09 Feb How Do I love Thee, Let Me Count The Words
How lovely the sonnet from Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s famous poem which begins, “How do I love Thee, Let me Count the Ways.”
The last line of EBB’s sonnet reads, “And if God choose, I shall but love thee better after my death.”
That is what my musings will be about today, love and death and life for me and thee and our God in between.
As Divine Spiritual Human Beings, I believe that we write because we wish to have a say in our Creation.
We must write! It’s in our DNA and our birthright to do so. Writing down our thoughts, our history and stories whether fictional or not, is all part of our imagination and our indelible connection to our Creator.
Through our writings and dreams, along with prayers, meditation and music, we are always traveling in our hearts and minds. Through space and time and throughout this galaxy and myriads of others, we seek to learn about our divine human expression, our divine love and our connection and service to others.
That which becomes our life’s purpose, our healing journey, is our life story.
During this crucial evolutionary cycle for all life on this planet, it is time that we unravel these ancient sacred memories of love that we carry in our liquid bodies of water and blood.
If we truly believe that we are eternal souls and that we don’t die, then we must remember that unconditional love is the universal glue that holds us together, that which is the “depth and breadth and height our souls can reach, when feeling out of sight…”
Imagine this infinite cosmic love streaming live all the time!
Sometime after my mother’s death in 1995, I met with a talented musician and composer named Barry Goldstein, to work on a CD for Hospice patients and their families. He had a small recording studio in NYC and I would travel by train from my hometown in Mystic, Connecticut to his place in midtown Manhattan.
His music was magical to me with etherial overtones and healing vibrations.I would sit in the small booth and listen to his music through the headphones. I had no script to work from and didn’t know where to begin my story, when I heard, “Death is Love.” I spoke those words into the microphone and then added, “I didn’t know that!” I was answering my own “higher mind”- my own divine intuition.
Who was orchestrating this recording? Throughout the entire project, we experienced emotionally charged spiritual moments. We laughed and cried and watched Barry’s electronic soundboard go haywire.“That’s impossible” he would say. We were thrilled knowing that we had a larger audience than just the two of us in that studio.
As I began to record the story, the scene of my mother’s death appeared before me, once again.
“Just before Christmas my mother was lying in her bedroom quietly dying. My Aunt who was our Hospice nurse, my father and my youngest brother, were gathered in a small sitting room off of the kitchen. We were watching the winter storm through the glass paned French doors. Double locked against the wind and the swirling snow, my Aunt sat in her favorite rocking chair sipping her tea enjoying our Connecticut winter scene.
When the doors suddenly burst open blasting us all with freezing cold air and flurries of big beautiful snowflakes, my brother cried out, “There she goes!” We all laughed and then suddenly, we all knew, that it was true. My mother had escaped wrapped in St. Michael’s magical cloak of fresh white snow. She had kicked in the last remaining earthly doors with her faith and love for God.”
“For the ends of being and ideal grace,” Good-bye my mother. Please know, that your exit was spectacular. It remains one of the greatest memories of my life with you, realizing that your death was not a sacrifice, but a trumpet blast of pure happiness.
To All: May the musings of your heart carry your souls’ desire throughout your chosen life, and if God choose, we will together hear the sound of love’s eternal voice, through the words, the music and poetry of Thee and Me.
Colleen Grace Clabby
Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sonnet 43
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.