Thistledown Rising A Memoir

A story twitches inside us all, echoing discoveries of inward voyages. What we find along the way may be more precious than what we sought. Hope sustained me during the years I lay crippled from a rare bone disease. Loyal pets, family, and friends frame images of times long ago in a world of newfound hope, oozing with possibilities to heal. By embracing troubles, I glimpsed others' hardships. My parents told me we're all connected: all things are one. Do we need to adjust our vision to see more clearly? In the 1960s Kansas of my youth, friends and family wrestled with troubles. Unbroken, they endured with a quiet dignity, whispering hope. We improvised with toil and imagination. A gentle courage uncovered new ideas. Changing the way we see alters what's seen. Imagination powers new vision: a world born of reading with my father's tender escapes; one swirling with splendors of Grandfather Kearney's flower gardens. Imagination opens hope-filled vistas. Sharing struggles with wise people may also change vision, perhaps a first step toward healing. Aren't hard times a fine teacher, daring to guide us toward wisdom and inner peace? Awe in a grand and mysterious universe gurgles up over moss-covered stones. It jets from low-flying clouds born on winds at dawn. If hope is a fine breakfast but a poor dinner, then growth eked out along the way crafts one scrumptious feast. Parts of "Thistledown Rising" may sound familiar. It may be everyone's tale: one dawning.