Doing some reminsicing lately. Thinking back to a time a few years ago,

when I received a message from a sweet voiced woman who identified

herself as Florence Simons. She asked if I did clowning. I figured she was

interested in having Feather (my clown alter- ego) come out and do an event

or party. Would never have imagined what she said, as the message

continued. She told me that she saves newspaper clippings and frames them

for display. She had an article that was written about me from way back in

November of 2000. In it, I spoke about my husband Michael’s death and how

clowning was part of the healing of my heart and soul. The title of the article

was “Character Provides Solace To The Woman Behind The Paint”.

Well, this lovely octogenarian had framed the article and wanted to gift me

with it.  I was honored and delighted to drive over to her home a few  minutes

away. When I pulled into her driveway next to a tidy farmhouse, I had the

radio on and a song wafted its way to my receptive ears. Normally, I would

have just turned it off and gotten out of the car. On that particular day, the

lyrics called to me, since I had never heard it before.

Unwritten

Natasha Bedingfield

I am unwritten, can’t read my mind, I’m undefined

I’m just beginning, the pen’s in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten

 

Oh, oh, oh

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines

We’ve been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can’t live that way

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

 

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten

The rest is still unwritten

The rest is still unwritten

Oh, yeah, yeah

 

 

A few things immediately leapt forward. This song was so clearly speaking to

what I had experienced, during that time in particular. I had been feeling as

tempestuous and tumultuous as the rain storms that had drenched this area at the time.

I journaled about the experience: “Last night, driving home from a concert,

lightning piercing the slate gray sky, crack of thunder directly above my car, windshield tears

streaming down, the wipers unable to keep pace, a flood of emotions in waves across the

roads. So many blank pages await me each day. I know the words I want to inscribe

upon them, only to find that many of them remain at the level of fantasy at evening time

by what has come to pass. I also know that so many of them have played out beautifully,

manna-festing at the speed of thought.”

Walking through the doorway, I was greeted with a hug by the red haired,

bright-eyed Florence whose effervescence belies her age. Her walls are a

tribute to her love of the eclectic…a collection of pigs in the form of images

and quotes; my favorite : “Never try to teach a pig to sing….it wastes your

time and annoys the pig .”, high school graduation photos of her 9 children,

whom she raised solo since her husband died in the late 1970’s, multi-cultural

art work, representing many of the places to which she has traveled over the

years, and a poster of Annie Lennox and Sting from their concert tour a few

years back. She also had a plaque that so clearly links us as sisters and

kindred spirits: “Wild women don’t get the blues.” At least we don’t have them

for very long. As I unwrapped the framed story, tears came to my eyes. The

years rolled back seamlessly. Relatively newly widowed with a challenging 13

year old son to raise to adulthood, had just started a job as Director of Social

Services at a local nursing home, immersed in spiritual service as a minister,

no clue what would be unfolding before me. Emotions raw and ragged at

times; some of them masked behind the red nosed-white faced, purple

coverall-ed visage of Feather. Looking back through the time tunnel, I wonder

“if I knew then what I know now…” would I have jumped for joy or recoiled in

fear at all that has occurred in the interceding years? Were those pages as

yet unwritten, awaiting my pen to scribe the events and characters yet to

present themselves or was it all already scripted, waiting for me and those in

my life to step forward into the light? In 2000, many of those who are dear to

my heart now, were living their lives off my radar screen. It took the work of

Divine Design to pull together all of the pieces. It occurred to me that this

would be a great name for some aspect of my business, since so much of the

work I’m called on to do seems to be by divine design. As I was writing this, I

received an email with a quote from Ernest Holmes (of Science of Mind)

which speaks of a Divine Pattern that is in all things. Close enough.

 

As I ponder the immensity of this concept, I wonder what I will write on the

virginal pages tomorrow; planting seeds for six years hence. Who will be in

my life then who isn’t now and who will still be present who is now? What

treasure awaits? I can’t wait to read what will have been written.

 

What will you write on your blank pages today?