LEAH ONE, CIRCLING BACK ON HERSELF

EDITOR’S NOTE: I wrote the PROSE that follows ("LEAH BLOCKED AND IN SHUDDERS") 
in December, 2019, and while it felt delightful 

to write it, IT SEEMED AT THE TIME THAT IT CARRIED ME NOWHERE. There wasn’t the least bit 

of forward motion!

BUT NOW I REALIZE THAT ISN'T TRUE!

SUDDENLY THERE WAS LEAH AND LEAH LED ME SOON ENOUGH BACK TO GINA….the voice

of my heart, the voice of my most recent novel, Sister Mysteries. 

Gina is the voice of the

SACRED 
NOW

the voice
of more 
and more
of my poetry.

Gina is also
the voice of

this novel, "PEARLY EVERLASTING"

This novel HAS LED ME DEEPER AND DEEPER INTO THE NOW 

WHERE TIME IS ALWAYS IN THE NOW YOU CAN ONLY EVER BE IN THE NOW NOW NOW

BUT ALSO

GOD IS ALSO ALWAYS IN THE NOW ALWAYS AT YOUR ELBOW LOVE HER HIM HER HIM IT

deeper and deeper into

THE

PAST TO MOM AND DAD 

AND ALL OF MY 

ancestors, “I miei antenati” and TO THE EXTRAORDINARY LOVE THAT I FEEL FOR MY FAMILY 

AND MY HERITAGE AND YES, to my learning Italian. And now, this journey has led me to see

time
collapsing
and stories
going
around 
and 
around
in
circles
connecting 
one with another
one with each other.

So here you go, 

NOW

the story that started it all:

I. LEAH BLOCKED AND IN SHUDDERS

The coffee’s gone cold but no matter. She holds the turquoise cup in both hands. It’s past two

in the morning and still

now

she hasn’t gotten anywhere in three hours.

Not true. She has the lede. But the Sunday desk is expecting 

her goddamn piece by noon on Friday. For the Sunday magazine. That means in less than 

24 hours she needs to produce something like 2500 goddamn words. And instead of writing, 

she is sitting here shuddering in the light of the lovely stained glass lamp that her mother, Dena,

made for her. She never appreciated her mother's glass making enough, She touches the lamp 

NOW

and it is caked in dust she MUST clean it but first she must finish this freakin' story so here it is:


"ORCHIDS ORCHIDS EVERYWHERE"

When Shelley Lefkowitz decided to grow her first orchid in February of 2013, she was sure of absolutely

 nothing. She hadn’t even taken a book from the library. And yet, here she is, some six years 

later, and she’s the captain of a half million dollar empire, poised to move into a flower “campus” – 

her word -- with six gigantic greenhouses overflowing with orchids.

            Leah pauses. All in all it’s a competent start. So what’s the problem? Why can’t she go forward 

the way she has countless times before? She's been a goddamn reporter for god knows three decades

NOW.

Something is going on and Leah is hard pressed to understand it.

She likes Shelley. Indeed, she and the orchid grower had had an immediate heartfelt connection. 

And she loves the idea that this silver-haired midget of a woman has, without any experience, 

launched an enterprise that went from zero to 100 so fast that she’s landed in Forbes magazine.

            Leah types:

             So how did this miracle occur? You can ask her all kinds of questions, but Lefkowitz

            is hard pressed to answer in ordinary English. She prefers what she calls her 

           ‘vocabulary of light.’ 

            Take for example this question: how did you come up with the idea of growing orchids?

            Shelley smiles as she answers: “I was meditating on grey trees one winter day that February. 

I was just sitting there very calmly in my living room drinking a cup of coffee. And then I picked an 

angel card off the top of the pile and it asked, ‘What Do You Desire?’ 

I closed my eyes and suddenly I was sitting in a warm pale blue zone that hovered over my heart. I 

started yearning for warm pink flesh. Then I realized I was staring at that pink flesh and it was a deep 

rose-colored flower. And then there was a second blossom. And a third. And they were all sitting in a 

greenhouse, steamy, the glass all fogged up. And soon enough I was sitting cross-legged surrounded 

by an ocean of orchids. All I knew was that I was the one who had to grow them.”

            Leah glances at the Forbes clipping: an itty bitty Shelley is sitting cross-legged on a table in 

one of the mammoth greenhouses. She has an impish smile on her face. And surrounding her are 

dozens and dozens of orchids of every imaginable color.

            Leah inhales. Her hands are stiff and her fingers are cold and trembly. She rubs them, hands 

and fingers, together. She is full of anxiety. Then she does what the therapist Mary told her to do. She 

closes her eyes and taps on her forehead, and then next to her eyes. She taps on all the points Mary 

described to her. And at the very end, she imagines a massive ball of sparkling light right over her head.

 And when she breathes in, she brings the light into her nose, her mouth, her heart. She lets it seep 

through her chest, fill her lungs, her shoulders, her arms; she watches it flow right into the tips of 

her fingernails. 

            She opens her eyes. Smiles. Types: To understand the way this orchid empire arose, 

you have to suspend your disbelief. Or at least I did. You have to learn another language. SHE THINKS

ABOUT THE FACT THAT HER MOTHER DENA AND HER GRANDMA MISH SPOKE FLUENT 

ITALIAN ALL THE WHILE SHE WAS GROWING UP, SHE USED TO SIT IN THE KITCHEN OF HER 

BELOVED GRANDMOTHER'S HOUSE LISTENING LISTENING LISTENING TO THIS BEAUTIFUL

LANGUAGE and absorbing it into her soul.

She takes a sip of cold coffee from the ocean-colored mug she and Tommy bought in the 

Caribbean. When she reads what she last wrote it hits her: She has to write this piece in the 

first person. She has to lay out the way she herself went from doubter to believer.

She has never written a first-person story for the newspaper before. Well hell, maybe it’s time. 

SHE YAWNS. IT'S TIME TO STOP

it's 4:34 a.m.

And NOW , she happens to be exhausted.