Christmas Vision , Breath of Heaven

For about the last year I have been trying to meditate about an half hour a day . It helps to clear the mind and , more recently , I have begun to have waking visions . They come when I am in a most relaxed state of mind . Before you say I have become some wacked out New Age fruity , allow me to say I am not sure exactly if , when in this state , one becomes in touch with their subconscious memories or actually becomes accepting of wisdom from those who have come before us . Nevertheless , I do have a recurring vision which I would like to relate involving my family members who have passed on . After allowing myself to enter the relaxed state I find myself as an adult sitting in my skiff with my mother anchored off the bird islands in Roberts Bay . We talk as we always did , me asking questions , she answering and explaining the cycle of life using the birds as examples . Then , as I look at her she says " Mike , follow your heart " . I close my eyes and open them and she is gone . I pull anchor and manuever my skiff back to our dock like I had done hundreds of times . Going through my docking procedure just as my Dad had showed me , I look up and there is my older brother fashioning dock bumpers with Navy knots he had learned while in the service . I never really knew my brother as he was about 15 years older than I . He joined the Navy when I was four and , after discharge stayed with us briefly following our move to Sarasota . He left town when I was seven and I never saw him again . He committed suicide in 1974 . I tie the skiff up , look up at him sitting on the dock and he speaks to me , Mike , life is much like these knots , it weaves in and out and seems very complicated but it is not as hard to follow as it seems ". The knots were woven in and out in true Gordian fashion but he was right , I could follow the strands to their end . I close my eyes and he is gone . I scramble up onto the dock much like I always did as a ten year old using his woven bumpers to boost myself up . Heading up to the house , I see my Dad standing at the BBQ cooking steak just like he did so many times . He is dressed in shorts and has a golf hat on . I walk up to him , give him a hug and we talk like many times before , Turning the steaks he looks at me and says , " Mike , do what is right in every instance ". I close my eyes , then open them and he is gone . Next , I walk to the backdoor open the screen door and head to the kitchen . Standing there near the stove is Reather our maid . Now , to call Reather a maid does not come close to explaining her relationship to the family nor does it do her justice . She was a member of the family , my surrogate mother , and a wise counselor to a boy who had so many questions . I sat at what we called the bar on a rataan stool . I can hear the rataan squeak as I sit . We talk , again like so many times before , then I stare into her eyes and she says , " Michael , stand up for what you believe and let no one take it away " . I close my eyes and when I open them she is gone . I walk through the house passing my room . Pausing , I look in . It is like I left it when I went out in the boat as a ten year old . I walk up to my sister's room . My sister Susan is standing there smiling . Susan died of cancer in 2001 . We talk much like before . She holds her hand up to pause our conversation , then speaks , " Mike , always do what makes you happiest ". I close my eyes once more and as I open them she is gone . I turn and walk back through the house and stand before our Christmas tree on our porch . I take a deep breath and I am back . I think , were they there or was I there ? I believe so . I think they are not gone they are always with me . We get so busy with what we call life and we lose touch with what has guided us . We just have to find a way to get back to where we learned how to live . I hope and pray this Christmas you may glean wisdom from my Christmas vision told by my mother , father , brother , Reather , and sister Susan . Follow your heart , do what is right in every instance , stand up for what you believe , don't make life so complicated , it's knotty enough , and finally , do what makes you happy . Merry Christmas and may God bless you and may you receive a breath of heaven !

Pete the Pirate

I grew up on Roberts Bay between the north Siesta Key Bridge and the entrance to Phillippi Creek here in Sarasota . Before the fill islands were created by The Army Corps which are now generally referred to as " Edwards Islands" , there was an island called Edwards Island . The island today faces north and provides a clear view of the north Siesta bridge . The island was often used by commercial fishermen to organize their catch , mend mullet nets , eat lunch , or simply talk about fishing . I would beach my skiff and pass the time listening to them talk and watch them as they went about their daily routines . All of them were weathered by the sun and salt , hands rough hewn from hauling their catch and working with nets . Many seemed to be worn by a tough life and again , most , were missing teeth . Relaxing on the island meant smoking mullet and drinking lots of Busch beer . Some of the fisherman ignored me . I was the kid who would come from the mainland in his skiff and bother them but one in particular began to trust me and would talk with me showing me how to mend nets and smoke mullet . I knew him only by Pete and this was from the others calling him by name since he never formally introduced himself . He would talk of fishing , the freedom , drudgery , and hard work . I think he was a pirate at heart because he would always talk about the pirates who had worked and hidden in the waters around Sarasota . So , I began to talk about Pete the Pirate who stayed on Edwards Island to my parents and friends . I rarely took friends out to see him because he didn't like being around many people . Pete was the only fisherman who basically lived on the island . Eventually , he laid a slab foundation , still visible to this day , built a shelter out of wood and tin , and constructed a concrete cistern to catch rainwater , the remains also still visible today . Pete had all the amenities of home including a privy built out of the same wood and tin as his shack . He even constructed a shower of sorts using rainwater flowing from a hose stuck in a galvanized bucket . Sometimes I would glide my cyprus skiff onto the beach and he would be asleep which meant he had been on a beer bender so I would leave and come back a few days later finding him fine smoking mullet to sell on the mainland or at the Siesta Fish Market . I would while a way the time especially in the summer visiting Pete . Sometimes we would talk or I would just watch him work . Then , one day I arrived and he seemed to be out of sorts . I asked him what was wrong figuring he had a hangover . " Corps gonna come and dredge the new channel , things will be changin " . He was a man of few words anyway but I could tell this really bothered him . " Corps folks been here " , he went on . " What did they say ? " , I asked him . " Said I would have to leave when the dredgin starts , gonna make some big fill islands ", he added . This was one of the last times I saw Pete . I visited him a couple of more times and each time his face seemed to become more accepting that his world was coming to an end . About a month passed and finally I took my route to the island . As I cut my engine and scratched up on the beach I was in shock . Gone was the shack , nets , shower , smoker , everything . The only thing left was the concrete slab which is the only vestige of Pete The Pirate's encampment . Gone too was an era of independent and self reliant fishermen who could make a little money on Roberts Bay . Also gone was a friend who showed me how to smoke mullet and mend nets , and , a little about life . I stood there on the slab for what seemed an eternity crying and wondering what would become of Pete The Pirate .