A Life Rosary




Grieving for Lea is by default my grieving for all the Leas that ever were and ever will be.

Grieving for Lea is my grieving for childhood desecration.

Grieving for Lea is the expression of my heightened awareness of that gutter side of humanity, whose vast evil effect sets in motion the bizarre, sardonic, and choice less enrolment of each new victim to become a carrier of ongoing self-degradation. This dark force, empowered by the act of ruined innocence, will abduct a being for life - as though doomed to serve evil in pursuit of self-destruction and, as though unaware, the destruction of those closest and dearest.

And my grieving for Lea is my grieving for myself, for failing to comprehend, failing to rescue and failing to rest by that admission. Grieving for Lea is the grieving of us all. Of us who love not by choice, and us whose choice is the loving way.


A Life Rosary is written in the manner of recording events, articulating thoughts, accounting for feelings and making observations - as thought being an undated personal journal. It is entirely fictional. The one name in the book is fictitious and the one city named is symbolic. There is no time or place, no story-line - rather a string of beads, a rosary of accumulated writings, whose repetition offers familiarity to ease the way and explore variations; and whose sameness in subject, attitude and intent is an invitation to explore new facets of this experience.

A Life Rosary became the pulse beat of my existence. It truly flooded the chambers of my being. And this telling of the rosary happened as thought of its own creation at once within me and a parallel to me. Its streaming touched all manner of deep-lying pebbles, summoning them to serve, join in and accomplish the truth of Lea and me joining in our opposites - all my opposites of all my Leas - and in our hand-in-hand paths which we strolled within my imaginary recollections.

Whatever I have created has its own thread of truth, which I have ushered to its own becoming. That you the reader would be there to share these lines did not enter my head. I have never written before, and these lines came when all writing was done.

What I cared about was the truth of so much of our lives, Lea's and mine, of so much past to grieve over and grow by. In wisdom and wish and wonder...here goes my grieving for Lea and me. Here goes the most sacred and precious of life's gifts - loving. Cloaked to its doom by the relentless past as a source of grieving. A loving and a past made up of the irreconcilable forces of black and of white in Lea and me... and the grieving for Lea and me was written.

Loving Lea sparked such intense energies within me, so many of which brought with them great creativity. At one of those unexpected, poetic, loving moments, came a clear articulation that encapsulated my ever-present with for the ultimate, all-encompassing love.

These inspired words to Lea of time gone by are here in their approximate English translation:

It is you who rhymed for me my life's secrets
And it is you who are the wind that rustles the tree tops.
From the past and beyond your voice comes within me,
from the way, way past.
You are the sister I do not have... did not have
You are my soul's twin within me that did not respond...did not respond
You are the barely-sensed dreams which I dreamt of the bygone days...
those days... those days... those days.

And on went this love ballad, reflecting all aspects of love from childhood throughout all life's stages in male to female pairing along life's cycle-my heart talking to my loved one.

Just as these words came within me, filling soul, mind and heart, leaving no space for anything else by rising to the highest summit of love's covenant, so by contrast did the writing of this book come about. It came as bursts of erupting truth extracted by pain and by hurt of pure love soiled, corroded and dismembered. It is the agonizing, personal stand of innocence in loving belief, of a man facing evil's vast harm with true beauty of spirit.

Lea is no more...and my grieving for Lea shall never end. I know that my grieving for her started when we met. Odd as it may be, I believe that her grieving for herself, for her desecrated self, below any level of her Lea is no more... and my grieving for Lea shall never end. I know that my grieving for her started when we met. Odd as it may be, I believe that her grieving for herself, for her desecrated self; below any level of her self-awareness, began at a tender age, perhaps when she could barely talk and not admitting kept it going, on and on. All the while, the grieving in our joint parallels was, and continued to be, fundamentally about loving.

Good friends to us both brought about our first meeting. Lea came in a rough black hat, boots and faded blue slacks. I was dressed in grey and purple. Neither of us intended to color-signify ourselves for this meeting. Yet, had we tried, we could not have done so better. The refinement of color qualities has been part of my life’s involvement, and is now my work. I said nothing of it at the time but later shared with Lea again and again recollections of that treasured moment of our first fated sighting.

Gentleness, which Lea never forgot, came about me as we met, and in a caring, attentive, loving manner that I had never known. She filled my world that first time we met. And perhaps for that reason those most unexpected things that I said to her were accepted unquestioningly by us both.

We sat in a crowded tearoom yet we were all-consumed with one another. Of the many things we could have talked about came that which we could not possibly ever forget. What we heard me saying, grabbed us both to a complete focus of attention. A compulsion which I had never experienced before was triggered in me, perhaps by her very sad beautiful eyes if which she seemed quite unaware-of so very much she was unaware.

There we were, barely having met, and I saw and understood so much as I heard myself saying,
“There is a wonderful you behind the one you show. She is your life’s promise of a future of beauty and joy. No matter how much effort it takes on your part, you must let her emerge and prevail and I will help you in whatever way I can.”

These words of mine stunned and numbed all else that might or would have come up between us then. They were accepted by her and by me as the heart-to-heart expression of a destined, manifested truth.

In my guts I knew of her promised life which had not begun. I knew also of decades of agonies, mounting like snow drifts in her being-and none of it was, nor ever could be considered white. Such was her life, which I recognized and understood.


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The Passionate Rise | Haar Haakodesh | Bonnie - Lily - Mr. Blake | Beinee-Le-Beinee
York 1190 Remembered | Odem | Muttles | A Life Rosary | Jerusalem Gate Diary | Blue Prints | Erez


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