I'M STILL HERE, EVEN NOW

Over the past several months, I have been in several hospitals fighting off attacks on the integrity of my Being. Such attacks undermine my energy and demand a spiritual resolution. It is difficult to understand the source of this spiritual energy, but I feel it rushing to my rescue even as I am dazed and confused.

Now I am home in the sanctuary of my office overlooking the fir trees on the side of Blue Mountain beside the Hudson River in Peekskill, New York.We have had record breaking snow storms this winter. The spring rain is washing away the remnants of the storms and clearing a path for Spring.

I must say a word about the magnificent doctors and staff at NYUI Langone in the heart of the city on First Avenue.They restored and revitalized me. But it is the steadfastness and positive support of my son, John Russell and his wife Nancy that have sustained my recovery, especially with the introduction of an exceptionally wise cat known as Lady. Lady talks to me with great sincerity and depth of feeling. She is constantly checking on me. 

I know it might seem strange, but Lady and I communicate in depth, and she comes to check on me at bedtime, and in the morning to make sure everything is all right. She is quite interested in the shower and goes in to explore and sit, She watches me while I shower.

Lady is a special Being. Each day brings new challenges and insights. Russell and Nancy said that she actually chose them when they were looking to find a kitten for me. She was persistent and persuaded them to bring her home to me.

So I am still here, but the energy of my home is different, alive and dynamic. It is an entirely new adventure as Spring unfolds with the promise of an abundant summer.

 

A FAMILY SAGA

When I was fifteen, I came across a box of photograph scrapbooks and daitries in my father’s  office. It turns out that these were records and documents for the Gilbert clan that were part of the lost tribes of Israel. The Gilbert clan was persecuted and driven out of Ireland. They fled to Germany for several generations. But they fled hostility and attacks, seeking refuge in America  specifically North Carolina. 

In 1889, my Grandfather lined up on the Oklahoma border and participated in the Land Rush. He managed to stake a claim in the Oklahoma Panhandle. His name was John Gilbert. He was a tall, strong man who created a farm and improvised on an old organ in the house. 

On Saturdays he would go into town and collect men who were passed out from drinking. He would bring them to his farm and feed them, and nurse them back to health. Many stayed on with him to work the farm and others went on their way, sober and grateful.

When I was about eight years old, my father came and took me out of school. We drove to Oklahoma to see my grandfather who was on his deathbed. When we arrived, he opened his eyes and saw me. He managed to raise himself up and stood. He hugged me tightly and kissed me on the top of my head. He passed away a few hours later.

Across the years I still feel his presence, and know that my own inclination to improvisation came to me through his passion for for making music in the midnight hours on that Oklahoma homestead. My father was the youngest and he was always given the job of shelling corn. For my father, shelling corn was his term for wasting time...so when people would ask my Father, "where's Johnny?" He would reply about my improvising at the piano as "He's inside shelling corn."