We humans bring so much gladness, sadness, and madness to planet Earth.

Yes, life is binary: peaks and valleys, joy and sadness, war and peace. From the banal to the beastly, it’s hell to hallelujah!

I was married, then divorced. There were good times, but also many bad.

For many days in my long marriage, I saw a heart before me of incredible compassion, open to those who needed it most, such a gift to humankind.

But I also saw acute personal incompatibility; so many days when we just couldn’t get along. No details needed.

Storms will form on the marital sea of life.

Squalls batter us, and most couples weather them successfully.

But sometimes it’s how long a couple can endure the storms before they sink the marriage.

Ours did sink, after 30 years.

I met Cheryl; she, too, was married and divorced. She, too, was a giver, a heart of love to all, a gift to humankind. We fit; we are deeply compatible. She’s made each day shine for me for many years.

If you, too, had a second chance, I know you see how past sadness makes present gladness shine even brighter.

Cheryl and I live on the Long Beach shore where life is pink.

But we chose to live forever together unmarried. Our monogamous life without nuptial certification has worked for us for 28 years.

But the lady next door in our condo was religious and incensed that we lived together, unmarried. She made it clear she didn’t like us.

Before she learned about our marital status, I helped her move food pantry items from St. Mary’s church in Long Beach to St. Raymond’s in East Rockaway.

That comity ended.

One day, Cheryl entered our apartment as the lady entered hers. Cheryl heard the voice behind her: “Garbage.” But in an exaggerated, “Gaar—baaage.”

Our condo building has Sheetrock walls. In the wee hours, we’d be sleeping soundly when suddenly: pounding, bang, bang, bang from our bedroom wall. It was our neighbor; she only pounded at night. 

When I saw her in the hall and complained, she said, “Why don’t you just move?” Then she laughed, mockingly. She appeared to be in some kind of mental distress.

We never know the life stories that brought people to where they are.

Maybe she, too, loved and was loved a time or two. Often, we just don’t know about one’s storms.

But now, she was an old, frail lady who lived alone and walked with a cane. It was extremely unusual for anyone to visit her door. I felt sad for her.

But my compassion had limits; the noise through the wall was intolerable. A letter from our condo management informed her: if you keep banging on walls, you will have to go to court and pay court costs.

The pounding stopped.

A year later it started again. Another letter, another cease. But the mocking laughter in the hall continued, and the slam of her apartment door sounded like a bomb.

And so it went.

Until she left her car parked on the no-parking side of the street.

Parking tickets were placed on her windshield.

When we saw the tickets piling up, we told the police about her situation. We contacted the church where she had been active in the past and Adult Protective Services.

Our condo board also tried to help; they reached out to service contacts and made direct attempts: the super knocked on her door, and she responded, “Go away.” Adult Services came; she refused to open her door.

One day our super knocked and, getting no answer, entered her apartment. He found her on her bathroom floor, dead, from apparent natural causes.

A year later: New neighbors: a young couple.

Delightful people; he’s a teacher, she’s a nurse.

Mom gave birth to a Lily in May.

When I first heard Lily crying in their apartment, my brain grinned. The sound was bliss against the memory of the mocking laughter. It was the sound of new vocal cords on planet Earth: “I’m here, I’m life, I’m hope.”

Eighteen months later, Lily is a flower on feet.

We retire early, and as our heads hit the pillow, we sometimes hear running feet. I smile in the darkness. No angry pounding, just the flutter of tiny feet.

So yes, I was married and unhappy.

Now, life is good.

And yes, there was a time when noise through our wall infuriated me.

Now, when I hear feet flutter, I hear my toddler daughters in their spring days.

In these, my autumn years, I soar with Cheryl in a rainbow.

Now, fasten your seat belts, gird your loins, tighten your sphincters:

For some of us on planet Earth, there are no rainbows

I speak of those for whom the sun never shines again.

I speak of our brothers and sisters who would welcome “intolerable” pounding on a wall and the “bomb” of a slammed door.

And not the bombs that take their homes, their spouses, their children.

I speak of those whose joy bled away one October day, as their loved ones bled into sand.

I speak of children of the universe whose loved ones were raped, their flesh shredded. I speak of peace seekers beheaded, or blasted with shots to their groins.

I speak of those whose joy is pierced forever when missiles pierce their homes, and concrete pancakes onto their families, and rebar pierces their children.

But perhaps salvation lies on the horizon for humankind.

Maybe we can divorce ourselves from terror and stop pounding our neighbors in international psychopathy. Maybe we can welcome the lilies of the field. The peace Lilies with their bounding hope for the future.

Maybe these millennia of hell will find a way to—hallelujah.

As John Lennon and Yoko Ono wrote, “War is over if we want it.”

But only if we really want it.

Be well,

Leebythesea

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Also, please see my dark side photo essays, Wherethesundontshine