and a mystery  sharing the planet while we are in the act of becoming.


Who Are All Those Ancestors

•October 21, 2012 • Leave a Comment

…Little kid sitting around listening to the grownups talking about family  anecdotal stories  of our roots .   Actually these conversations are comfortable  because they were  so near  and dear to my Mom and Dad.  It was up close and and personal.  The years collapsed into  family information and not  charts defining who we were (are).  Although, documentation is a good thing.  How else could we be sure?

Grandmother Cohee  was born on a ship coming from Ireland.  Her mother died on that ship giving her birth.  This child, my grandmother,  was raised in an orphanage in Wilmington Del.   Somehow she migrated  to Baltimore where she met my grandfather, Sampson J. Wood.  Sam was 6 foot something and grandmother Cohee  (Kohee in Ireland) was a mere 5 feet tall.

This tiny grandmother is remembered  in a long  black dress that rose to a  high neck.  I do not know why but they called her Mah or Maw.  The man she met and married was Catholic.    Actually coming from Virgina, was he indeed  Catholic?  …or did he bow to her serious religiosity?

On the other side was my mother who actually came from a prominent family in history and that would be,  a branch or the Taylor s of  North Carolina.  Research by a niece,  MJN aka-  Joyce Huey, has done substantial digging and sees my mother, Camille Taylor Wood, as coming from a long line of Settlers– starting at the  Jamestown, Virginia settlement but who settled in  a substantial way in, North Carolina.

Mathew Page Taylor, my Mom’s dad,  was a both a Civil Engineer and a Virtuoso Pianist.  His wife,  the first Camille, the great grandmother was elegant in every way. This left us with a mother, her daughter  Camille Taylor Wood, who served tea every day at four PM who dressed smartly.  We were post depression babies but our mother did not let us know that too much.  She taught us about “Genteel Poverty” in those 1930’s in America.  For that , I am forever grateful.

So, this Irish Grandmother, Annie,  met grandfather Wood in Baltimore.  Then our mother Camille, met Frederick Wood , son of  Samson Wood and Annie Cohee, also in Baltimore.  Mom and Dad met at an Ice Cream Parlor over  ice cream sundaes and fell in love.    So many children came from these unions and were (are) natives of Baltimore, Maryland

Much more to share but I bow to, Joyce Noell Huey, who has done the  hard work of expanding on what , Camille, my Mom told us.

More to come.