the PDF of her book - National Aphasia Association
the PDF of her book - National Aphasia Association
the PDF of her book - National Aphasia Association
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Tales from <strong>the</strong> O<strong>the</strong>r Side <strong>of</strong> Language 103<br />
Two shady green mountain ridges crest my drive to <strong>the</strong><br />
Pacific Coast to land at a gray clapboard apartment on <strong>the</strong> beach.<br />
Watching <strong>the</strong> twilight on <strong>the</strong> sand with <strong>the</strong> water in constant<br />
agitation and tasting <strong>the</strong> gray, salty air coming through <strong>the</strong><br />
window, my body and spirit begin to ease. They need this pallid<br />
quiet to sort myself out.<br />
Into <strong>the</strong> calm <strong>the</strong> next morning, <strong>the</strong> telephone’s ring sharply intrudes.<br />
My daughter is apologetic, but must tell me terrible news <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> sudden<br />
death <strong>of</strong> a young friend from <strong>the</strong> Bly conferences. Heart attack. Some years<br />
ago he told an amazing story <strong>of</strong> swimming at twilight in <strong>the</strong> Gulf <strong>of</strong> Mexico<br />
near his home. He swam <strong>of</strong>ten <strong>the</strong>re and said <strong>the</strong> water was flat and warm,<br />
silky. As he stroked through <strong>the</strong> water, a shark gently came alongside him.<br />
They swam for a long time, side by side this way, at ease with each o<strong>the</strong>r.<br />
He said he felt friendship, and safe; it seemed natural. After a time <strong>the</strong> shark<br />
moved slowly <strong>of</strong>f.<br />
I remember my crow friend, <strong>the</strong> same ease, coming into my life. But<br />
my friend’s courage floods over me now, his willingness to step across vast<br />
difference and fear simply to swim toge<strong>the</strong>r. His spirit is stepping into a<br />
larger vastness now.<br />
Friends in New York City are coming toge<strong>the</strong>r for him this afternoon.<br />
I want to resonate with <strong>the</strong>m somehow across <strong>the</strong> continent. But I’m still in<br />
<strong>the</strong> after-aura <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> ceremony and not ready. I take a long, creamy Jacuzzi<br />
soak in <strong>the</strong> beige-tiled bathroom. The steaming water creates a boundary and<br />
puts me into a hazy mind. My spirit is cleared by <strong>the</strong> hot baptism, and I’m<br />
ready. I put a few lunch things into a bag and take ano<strong>the</strong>r for collecting. I<br />
set <strong>of</strong>f down <strong>the</strong> sandy beach with not much thought for what I am going to<br />
do, some sort <strong>of</strong> ritual <strong>the</strong>re on <strong>the</strong> water and beach.<br />
A beachcomber, I see things as I go, a piece <strong>of</strong> driftwood looking much<br />
like a shark, <strong>the</strong>n a dried starfish, crow fea<strong>the</strong>rs, a few wild daisies, some dry<br />
kelp, with a thought to make rattles later. All get put in my bag. I wonder<br />
what I am going to do, but nothing distinct comes to me.