I watched as she slept as the moonlight shone in the window, and I stretched out in my rocker, standing guard, against anything, any Thing that might jeopardize this wonderful life.

Suddenly she cried out and I reached over, touching her hand and offered comforting words of love and sitting quietly, completely still, as she dozed off, back to sleep. I breathed in deeply, but quietly, and sat uncomfortably up straight so the rocker wouldn’t squeak and wake her. She needed rest, and tonight, and every night she was with me, in some way, she could sleep knowing I would be standing guard.

I have seen many rites of passage that should have, or could have made me feel grown-up, but never did. I often wondered why, I continued to live like a gypsy, tumbleweed and could never quite settle down, completely…but the feeling would always pass.

Although I held many great jobs, I never felt they mattered, and although I had several relationships, deep down, the tumbleweed in me, refused to settle or settle down. I would stand at the graves of loved ones gone far too soon, withstand monumental break ups and break downs, move away, move back, and fight for causes and my Self. None of them, ever made me feel grown up.

In some way, I suppose I wished I was an adult, or felt the wear of responsibility of one, but I couldn’t. I had been married, owned businesses, moved 1200 miles from home, divorced, but still I pictured myself as a kid. I would always be the youngest in my family, the youngest cousin and the silliest of my friends. I was responsible, yes…but grown up, no.

I got my degree at nearly 30 years old, worked three and four jobs well into my thirties, worked at a gym, waited tables, and still held real ties to a job considered “real” by most. My acts and actions were completely unintentional and I never realized that I wasn’t a grown up until that night.

I began surfing later than most and even traveled to New Zealand, alone, just for fun to be there, in the moment. I could justify some of this by saying my parents were from a generation that accepted my behavior, or my family had done this, but none of it would be true. I was my own person, and forged my own path, as unpleasant as it mostly was.

I tried hard, mind you, to do what was acceptable and proper, but none of it was me and none of it stuck for very long. I was neither selfish or conceited. I chose my path and for the most part, accepted the consequences that rained down on me.

I was a gypsy at heart, but a New Englander by body. My soul wanted to travel and help those who could not help themselves, but my mind and body thought differently. So, for decades the battle raged on.

As battles go, this one was doomed to produce a reluctant winner and a tired soul. Neither would produce a grown up, or a person rooted anywhere, but certainly not for lack of effort. To say I “tried” would be a fib, but it was in that goal was in the back of my mind, and since I felt I owed society, and my family some sort of obligation, I fueled the fires.

On this July night I would be there for her, just in case. As I sat there on this warm night, in my rocking chair, she would be safe and she would sleep soundly knowing I was there to make sure nothing would harm her.

As the moonlight dripped in through the thick windowpane, and madness existed all around, I was there, just in case. It was the just in case that instantly made me grown up. So many things could go wrong, and the world was a scary place, but I was there, just in case.

As her IV beeped, and nurses drifted in and out to check on her, just her, I knew I was now grown and grown up. It was not the circumstances that had defined me as grown up, it was the fact that I was there, just in case.

The just in case made me, grown up. As I rocked ever so quietly and my mother looked up at me, wondering why I was in the hospital with her, so unexpectedly, in the middle of the night, she smiled. And I smiled.

She had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just days before and soon we would find out it was inoperable and we would begin a new battle, as grown up’s, all of us, in the fight of our lives. Together, we would ensure the battle would rage on.

I sat there, and just watched. Not that anything was wrong, immediately,
but I sat there in the middle of the night anyway, watching her heart raise the sheet up and down, as she breathed peacefully. She could rest, with a silly smile, I was there, and her gypsy, tumbleweed daughter would make sure she was safe tonight.

Wishing you all mindful moments and memorable times, cb

I also would like you to subscribe to my essays on my website, thank you as always for your continued support!
www.fourleafclover.us

The thin white soft line that had offered my tired feet some
protection,
now trailed off in a direction I could not follow.

As my pace quickened I could feel my heart beating,
in synch with my feet hitting the hard ground below.
Pound, pound.
Pound, pound.

Still faster, I ran.
I was tired.
A tired that I had never before felt.
A tired that crept over my eyelids and begged them to shut,
and when they refused it would wash over my heart,
pound, pound, pound.

My feet would soon be wrapped in this thick liquid blanket
of exhaustion, and begin to go to sleep with or without me.
Leaving me twitching, and aching, and then
numb.

As I ran clumsily at top speed now, a crash was most certain.
Today my path was straight down, into a dark valley.
The trail below was littered with loose, sharp stones,
and although I could not slow down, I did manage to see the faces
of friends, family and strangers up top.
They were cheering for me.
They were there.
They would do anything for me,
except walk my path.

Just as darkness encompassed me,
I fell.
As my flesh twisted and tumbled, I did not know which way was up,
or where I would land.
I was hurt now, and bleeding. When I finally stopped falling,
I realized I was alone.
I could feel warm blood just about everywhere, and the sticky sap-like
goo seemed to be everywhere.

Pound, pound.

I could not see, or hear anything or anyone,
and although I was damp with blood and sweat, I felt nothing.
I knew now what lived on the
other side of numb.
Only my pounding heart reminded me that I was alive.

I couldn’t see you, but felt your hand, just then,
reach out for mine to pull me up.
I quickly caught a glimpse of the mischief in your eyes and knew right away,
we were breaking the rules.
We did not know the players, or the exact rules, or how to win,
but we knew this was not allowed,
typically.

As you wobbled, and I wobbled, somehow I managed to stand up. As I breathed in deeply, just like that, you vanished
with my exhale.

I started to walk up the craggy rock to what I could only hope was a summit,
and I once again saw the faces of friends, family and strangers.
Some familiar, some not so much,
and some that I had seen earlier now were gone.
A twinge of sadness stabbed at my heart,
and I was glad to feel it.
To feel anything.

Once again my pace was fast, and I hunched lower to maintain balance
as I made my way along my unsure, loosely built path.
The summit if I reached it, would find me bloody, scarred, dirty
and mostly disheveled.
I was no longer the pretty, perfect envelope I was when I started out.

I was worn down now, nearly completely
on most every level.
My rough edges were smooth now and my body
although had been carefully kept,
had now been to war
and showed signs of pain, heartache and sorrow.

Although my path was uncertain and dark, it belonged to me,
it made me Real.
Although the price was high,
to stop would be far more costly
than the reward that would eventually find me,
when I could run no more.

Peace, Chris

www.fourleafclover.us
Please subscribe to my essays, rants, thoughts, and general overviews.
I never spam. Period.

Why do the very young die, the wonderful suffer, and death surround us in such terrible, un-peaceful, terrifying ways, and so often. If we are not given more than we can handle, why then do some lose control, lose a sense of self and take their own lives? Why do the most beloved souls of all suffer the worst kinds of deaths, and those that live without any sense of soul at all, seem to live on carelessly, forever?

As I ask this, on a rainy night, in my dark bedroom, I am reminded of something that happened nearly 23 years ago. You see, I was one of the few, very lucky, to play college sports. I went to a very small picturesque college in NH and when I was a freshman we learned that we would be playing not only a Division I team, but a team in my own hometown backyard. Before I could process that news, I learned that at least for that game, I had earned a starting position.

As we traveled the 3 hours back to my hometown we listened to our coach, a legend in her own time, tell us how we would play with heart. We knew what our chances were of winning and were not in this to kid ourselves into thinking we would win. We would play hard, with heart and pride and use this as a life lesson.

Life lesson. Funny, I had forgotten that one until tonight.

We may win, she said, and we may lose, and quite honestly we may get punished, but we will go out there and mean it. This was our time, a time that we earned and belonged to us. A time that very few got to experience, and for at least this one night, we would not be spectators.

As we started our warm ups I noticed the stands, while not full, did hold more of a crowd than I expected. Those people, I thought to myself, probably never had this chance, and while they cheered and clapped for us (and them) they sat on the sidelines. Rarely did I see their faces, but I heard their cheers. My family was there, watching in pride, a tiny miracle take place. While few would ever know, a small Lady Pilgrim team from Henniker, NH would do the unthinkable on this cold winter day. They would play with fundamentals, practicing each post up, foul shot and jump shot as they had been taught from day one: with heart.

That day there would be a losing team, and a winning team, and a smaller than average shooting guard who broke her personal best and did so, just this one time, in front of her father.

Now, I can’t lie and say that didn’t matter, it definitely did. It was an amazing feeling and one I tucked away for over two decades, until tonight.

I have been searching for answers to questions that may not belong to me, and ones that perhaps I will never understand. I have asked the Universe for answers, rules and explanations and been so busy asking, I stopped listening, fully.

As I sit quietly, and listen to a rainstorm on a cold summer night, under a full moon, I know that everybody dies. Every thing dies. We are born and take a magical first breath of life and we die and take a breath no less magical that carries us away. That is the order, the control.

It’s what we do in between those two breaths that separate those riding the pine, from those riding the wave.

Everybody dies.

Surf’s up….Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

Went out the other day, angry, for a surf.
The waves were crashing down hard and mean, the sets were fast, choppy and miserable.
Rip tides seemed to catch me at every pass, and great whites were closer than ever.
The air smelled of rotting fish, wet trash and raw sewage. With every breath, I inhaled death.
I paddled and struggled and fought that day for every ounce of water, to be peaceful and soft, and liquid.
But it wasn’t.
My board felt hard and ill fitting and every bump of wax and dirt threw off my balance
and left me
on the outside,
searching to come in.
Each awkward fall reminded me that ocean had teeth, and on this day, she both pushed and bit back.
Behind me, even the shadowy shoreline was abandoned. .
The murky water that lurked below offered no sign of life, no reflection and no peace.
Liquid cement.

Went out the other day, calm, for a surf.
The waves were fast and challenging and a little frightening.
I breathed in deep the rich salty ocean air, and paddled strongly towards the thin blue line, feeling every muscle in my broad shoulders dig deep and press ahead smoothly, gliding and guiding me towards a medium that few ever touched.
I pushed myself to get beyond the break to the outside
where the shore looked peaceful, quiet and serene.
From here I could see the world from edge to edge,
ebb and flow,
feeling every ripple in between.
Thousands of champagne-like bubbles danced across the wave tops,
casting golden sprinkles as far as I could see.
Each tumble reminded me that I was just a visitor, a student, and a guest,
in this world that invited me often, but I could never fully belong to.
I would cherish each bump, bruise and scrape that my session would leave, and smile and laugh with each story that accompanied each and every battle scar.
As the waves passed over me, I searched for life within them,
but saw only blue and white
and fleeting gold.
Liquid essence.

Went out the other day, to think, clear my head, and watch the waves.
One surfer paddled out, beyond the break, to enjoy perfect solitude that only comes from the outside, while waiting, and hoping and talking to the above,
and the below,
about the ride and the fall.
I stood barefoot, teasing the frothy white bubbles to catch me.
As a wave broke just beyond my reach, I stared into the perfect curl
and saw my own
reflection.
Liquid.

Wishing you all blue skies and long, mindful surfs, Chris
www.fourleafclover.us

PS I also invite you all to visit www.foundsounds.com and check out Ellen Clegg. She is an amazing person and kind soul, who helped me out, after meeting just one time. Her music is amazing, her sound inspiring, and her spirit gentle and compassionate. Please check her out and help a fellow artist by watching her on You Tube or purchasing her CD or even attending a class!! ….the beat, always, goes on….

I will also ask that you alone shoulder these painful thoughts, prayers of faith and messages from the depths of sorrow that get sent to the great unknown all too often.

Please let a young father and devoted husband sleep soundly tonight,
knowing his sick wife is safe, and his young son, will find his way
on this mysterious dark path littered with questions, shadows, and only hope for a miracle. Something he pleads for with every ounce of his small body but has yet to understand fully, and something we all pray he never has to.
Tonight let their worries vanish
and rest on your shoulders, far away from their home, the hospital, friends and family who keep praying….
night after night, sunrise to sunset, for that bright young woman to find herself within the depths of her Self and be well and vibrant once again.

As a tired husband (who is not as young as he was once), cares for his ill wife and worries about money, prescriptions, and the future that is mostly unknown, I wish for him, and her, a pain free night of pure love, pure joy,
hand holding, and memories of good times gone by.
Shoulder their worries, I ask, just for tonight
and let the ghosts come and go quietly, unseen.
Let them visit at will but also guide them back home in safety, and remind them that tonight one angel will remain, holding hands with her one and only love, and keep fighting her disease on the battleground of her body, her mind and her spirit.

As a young boy struggles to leave the safety of his bed, and a mother and father search for a meaning, any meaning for the brutal murder of their young son, let their minds and tired bodies rest. They look up at the stars searching, always searching and the answer they fear, may never be clear enough to recognize, or loud enough to hear. Tonight, as they gaze off at the heavens, let them see the stars and the moon brightly and let them gain strength from what they once gazed at, young in love and hearts full of dreams. Let your eyes be their guide so they can gather strength to face the sunrise, together.

Tonight as families struggle to make sense of senseless situations, let them find each other in peace, and with the knowledge that their fears will be shouldered by another,
just for tonight.

I ask you this, as I have now for four months and fifteen days just tonight, my friend, bring rest to those who continue to arrive each morning, each sunrise and each spare moment they salvage, to the battlefield. Just for tonight.

Until tomorrow my friend….until then….

Peace, just for tonight, Chris
www.fourleafclover.us

Paddling,
angry, tired, cold
looking for the break, the undertow,
or a way to blend into the sea.

They are here now
mocking me, dancing on the yellow, spit colored foam.
I curse them, and with each foul word I scream
I punch her,
again and again and again and again.

She has the nerve to bleed.

As the saltwater mixes with my dark red blood, it streams
across the bubbles of surf wax
that were applied in another time
a happy time, a time that held hope and promise,
when the smell of surf wax and salt air still brought me peace.

This day casts only angry watery shadows,
across the dark, murky medium
where only days before, I would not have dared go.

We were all here now,
I cannot find the cork
and even if I could, they won’t go back in the bottle.

I dig deep into the salty depths, slicing my hands on the
unwelcoming icy water,
offering her more blood.

But it never seems enough.

I wonder,
does the ocean have a drain?

Numb.

Peace, always….Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

Like so many of us, my family has seen its share of sickness, sadness and death. We have come together as a family to do home hospice twice, and sat in silence at the graves of our loved ones, speechless.

On July 2nd, as most people were preparing for a long weekend and fireworks, (myself included) some One else was busy planning something entirely different. This something would bring a family to its knees in both anger, sadness and prayer. My mother, who had been struggling with a painful Achilles heel, finally had surgery, but didn’t feel “quite right” afterwards. July 2nd held the answer.

In the office of her doctor she turned yellow with jaundice and was taken to the ER. After many tests, and even a transfer to the Lahey Clinic it was clear. She had inoperable pancreatic cancer.

As each day goes by, (it’s now Day 12) we cling to each other, pray, tell stories and ask anyone and everyone to send their positive vibes our way.

Yesterday we were informed that many of her prescriptions would not be covered by insurance, especially the ones that actually work. My anger and rage, in this instance, sparked an idea. What could we all do to help? Everyone has been thinking of her and praying and offering to help….with anything/everything.

The PURPLE Bracelet Campaign was born! Through the efforts of a wonderful soul, and for yet another tragedy, we have many purple bracelets. Purple happens to be the color for pancreatic cancer survivors. (Yes, I added the word survivors….editorial privilege I suppose)

The bracelets are blank on purpose. They serve as a reminder to stop, breathe and love. The message is not on the bracelet because it is within you. Although I ask that while you do this you ask the Folks Upstairs to leave the Brooks family (and the Kenney family) alone for now and let us heal, it is just as important for YOU to stop and breathe and respect life.

We are bombarded with the saying Life is Short. I can say it is, and you never know the plan totally, so make it all count and keep praying, and listening and sending positive energy.

The bracelet campaign is limited, once they’re gone, they’re gone. I urge everyone to please support this idea by buying one. The cost is $6 and all the money will go to my parents to help cover prescription costs. They have been moved to tears (and happy ones for a nice change) by the overwhelming support and love from friends, family and strangers.

Thank you all for keeping her close to your heart, it has helped tremendously!

Peace, Chris

Please send any donation from PayPal to chris@fourleafclover.us or email me for my address to send a check. Thank you in advance for everything!

www.fourleafclover.us

For the first time in a long time, I decided to sit this one out.
I decided to stay on the shore, and wish to disappear
into the sand
and hope, no one would notice.

I was tired of the rough seas, bright streaking lightening against the peaceful, quiet sky and angry thunder that interrupted the calm,
it was not as I had been told, the angels bowling after all. It was what it was, and always had been,
a storm blowing in.
Nothing more glamorous than that.
And certainly nothing that amounted to anything romantic, spiritual or even symbolic.

I would sit here this time, and watch the wind and the rain,
beat relentlessly on the helpless open blue, my open blue….and not care. There was no calming this storm, and no paddling out into it. Today it owned me.
I was tired, in my mind and soul, and my prayers were no longer working.
Maybe I was doing something wrong, or worse yet,
maybe this storm was my own,
and I could not escape it.

I could do nothing now, but sit and watch the storm roll in,
and take what it wants to the beyond, and leave behind what it wasn’t ready for,
or didn’t want.

Today, I can only sit on my board
and wish for my comfortable tweed chair,
and calmer waters
and calmer days
and a calmer soul.

I will wish with all I have, and pray in a way that suits me,
and know that the storm will go when it wants
and take with it
all the best there is to offer,
and leave behind at will, what doesn’t suit It.

Today I sit in the middle of a terrible storm,
raging from within,
and hope for peace.
I wish for something I cannot see,
and as darker clouds still roll in from the beyond
I sit, unable to move.
All I can do is wait for a day, a time, and a place,
where the waters are clear, calm, and welcoming.

Today though,
that time does not exist.
Not even on the ticks between the second hand,
on the cosmic clock that insists on keeping score,
and forcing unwelcoming rites of passage
and taking what it owns,
no matter the price.

Tonight, dark clouds are rolling in
and I fear they will never leave,
and the storm will rage on forever.

PS Please send any well wishes, positive thoughts and prayers to my Mom. What we thought was dizziness from a surgery turned out to be a terminal illness. Thank you in advance for any thoughts, wishes and prayers you can send and/or spare.

I have asked lately, for a miracle.
I ask with confidence because I have seen many.

I have jumped off a pole, over a gorge, and caught a trapeze
in mid air. The miracle existed, not in the moment of flight, or even in the falling to my death, instead it existed in my faith in another, a stranger.
As I stood, unable to move, I yelled for help, for someone to come get me.
A stranger in the crowd yelled that he would, and that he had, and that he was there with me, and I could use his courage to jump.

And I did.

I have traveled a mostly harried and tarried path, and survived. And although amazing, yes indeed, the miracle did not exist in my forward motion, or even in any goals I reached or failed to reach along my journey. The miracle existed in my voice, which I had lost, and found again, and learned to use, and speak out and honor my Self by listening again to my inner voice.

I have paddled out in strong currents, past the point of my own ability, and faced rip currents, a brush with a shark, and total physical exhaustion. The miracle did not exist in me making it back to shore, but in the talk with God I had out there against the blue line. I did not ask for strength, or a second wind, or even forgiveness for all the wrongs I had done. When faced with death, I was calm and relaxed and totally at peace with who I was…and who I had become, and that was the miracle.

I have seen the miracle of a sunrise and a sunset and the first breaths of a newborn, and the last thoughts of the dying. I have seen children living in shelter offer clothing to those living on the streets, and I have seen those same children give those same clothes to the elderly. Not in embarrassment, but in pride. I have seen the poor give to the very poor and the very poor help those, too poor to be seen and too weak to ask. Miracles come in all shapes and sizes and should never be dismissed based on our own ideals.

I have spoken directly to God about raising a child, and although a biological child was not in the cards, I have had the blessing of raising a child from one year old until now. (He’s almost five years old now.) I have asked for grandchildren and care when I myself am old and weak, and that too has been provided. A miracle.

I have seen many miracles, and you have too. They exist as true miracles every day, if we pay attention to what we ask for, and what is delivered.

So with that confidence I ask all of you to pray for the speedy recovery of a friend and family member. While like a lot of my family, this person is not related by blood, but more importantly by choice. In that way, she and her entire family are “More Than.”

Although extremely ill and bed ridden unable to speak, see or hear, she has changed the lives of nearly 1400 people, and likely thousands more. The spirit of this person, no matter how sick or healthy has united friends, family and strangers not only for her cause but for her son. She has brought attention to Sturge-Weber Syndrome and has had thousands offer prayers, support and love. Imagine the strength of character needed to accomplish this in a critical condition? A miracle.

And in the face of all the miracles I have witnessed, and all those you have seen, multiplied by the company this family keeps, I can’t help but foresee another miracle happening.

I ask that you all pass this essay on and ask for hope, good thoughts, positive energy and/or prayers for Team Kellie, and Kellie Kenney and her extended family to not only recover from this unexpected illness, but also unite an entire community in ways that can only inspire hope, peace and love.

Miracles happen every day. Can we all ask for one more? Collectively? I guarantee you we can move mountains, after all….Kellie has already moved them, we just need some space for her to walk through and come home.

http://www.sturge-weber.org/

Please visit the Sturge-Weber website for more information or join Team Kellie on FaceBook. All good thoughts and good people welcome!

Peace, Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

…and as it goes, sometimes I have more to say,
and sometimes less,
but no matter what, I stay true to my self, my Self and all I am.
So here goes….

The other night I dreamed,
that I was a star,
and among stars, I danced
and shimmered
and knew I was a miracle, and special.

For a few moments not only was I was amazing,
but I was in amazing hands.
It was though, but a dream,
and as it faded I found myself alone.
again.

I was not a star,
but a silly girl,
in a silly costume, that was not becoming
in an all too familar environment,
all alone.

For a brief moment, I turned to leave this dream like place
and space,
but then saw you, an idol, a star, a some One,
so I turned to you
for guidance, as you
were wearing a
silly costume too.

In a moment I turned to show you my ring,
a Mother’s ring,
filled with stones,
that had all fallen out,
all but one.

You said you knew someone that could help,
so I followed you,
into a dark place, a personal Hell,
knowing I was in costume, and you
a star
would be there with me.

Before I knew it, you were gone,
but not after introducing me to him,
my old friend.
His hair was much longer,
but instantly,
we knew each other.

He gathered the stones, and the ring and led me out,
of Hell,
but not in time,
to hear the taunts, and jabs
at my costume.
I turned, and wished to say nothing,
but instead spoke up
and defended me, to Hell
but I was only mad for validating my Self.

I turned knowing you were there,
but you were not.
And as I left
I knew Hell was talking behind my
back
but I did not turn around
again.

I left and found you,
walking
alone
an old friend
down an old road
and even though it had new houses
I knew where we were.

I was comfortable
at peace
and
finally
could
breathe.

I was,
afterall
safe.

No matter the costume,
the evil
the Hell
the comments, the insecurities,
I knew now
even though your house was blocked by Others,
that I was safe.

I asked if you needed directions
on your way back
but you said nothing.
Only smiled
and turned
peacefully.

I could not see you
but we both knew
you were
just
around the
corner
and it was okay to be
alone now.

I guess we all have angels
guarding us
walking us through the tough spots
the dangerous places
and the Hells
of our lives, our minds
our dreams
and our nightmares.

My angel,
on this night,
last night
led me to the safest place of all.
And even though I couldn’t see it
I knew I didn’t need too
for it existed
somewhwere
inside
in a place it would never leave.

Peace, Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

In many ways, it seems like lifetimes ago, and in many ways it was.

A few years back my family and I lost an uncle, a great soul and the kind of person that everyone would want to know. The kind that rarely swore, was loving, respectful, and grateful for his children and family. On a trip to Disney with his wife, children and grandkids, he closed his eyes, and never again woke up.

It was devastating to our family. A man so young, still working, with so much to offer…how did this happen, and why?

As we struggled to make sense of this unexpected loss, another circled the horizon and soon made her presence known. His wife, our beloved aunt, second mother, and kindest soul the world had ever known had grown tired. After decades of caring for her husband who suffered from Diabetes and her own breast cancer, she now had a relapse.

In a six month time frame, our close knit family would soon face another very difficult loss. She would not die in her sleep though. Her illness, much more painful and lengthy, tested the very core of all our faith and beliefs.

As we went, as a family from hospital hospice to home hospice, we valued each minute with her and did all we could to keep her comfortable and positive.

As days grew into weeks and the summer began to nearly fade into fall, her conditions worsened and as we stayed, in shifts, night and day, we began to learn about each other, our worth, our beliefs, and her, my Cioci Shirley, my second mother and best friend.

As her time here, on this physical plane was coming to a close, she left me with several definitive answers. None to be disputed, even if I did dispute her…which I didn’t…there was no reason to.

As quiet nights passed, and passed, and passed, they may have seemed endless to someone else, to me though, each were a gift. I would listen to each dream, story and vision, knowing that what she was seeing was a glimpse, speck and vision of the unknown, for now, for me.

Before she fell ill, she would tell stories of my Uncle coming to bed with her after he had physically passed. No one doubted that the bed sank on his side when he got in, and certainly no one questioned her when she could hear the TV on late at night, as he often dozed in his recliner.

Now, just weeks after, as I passed by that same recliner, in the dark, or by the light of the moon, the hairs on my neck would stand up and a chill would go down my spine. Each time. Every time. The hospice nurse would explain that all things have energy and his energy was still in that chair, just because his heart was no longer beating, his essence still remained, for whatever undetermined amount of time, it would, without question, remain. And it did.

While I chatted with my best friend one night, one very late night, I told her about this chair and she assured me by saying, “well, if he is there, you know he would never hurt you.” And that has made all the difference.

As Notre Dame began its season, and the Red Sox ended theirs, and the bright colors of the trees began to flourish, she left us. One calm, quiet morning, after a night of talking to me, she closed her eyes, and finally, went to those that had been coming to her for so many weeks.

As I remember those weeks, and that day, I write about, mostly to think, and remember her, but also to be with her on some level. As the sun begins to set outside my window, and a cool summer breeze blows in, I snuggle up a bit in her chair, her recliner and allow my mind’s eye to see the sights of that summer, hear the sounds of childhoods past and feel the energy that she left, in her chair, for me. Forever.

Energy then and now, has played and continues to play a part and who I am, who I was (no doubt) and yes, who I will become.

There is no doubt that energy exists, even to those skeptics…it just does. So who are we to say when that energy ceases ? A body ceases yes, when the heart and brain stop, but when does the energy from that soul stop, if ever…and so, when does energy from anything else stop, if ever?

I invite you to soul search here…dig deep, even those skeptics! If energy exists, and we know it does, and since we don’t know when it ends, if ever, I ask you…what would you use positive energy for…if you had it? If you could manifest a thought, what would it be?

With that in mind, please visit www.energymuse.com, check out the Guardian Angel bracelet and let us know what negative energy you could release from your life, and what positive energy you could bring in.

Trust me, it’s much easier to wear a bracelet or necklace than to carry around a recliner! I have worn Energy Muse for almost a decade now and been in touch again with the sea, been offered protection, given the power of manifestation to my sister, been grounded and so much more!!

What would you do, if you could not fail?

CONTEST RULES

To win the guardian angel bracelet with coin from Energy Muse Jewelry:

1. Check out Energy Muse Jewelry’s home page at http://www.energymuse.com/ and read the description of the guardian angel bracelet. (Use the search box at the top right corner to search for the piece.)

2. Become a fan of Energy Muse Jewelry on Face Book. http://www.facebook.com/energymuse

3 .Return to comment on this essay to share your story of strength and how you (have) or (want) to overcome an obstacle in your life. What would you do, if you could not fail? What would you use the positive energy of the guardian angel bracelet for?

4. After completing all three steps each comment will be judged based on their inspiration and creativity. One winner will be revealed Monday, June 7th at 3:00pm (PST).

Get that creative energy flowing! GOOD LUCK!!

Peace, Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

She never cried and almost never complained.
I guess that’s one reason why I was initially drawn to her,
she was my opposite.
She always represents fun days, warm nights, tranquility and lullaby’s.
As long as I can remember, each day with her was beyond fun, beyond silly and beyond any boundaries we had set.
All visits were worth remembering.
Always.

As I get older, and a little more tired, and a little more apprehensive,
about the kindness of strangers, uncertainty and unknowns,
I always know that she is familiar,
we are familiar,
and we have no secrets
from each other.

On days when I am broken hearted and broken down,
I know I am always welcome at her house.
When times are their toughest and true friends are hard to find,
I know I can always call on her,
and no matter her schedule, she will find time to listen.
Her kindness is always there to wash over me, making me forget,
at least momentarily,
whatever my sadness, tears and loneliness are.
With her, I am never truly alone.
She always offers a soft place to land.

When the sun is at its brightest, and nothing bad can enter into my peaceful place,
I also think of her, and visit.
With every bit of good news, I instantly think of her,
her company, her companionship and her consistency.
On these days we laugh, and play and enjoy the simplicity of each other,
purely and without abandon.
She always offers a soft place to sit.

As life goes, and time flies, I realize I have not seen her
in quite some time.
I pack my bag, grab my board, put the top down in the Wrangler and speed off down the all too familiar road,
to see her.

The moment I arrive though,
I know she isn’t happy.
Her mood is different…. dark and stormy, and even I,
her closest friend, dare to get too close.

As I get make my way to her, my heart begins to race.
I can’t remember ever feeling nervous around her before.
I inch my way closer,
I am now,
close enough to see her cuts,
close enough to see her pain.

As I get even closer to her, I can see that she has been beaten.
She has been bruised, and hurt.
For the first time she is unwelcoming and distant.

How long have I been gone?

She never cried, until that day,
and as her giant tears wash up on the black beach,
I feel her pain so deeply I sit on the hardened, cold sand,
littered with waste,
and listen to the painful tears, slide down my cheek.

Together, as friends do, we sit with each other,
offering the only comfort we truly can….
listening, love and loyalty.

As her cries hang in the air,
and then crash down,
with pain and rage,
I can only pray that her bleeding will stop.

Past days have found me with her,
sharing tears,
and now I have come to her,
and wonder if either of us will ever stop
bleeding
oil.

I look up to the sky, as I have so many times before
while in her house,
and ask for help.

As her pain becomes my own,
I begin to feel heavy and motionless
and I fear that I too
am dying.

I cry out but hear only my heart beat racing pounding I try to look ahead but see only thick, heavy air and my cries are drowned out by the angry tide crashing in pulling out whatever it can I look to the sky for help and feel my lungs heavier and heavier and fear this is the end I can no longer move ladened in thick oil and pain and anger I try to crawl away but realize there is nowhere to go

How long have I been gone….

Peace, Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

PS The next essay will include a contest with a wonderful prize from energy muse jewelry! Get your thinking caps on!!

PPS ALSO, I added lots of new pictures to the website! Check them out!!

On May 8, 2010, in Hadley, Massachusetts, there was a double rainbow.

I could use literary magic to make more of it than it may have meant, or photos, or my inner most thoughts, but honestly, I think these colors can stand their own ground and own merit. For whatever reason it was that brought them here twice, was as anything with a charge is, and has to be…. two.

Good and bad. Positive and negative. Darkness and light. Pain and forgiveness. Heaven and Hell. Life and death.

May 8th represented not only the first lighting of Conor’s Light, but also what would have been Conor Reynolds 18th birthday. It also represented for many far and wide, a sign of change, of hope, peace and yes, forgiveness. This light stood for honor first and foremost, the force of #5 on the soccer field, a captain among captains, and loyalty that had not been seen lately in our city, by many, if any.

On this day there was no party, no cake, and no presents. Conor Reynolds would not see, (at least from this plane,) his eighteenth birthday. Or Mother’s Day. Or his graduation. Or the prom.

He would instead give up his life on a dance floor at a birthday party, to break up a fight that he was not involved in. On this birthday, not his own, Conor would lose his life in a senseless act of violence by a gang member. He would be fatally stabbed in the neck, and carried out by friends to die in a parking lot with his girlfriend next to him, covered in his blood. This high school senior, and all star soccer player would make a decision, in a split second to act in peace and for that, he would offer his life.

And it would be taken.

And so only a little more than a month later after Conor was fatally stabbed in the neck, his family and friends gathered both near and far and did what all people do on a birthday. They lit a candle. They did this, we did this, we all did this with only one wish: Peace.

On this day, May 8th, strangers to the Reynolds family sat in the rain and heavy winds (if they were in New England) or sat in anticipation of lighting a small candle in a dark neighborhood to show support of someone they never met. People from the east coast to the west, south, north and beyond offered what they thought was a small act, for a greater cause. They did this because I asked, and that was enough.

On this stormy night, with lightening flashing all around and gusty winds blowing I sat with my boyfriend and his grandson AJ, on our front steps in the rain with candles, doing all we could do to keep them from going out. The storm, mostly unpredicted, came in wildly, and with full force.

It blew out only one candle, (which I quickly relit) but threatened constantly with heavy rains, echoing thunder, flashing lightening and leaves that constantly flew violently across the lawn. This storm was violent, but not angry. It was gusty but not windy and wet without much rain. For a brief moments it was not two, it was One.

Finally, quietly I said my last prayer to the Man upstairs, and softly blew out the candles that we had lit just an hour or so before.

I stood there for a moment in the dark and sighed. Was it enough? I wondered. Peace was after all, a pretty big wish.

I sat by that night, close to the storm, close to the thunder pounding and lightening flashing out my window. As I tried to relax with a glass of wine in my favorite aunt’s chair, (which is mostly broken and tattered,) I felt grateful. I could not explain my connection to this vigil and didn’t have to thankfully. Candles were lit and people sat out and offered hope when on this night, there was very little.

And although there may have been little hope, and little to hope for, there was one thing:

There was light.

In small neighborhoods in Somersworth, NH, the son of a high school friend sat by with his vigil, and in Rhode Island a friend lit three candles and prayed, and in Natick a family friend stood vigil, and in the Spencer Abbey, a monk who I know only through email said a vigil and prayer and lit a candle for Conor and for peace. There were more too, many, many more.

My new friend Tessa and her friends said it best when they lit their candle on Windy Hill in Tortola and made a toast that went something like this: For Conor, among the stars in the Virgin Islands. And for that moment, as we connected nationwide and beyond, I can only hope that our candles could be seen on the other side, as one flame and as One, everywhere and Every Where.

On a night with power flickering and huge wind gusts and pouring rain, we lost power at our house. Everything went out…except one lamp. As I sat in the darkness of the living room, listening to the rain pound the metal roof on the porch, one light stayed on in the darkness. A tiny lamp, given to me by a dear friend, stayed lit. Against all odds and rules, this lamp did not go dark.

I guess on a night that held so much energy that a double rainbow appeared, I could expect nothing less. Thank you everyone, for making Conor’s Light a night that could represent something other than sadness.

As each candle was lit with the hope of peace, each was quietly gently blown out with honor, respect and love. Imagine the energy of one soul to create such an evening.

Cheers Conor, and thank you…for leaving the light on, on your end.

Peace, Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

This Saturday, at 8:30 pm please light a candle on your front stoop, for Conor, his family and the Honor Conor Inc Foundations peace initiative. Please email me with your name city, state and country so the family can see that Conor did not die in vain, and people everywhere care about them and peace. Please ask at least one friend to do the same. It is a simple act, and one that may go unnoticed this year, but it will go un noted, that I can promise.

I am hoping that Conor’s Light can be represented in all states and as many countries as possible. Please reach out, and ask…you would be surprised who would say yes.

And so, with Springfield, Mass in mind, I leave you a quote from Dr. Seuss…

The Lorax said nothing. Just gave me a glance…
just gave me a very sad, sad backward glance…
as he lifted himself by the seat of his pants.

UNLESS someone like you
cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better.
It’s not.

Peace, Chris
www.fourleafclover.us

I am always amazed at where I look for answers.

Just during these past few months alone I have looked;
under rocks in my garden, in the glow of the morning sunrise from my bathroom window, and in the dark of the darkest nights.

I have stared out at the ocean, and sent my thoughts to the thin blue line
and waited for answers in the crashing waves.
I have looked in the innocence of a four year olds eyes, and listened to the bitter words of perhaps a jaded old man.

I have looked deeply at the mist over the mountain and waited, and asked, and wondered,
and sat quietly in the night, with only ghosts, and hoped for the truth.
The answer was not at the bottom of my bottle of wine, or in the hot tea that I sipped
in the early morning hours, alone in my aunt’s chair, with the fish tank bubbling away in the distance.

I have reached out to a Monk, a Priestess, a spiritual leader, my boyfriend, a mentor, a few very close friends, my Mother, my dog, old souls past and the stars that lit the sky night after night, when in return they got a blank stare. I even saw Mars a couple nights in a row, and sent my question farther and wider than I could ever imagine. I asked the Universe for the answer, but still…nothing.

It seemed no one knew, exactly.

Although some said to mind my own business, and others said to move forward, still others said follow my heart, and one, well, he said nothing at all. None of the answers made me happy, or felt right.

So, I waited some more and wondered.

Although the big question still went unanswered, slowly, little by little, day by day, things began to get a little more clarity. No one seemed to know the exact answer, but yet some Thing chipped away, tiny bit by tiny bit, at the very big question.

In my moments of total frustration a hand would reach out to help, and in my time of pride, the momentum continued. Those that I never thought could or would reach out, across great distances, were there…to offset those that seemed not to care at all about something so deeply painful to a fellow neighbor, neighborhood, friend, school, father, and family.

I had neither arrived anywhere, nor found the answer, but somehow, I kept moving forward and taking in all the tiny signs, for what they were, and how they could help.

In my asking, and asking, and asking, I found myself with few answers and many more questions. I don’t know that I will ever know the secret to life but right now I guess that part of it is in the asking, and in the finding, and in the being there, and when the there is not so clear, to just be present.

I guess we may never know the whole answer, but I do know that we are captains of our own destiny and we are exactly where we should be, regardless of where we think that place is. The answer for me, has not been found exactly in the whole, but instead in parts. It was not what I expected, or asked for, but to me, it has meant the world.

I don’t know yet what will come, but I do know that a good friend once told me (very recently) that without my questions, and searching, some kids, on a much different playing field, would never know of one kid, who sacrificed all, in a moment, a heartbeat, a breath. A final look. A final thought. A last question. Maybe not where we think it should have been, but instead, dying, in a parking lot, looking up at a starlit March sky and asking….

Because he cannot ask why… I will never stop ….

Peace, (while a little unrested)…Chris

I have enjoyed every email, please keep reading and keep emailing and posting comments!!!

and yes, Honor Conor bracelets are in…please let me know if you would like to contribute….

Every day the boy played in the same park,
and saw the same man, just sitting, feeding the birds, looking at the sky,
and smiling.

As the boy grew, he still played ball in the park, and began to look for the man.
He would often forget about him and be halfway through a game, or leaving the field before he would remember him.
He would always remember, at some point though to look, and he would always be there.

As the boy grew into a teenager, and became busy, still he always had time to play ball,
and always saw him, peaceful, kind, gentle and so welcoming. Still, the boy never approached, for reasons unknown to him, he stayed away, a gentle distance, and although offered a wave, a wink and a smile,
the boy and the man never sat together and never spoke.

One day soon, while the boy was still just a boy, he found himself suddenly wanting to say hello to this Man, more than ever He seemed to be calling him over, without a word. The Man kept feeding the birds, and gazing up, and the boy was drawn next to Him.

“Hello, ” said the boy, “Do I know you?” It seemed, although they had never spoken, that after so many years of counting on each to be there, that somehow they did know each other.

“Yes,” said the man, in the kindest whisper the boy had ever heard. “We have known each other right along.”

The boy did not fully understand but as he gazed out at the field, something was different. Suddenly he felt very alone. In his pocket he had a coin that he had always carried for luck. He took out the coin, dulled from years of being in his pocket and looked at it for any type of comfort. While he held it, the sun caught the tiny coin and reflected a great light towards the park. It lit the playground so brightly the boy had to shield his eyes.

“Why?” thought the boy to himself. After all the coin was dull, not really that lucky, and nothing special, really.

“Because.” the Man said. And without another word, the boy knew that he had discovered the secret to life. It was his job to shine light where there was only dark, his lucky coin had finally proved to be lucky.

“It’s my coin…” said the boy, but as he spoke the words, he felt perhaps it wasn’t.

“No, ” said the Man very quietly. “It’s you.”

And so they sat, Man and boy, shining light where before there had been only dark. And as the boy smiled, and looked up to the beautiful sky, he felt very warm and peaceful. As he looked across at the empty soccer field and towards the brightly lit playground he was happy, mostly.

He couldn’t help but worry a bit, and wonder alot though, if people knew he was happy and shining so brightly. He wished he had a magic phone that could reach them, and as his light beamed through the dark, he realized he did. Everything suddenly made sense. And he was happy.

**Editor’s Note**PLEASE READ

As many of you know Springfield, Massachusetts lost a 17 year old to a senseless act of violence. This boy, Conor Reynolds had such a strong spirit that although tragically murdered while trying to be a peacemaker, his memory and spirit will carry on to change…well everything. There will be a day in June, likely a Thursday that his first benefit will be held, and that night Conor’s Light will shine. I ask one simple request. When I announce the day, please light a candle on your front steps for an end to violence, peace in our cities and say a wish that kids will stop killing kids. On this night, please join in, every candle counts, worldwide, to light the dark. And please spread the word….so far we have Massachusetts, California and New Zealand involved. We need thousands more…. I have met Conor’s father, Liam, and there is no better cause. None. Please help…and let me know if you can. Oh, and this boy was a senior in high school so if any schools would like to adopt this project and spread the word….great!

Peace, always…Chris

PPS While some reply to my requests, I get fewer than I ever expect. PLEASE do this, one candle, one time, same time, make a wish, say a prayer, do nothing else…just light a candle.

www.fourleafclover.us

Maybe, in the spirit of the holiday, life is like an Easter egg hunt, or for those non-denominantional folks,
an egg hunt.

Maybe a course is laid out for each of us, yes a pre determined one, if you will,
but instead of being a map, a straight line,
it is instead laid out like an egg hunt.

For some, the golden egg may be huge financial gains,
others babies who will grow to change the world,
and still others a life of teaching, and yet others a life of stardom.

For some though, for reasons we cannot now understand,
the best we can do, the golden egg,
contains what we see as sorrow, misery, pain and anger.
If we find this egg and do nothing, or the medium,
maybe that is the return we will get. Or we could see it as a chance for a miracle,
as all great treasures can be, with faith, and the letting go of searching for the immediate reason.

Perhaps, like this hunt, for each of us, an individual path is laid out,
for us, with what we may do, what we should do, what we can do, the most possible
and the very least of all of us.

Maybe we are not leaves blowing in the wind,
but then again maybe we are not exactly pre determined either.

Maybe the the golden egg for some may seem like the goose egg to others,
if faith is not put into it.
Maybe if we don’t keep looking, and searching,
and hoping,
we won’t be the best, but instead curse our course.

As of late my faith has been tested and I am happy to say I think I have found more than
I thought I had,
and maybe this treasure has set me on a new path,
with different treasures
waiting,
just for me.

What if….

It may seem like a simple childhood answer, but then again…

If we remembered more of what we were taught as kids,
and less of what we were taught later in life…
maybe,
just maybe
we would be better off?

Happy thinking, happy hunting and as always…peace….Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

We lost another child today, one with so much promise, and hope,
a beautiful soul in every aspect.
I remember so vividly days on the playground, learning about other children,
sharing, and carefree days of youth.
That boy, that peaceful child, is now gone,
forever.
Never to return to the days of innocence, blinked out before a first love, a broken heart, or a diploma.
I struggle to make sense, find a reason, or search for any possible silver lining
for this senseless tragedy.
Gang violence has made our city a warzone, and I fear for the lives of so many more,
who have been struck down by this epidemic, and for those who want to react to tragedy
by acting out in violence.
I pray for peace, but fear for those who are already lost.
Show me world, I beg you, the silver lining.

Signed, the grieving mother of an innocent 17 year old stabbed to death at a birthday party

Dear World,

We lost another child today, one with so much promise, and hope,
a beautiful soul in every aspect.
I remember so vividly days on the playground, learning about other children,
sharing, and carefree days of youth.
That boy, that peaceful child, is now gone,
forever.
Never to return to the days of innocence, blinked out before a first love, a broken heart, or a diploma.
I struggle to make sense, find a reason, or search for any possible silver lining
for this senseless tragedy.
Gang violence has made our city a warzone, and I fear for the lives of so many more,
who have been struck down by this epidemic, and for those who want to react to tragedy
by acting out in violence.
I pray for peace, but fear for those who are already lost.
Show me world, I beg you, the silver lining.

Signed, the grieving mother of a child lost to the streets and sentenced forever to regret

Dear Grieving Community,

As I watch from above, I see the flicker of so many candles,
burning bright at your vigil, and feel your loss, your confusion and your deep ache for a reason, an explanation, an answer.
I also feel the pain of so many others looking for the why, a way to avenge and an avenue to express their hate.
As more and more children, our children, are forced to belong to gangs for survival
and others begin to arm themselves for protection.
I pray too, for you, to help these young people find their way to peace.
In a few days, the vigils will end, healing will start, and grief will slowly begin to ease.
A reason for senseless killing, and loss may not come easily, if ever.
I beg you, with all I have, to keep your vigils going,
and light the way for those who are lost to the dark.
Unite as One, and let the flicker of your candles rise up to the heavens.
That light will shine, even in the darkest of clouds,
and when you unite, and stand together against violence
and remember those lost to the streets, violence, poverty, and drugs
as One,
you will see your light
reflecting above
in the platinum of the clouds.

Signed, The Keeper of the clouds, stars, and light from your candles

***Editor’s Note*** Springfield, MA lost yet another life and another child to violence this past weekend. I hope you will all keep peaceful thoughts close to your heart as a family, a highschool, and a city grieve.

Peace, Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

As I paddled out today, many thoughts danced through my mind.
I had never surfed in open water, all alone before,
until today
And I had never gone out with such big sharks located so close.
I was safe though, I had Nantucket Sound, and flat waves,
and a clear head.

As I paddled past the rocks that appeared only at low tide, I dared farther and farther
out towards the blue line, all alone. The water was calm, which often doesn’t represent safety of any kind, not that the ocean ever makes promises, to anyone.

Looking back, the shoreline was so far away. If there was still an old man walking his dog, I couldn’t see either of them.

I breathed in deep, straddled my board and found myself praying.
I had never realized it before, but certainly this was not the first time I found comfort,
out in the open waves, to meditate, ponder and even ask for help.

Much like a conventional church, this House had often found me standing, kneeling and sitting….and even saying my prayers I remembered from when I was much younger. For some reason, those prayers brought me comfort, but probably not for any conventional reason.

I took the time to learn each word, look up each meaning and study the why’s just as I had learned to surf. Although I have been surfing for years, like my prayers, we are both a bit rusty.

This House is, like others, open to all, who dare to brave the elements. I guess that’s part of the reason I like it, it’s often quiet, and only dotted with those looking for the same thing: peace, energy, willpower, sacrifice and strength.

As I sit quietly, hearing only a distant lighthouse, I try to block out what might be under me, and instead focused on what might be over me. Without a physical roof overhead, it is easy for me to picture what might be up there, after my physical body has taken its last ride in this liquid medium.

I know some that read this will, or may disapprove, but if it can said that surf is where you find it (Gerry Lopez) than I feel that God (or whatever form of that you may find works best for you) can also be found, where you are looking.

As I lose my balance briefly from a rogue wave, I do not panic, but instead pull myself up and keep the dark thoughts out. I am in control, with a little help of course.

Although this House of sand and salt water may not have religious statues and stained glass windows, on very special days, when all is just right in the Universe, and the sun begins to set, and the fog begins to roll in softly across the wave tops, millions of color sprinkles are cast out across the water, and off in the distance, by the Sound, boats have begun to settle in and anchor. Somewhere, the lighthouse reminds us, that vision may not be at its best, but it is so beautiful, for those who dare to stay out just a few minutes past when it is considered safe, to pray, and think and ask the hard questions.

As I turn to make my way in, I feel a bit sad for those who can’t and don’t see this beauty and feel this safe place to talk, uninterrupted, to the Blower of the waves, and the Maker of the mist.

For one brief moment, I turn back around to give thanks to the ocean for taking me in, releasing me, hearing me, and trusting me enough to take care of Her, as She has always taken care of me.

Wishing you all blue skies and long, mindful surfs,
Chris

PS as promised my “twisted memoir” Letters to M will be out soon….if you would like more info about it please let me know. As always please give to those who cannot help themselves right now. For more info about reputable charities please email me at chris@fourleafclover.us