I be. Sitting in a swirling mist, hands gracefully draped around the wine glass...melting in our hot tub, alone. But yet, not alone...bigger. The mist, magic and science, alive and lively, surrounding me, while seductively enticing old memories of more sensual days, younger days...pulling my thoughts into it while my old mellowing body gives up its muscle into the heat of the water. I be. Transforming memory into body, and body into memory. With eyes closed, seeing clearer than in the sunlight.
Transformation completed, I see infinite worlds swirling with the mist created by heat and water. Through the Glass, through the yellow sparkle of the fruity wine that plays on my tongue...so close to turning into vinegar, yet magically growing sweet in my mouth.
It seems it is the mist itself that is taking me, drawing me, and turning me into a person who used to be me, but stopping short of actually Me. How could it have been me, when I didn't exist fully without the years padding me ....I am more me now than I was then, and I know, I FEEL that there is more of Me to come...adding substance and volume to what is me right now. I can't wait. How exciting to know there is more to come.
The thought that winds itself in and about the mist is Magic. I always wanted to be a Witch. Not the old thing that rides on a broom with warts on her face and has shrunken her heart to contain her tiny imagination...but a real, true witch that knows the earth and feels the heat of it growing and spreading and enriching and fertilizing populations of souls yet to come.... I want to be that Celtic ancient pagan woman who embodies the whole of the world of femininity and love...who can look at a single person and KNOW. Just know. There is such a divide between that Witch and our society's "appropriate" Christianity....and I know in my heart it is one and the same. I want the magic... I want to discard the science. I want to discard the logic. I want to live in the mist. I want to leave behind the judgment and the hard lines. I don't see them. To me, they all blend. Like mist into air. Like mist into water. Blend. Science and Magic. Where one melts into another...no lines, no borders.
It is hard to be in both worlds. If anything will drive me crazy it is that I try hard to make lines. It is not within me. I don't have borders. I don't have lines. I look at each person and see a life, a mist, that has a music of their own and a substance with no borders. It is okay. I want to say that to everyone I meet. It is okay. You are okay. Stop trying to contain the mist into borders. Please don't make me hard. I don't want to be hard, and contained. I want to flow. To just feel my way around and go where my mist seems to leak and seep.....
I do not do well when I put myself into boxes. I keep trying. Many times in my life I box myself. I don't want to hurt anyone who strives hard to "believe"...in the Jesus that is "true" and "one" .... I love that Jesus. I love his words. I love his belief. And yes, I love his humanity. He did not cause all those wars or those harsh mainstream judgments of "believers" who harken to some of his words, but mostly to words of people, like themselves, who are just trying. It's okay. Your boxes are intended to keep you safe, I understand. But test the waters...test the mists. Question a little. Put your toe out, gently....feel around. The mist is not evil. It is science and soul.... it will set you free.
I don't have answers to anyone's questions. Certainly not the big questions. But I know that a little nakedness of soul will do you good. Let your life fill you, let it swirl around you.... let go, just a little.... I believe there is a little Witch in all of us. We just call it different names.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Old Things in New Times...
Food digestion is an interesting thing to me...How long it takes meat to digest as compared to a boiled, mushied pea just makes sense. I heard it takes more than 24 hours for a human body to digest one bite of steak. When I think of the huge T-bones I used to consume at a sitting, along with those butter and sour creamed boats of potatoes...I am surprised that I was hungry ever again. Memories and life are like food digestion.
Having over half of a century on this oddly meandering path that is my journey, looking backwards I tend to remember best the "steak" times, the meatier memories. We all have them. The milestones: certain birthdays, the first kisses, the first orgasms, the first funerals of people we depended on, to say nothing of weddings and births and...well, you get it. Those are the meat of our memories, and ones that take much digestion and much of what stays with us as we move on to other days. The funny thing is, although those memories are with me in a familiar level each day, it is the less meaty memories, the "peas" so to speak, that I work at digging up and re-visiting in my quieter moments.
I let myself sink back into my memories of "a regular day"...of a day I would get up and get ready for work and walk into my next minute with no distinction between today and tomorrow. Our lives are made up of those days, the days that build the foundation for our "special Steak day memory"...days we walk through without consideration of it being the only day, that day, that we will ever see again. "Getting through" it seems to be all it is worth. Contrary to what it seems like, those are the days that I concentrate on and enjoy wallowing in...those days that are vague and long ago, and blending into my meatier memories like applesauce filling in the hollows.
Closing my eyes, sitting in my wonderful easy chair, I let myself slip back through old days, sifting my "meat" and my "peas".... Usually, I choose the "pea" days to wallow in. I bring up memories of, as a young girl, brushing my little sister's hair...careful not to pull the tangles, and smelling her little-girlness in the shampoo waftings as I brush her airy hair into a pony-tail. I think of the warmth and steady comfort as I cuddle into my mom's soft side when she reads the chicken scratch on the pages that say things like, "...and I shan't get home tonite" about a little old woman and a stick, stick that beats pig... I wallow even more in the memories of an every-day time when my chubby little baby boy giggles on the floor as I sweep my hair over his sweet face to make him laugh when I say "boo."
Another memory pea happens in a time lost to me when I worked in a wonderful group home facility in Oregon. The people I "took care of" (who were actually my teachers in disguise) and the everyday-ness of our lives together as we taught each other and became entwined as family rises as a foggy pea memory. Marilyn, my sweet friend, had multiple "issues" the least being that she was developmentally delayed...with her useless tiny little legs, but overwhelmingly huge toothless smiles...who just wanted to "marry" every man who walked into her vicinity. I think she even asked me to marry her once. The sadness and the sweetness of the lives within that home lives on in the misty pea memory of my mind. Michelle, whose intelligence could not even be tested due to her multiple "disabilities" was an amazing teacher and excellent confidant, since she could not "talk" like us, but communicated by smiling and laughing so hard we thought she might die from lack of air...but who kept laughing in spite of the peril.
The memory of feelings are my pea memories I hold precious. Remembering walking, alone, on a sandy beach growing up...feeling the sand grains soften my hardened barefoot soles and smelling the bay water of fish and rain. Memories of the quiet excitement of having my grandparents join us on a Saturday, slicing the luncheon meat and cheese and being lovingly teased by a grampa who smelled like love and laughing and potato chips warm from the box.
More recent pea memories are even more poignant. The lurch of love and joy when, after answering the phone with my Caleb's number introducing it, and hearing his voice saying, "life is so great, mom...I'm okay"....I love that. And having my littlest child, with lengthening legs and bones jutting into the soft areas of my middle age, cuddling and resting as a familiar nest...I know those days are too soon lost, and he will join his brother out in the world, making and digesting his own "steak and peas"...I can only hope that they find me someplace in the sweet pea memories of their mind, too.
Yup. Digestion of food is like digestion of life. Building memories and nourishing our lives to help us keep walking and keep traveling until we can reach a destination that is made just for us. Whatever it may be.....
Having over half of a century on this oddly meandering path that is my journey, looking backwards I tend to remember best the "steak" times, the meatier memories. We all have them. The milestones: certain birthdays, the first kisses, the first orgasms, the first funerals of people we depended on, to say nothing of weddings and births and...well, you get it. Those are the meat of our memories, and ones that take much digestion and much of what stays with us as we move on to other days. The funny thing is, although those memories are with me in a familiar level each day, it is the less meaty memories, the "peas" so to speak, that I work at digging up and re-visiting in my quieter moments.
I let myself sink back into my memories of "a regular day"...of a day I would get up and get ready for work and walk into my next minute with no distinction between today and tomorrow. Our lives are made up of those days, the days that build the foundation for our "special Steak day memory"...days we walk through without consideration of it being the only day, that day, that we will ever see again. "Getting through" it seems to be all it is worth. Contrary to what it seems like, those are the days that I concentrate on and enjoy wallowing in...those days that are vague and long ago, and blending into my meatier memories like applesauce filling in the hollows.
Closing my eyes, sitting in my wonderful easy chair, I let myself slip back through old days, sifting my "meat" and my "peas".... Usually, I choose the "pea" days to wallow in. I bring up memories of, as a young girl, brushing my little sister's hair...careful not to pull the tangles, and smelling her little-girlness in the shampoo waftings as I brush her airy hair into a pony-tail. I think of the warmth and steady comfort as I cuddle into my mom's soft side when she reads the chicken scratch on the pages that say things like, "...and I shan't get home tonite" about a little old woman and a stick, stick that beats pig... I wallow even more in the memories of an every-day time when my chubby little baby boy giggles on the floor as I sweep my hair over his sweet face to make him laugh when I say "boo."
Another memory pea happens in a time lost to me when I worked in a wonderful group home facility in Oregon. The people I "took care of" (who were actually my teachers in disguise) and the everyday-ness of our lives together as we taught each other and became entwined as family rises as a foggy pea memory. Marilyn, my sweet friend, had multiple "issues" the least being that she was developmentally delayed...with her useless tiny little legs, but overwhelmingly huge toothless smiles...who just wanted to "marry" every man who walked into her vicinity. I think she even asked me to marry her once. The sadness and the sweetness of the lives within that home lives on in the misty pea memory of my mind. Michelle, whose intelligence could not even be tested due to her multiple "disabilities" was an amazing teacher and excellent confidant, since she could not "talk" like us, but communicated by smiling and laughing so hard we thought she might die from lack of air...but who kept laughing in spite of the peril.
The memory of feelings are my pea memories I hold precious. Remembering walking, alone, on a sandy beach growing up...feeling the sand grains soften my hardened barefoot soles and smelling the bay water of fish and rain. Memories of the quiet excitement of having my grandparents join us on a Saturday, slicing the luncheon meat and cheese and being lovingly teased by a grampa who smelled like love and laughing and potato chips warm from the box.
More recent pea memories are even more poignant. The lurch of love and joy when, after answering the phone with my Caleb's number introducing it, and hearing his voice saying, "life is so great, mom...I'm okay"....I love that. And having my littlest child, with lengthening legs and bones jutting into the soft areas of my middle age, cuddling and resting as a familiar nest...I know those days are too soon lost, and he will join his brother out in the world, making and digesting his own "steak and peas"...I can only hope that they find me someplace in the sweet pea memories of their mind, too.
Yup. Digestion of food is like digestion of life. Building memories and nourishing our lives to help us keep walking and keep traveling until we can reach a destination that is made just for us. Whatever it may be.....
Thursday, November 11, 2010
November in North Carolina, through one old lady's glasses...
I think, next year, I would like to skip over October and jump right into mid-November. Choreographing my year, I will have to remember to add that simple leap into the dance.
I have immersed myself into old music, and "new" old music just to calm my jagged spirit. Having fallen into the bottom half of my "half full glass" in October, trying to swim to the top, only to be met with the hot air of mid-term elections, then gulping and grasping for a savior to keep me afloat while I search for the sand bar...music seems to be the life-float I needed. And not just any old music, but music that once touched my soul and filled me with strength and sorrow and joy, all at once. I have been listening to Tom Waits, Gordon LIghtfoot, Harry Chapin, and Joan Baez...musicians who I feel familiar and safe with...all whom carry my sadness with grace and share their voice in harmony, even while fighting for goodness and tolerance.
The mid-term election threw me for a loop. As you can tell, I am not one of those people who "got what they wanted" with the outcome. There was no rejoicing for me, no "Booyahs" pouring forth from my lips. I still feel like "the American People" made a bad choice, and the Poor Loser that I have tried to tame and civilize, rises up from within if I spend too much time thinking about it. I have learned many things from this election, and still have many curiosities regarding human psychology, but I am finding some footing along with learning about friendship and kindness. I have always been a vocal, politically minded person...partial to words, always, and fairly warrior-like when it comes to issues of humanity and generosity. I hope, in the long run, to be able to have an epitaph that my sons will be proud of, in my fight for human rights and justices, and that my spirit will be interpreted instead of my words.
I lost a few friends on this little jaunt. It is sad, a bit, but I feel assuaged knowing it wasn't MY choice and I will be here when they calm down and learn that Friendship is more important than an opinion. I give great KUDOS to the friends I have in my life, who hold some beliefs extremely opposite of mine, who remain with me and understand that although extreme in some things, are tied by a cord stronger than the moment. Knowing I can simply say, "I'm sorry for my harsh words, and I am glad you understand..." makes me love them even more. It doesn't mean we are ever going to agree, but it means that we are more valuable to each other for the dimension and perspective we can share...
I think, next year, I would like to skip over October and jump right into mid-November. Choreographing my year, I will have to remember to add that simple leap into the dance.
I have immersed myself into old music, and "new" old music just to calm my jagged spirit. Having fallen into the bottom half of my "half full glass" in October, trying to swim to the top, only to be met with the hot air of mid-term elections, then gulping and grasping for a savior to keep me afloat while I search for the sand bar...music seems to be the life-float I needed. And not just any old music, but music that once touched my soul and filled me with strength and sorrow and joy, all at once. I have been listening to Tom Waits, Gordon LIghtfoot, Harry Chapin, and Joan Baez...musicians who I feel familiar and safe with...all whom carry my sadness with grace and share their voice in harmony, even while fighting for goodness and tolerance.
The mid-term election threw me for a loop. As you can tell, I am not one of those people who "got what they wanted" with the outcome. There was no rejoicing for me, no "Booyahs" pouring forth from my lips. I still feel like "the American People" made a bad choice, and the Poor Loser that I have tried to tame and civilize, rises up from within if I spend too much time thinking about it. I have learned many things from this election, and still have many curiosities regarding human psychology, but I am finding some footing along with learning about friendship and kindness. I have always been a vocal, politically minded person...partial to words, always, and fairly warrior-like when it comes to issues of humanity and generosity. I hope, in the long run, to be able to have an epitaph that my sons will be proud of, in my fight for human rights and justices, and that my spirit will be interpreted instead of my words.
I lost a few friends on this little jaunt. It is sad, a bit, but I feel assuaged knowing it wasn't MY choice and I will be here when they calm down and learn that Friendship is more important than an opinion. I give great KUDOS to the friends I have in my life, who hold some beliefs extremely opposite of mine, who remain with me and understand that although extreme in some things, are tied by a cord stronger than the moment. Knowing I can simply say, "I'm sorry for my harsh words, and I am glad you understand..." makes me love them even more. It doesn't mean we are ever going to agree, but it means that we are more valuable to each other for the dimension and perspective we can share...
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sipping my glass of beer and tomato juice, I ponder. Every once in a while I wake up in the morning with a too familiar rock on my chest: that old demon, Depression. I can usually tell he is taking over my day as soon as awareness slips into my dreams...you know, that time in between when you hear a noise in the real world and right before you open your eyes after a night of the drifting nothingness we call "sleep." Depression seems to be a family trait, a curse, a genetic cord that silently binds my sisters and brother to me. It hasn't become deadly yet, mostly a time-stopping annoyance, but I can see repercussions of nurturing it and wallowing in it a tad bit too long. I'm pretty sure that depression slinks and slides into everybody's heart now and then, but also pretty sure that its effect is planted more deeply in some due to the more fertile soil of their souls. I might be wrong, but I believe our "gift" of creativity may, indeed, be an indication of fertility in which depression can root.
I'm really enjoying my beer and tomato juice right now...it helps me wallow, in a mellow way. It makes me feel even very clever with my words, and "special" in a way that only someone with alcoholic tendencies should feel. Contemplating alcohol should probably be a red flag, if indeed, I am in bondage to spirits of grain, but it happens so rarely to me that I must immerse myself into it's magic. I know that the solid ground of morning will certainly manifest itself into a headache and remorse. But for now, I will just let myself feel it's power, misguided though it may be.
Tonight is Halloween...the most ghostly and pagan night of creation...Very Irish of us to celebrate, as if the deep roots of ancient times cannot touch us in our sterile, and modern lives. We dress our babies in costumes and encourage our young ones to seek candies from our neighbors, without thought to our old and deep roots to the magic that binds us to earth and history and an otherworld existence more real than the day. We play with the fright and the fear of another dimension, another time...play with it as if it were yet another toy made of plastic or make-believe. It is good that it comes only once a year. It might be just my imagination, but it seems as if more "to-do" is made of this holiday more nowadays than in earlier days ... I think it might have something to do with many more things to sell in stores and wild creations to market than any actual consideration of it's meaning. The same with Christmas, I believe. Marketing holidays seems to be a lucrative operation. It is funny that I am so easily lumping Christmas and Halloween together. A very odd combination of spiritual economics. It all seems to boil down to God and the devil. Why is that?
I'm really enjoying my beer and tomato juice right now...it helps me wallow, in a mellow way. It makes me feel even very clever with my words, and "special" in a way that only someone with alcoholic tendencies should feel. Contemplating alcohol should probably be a red flag, if indeed, I am in bondage to spirits of grain, but it happens so rarely to me that I must immerse myself into it's magic. I know that the solid ground of morning will certainly manifest itself into a headache and remorse. But for now, I will just let myself feel it's power, misguided though it may be.
Tonight is Halloween...the most ghostly and pagan night of creation...Very Irish of us to celebrate, as if the deep roots of ancient times cannot touch us in our sterile, and modern lives. We dress our babies in costumes and encourage our young ones to seek candies from our neighbors, without thought to our old and deep roots to the magic that binds us to earth and history and an otherworld existence more real than the day. We play with the fright and the fear of another dimension, another time...play with it as if it were yet another toy made of plastic or make-believe. It is good that it comes only once a year. It might be just my imagination, but it seems as if more "to-do" is made of this holiday more nowadays than in earlier days ... I think it might have something to do with many more things to sell in stores and wild creations to market than any actual consideration of it's meaning. The same with Christmas, I believe. Marketing holidays seems to be a lucrative operation. It is funny that I am so easily lumping Christmas and Halloween together. A very odd combination of spiritual economics. It all seems to boil down to God and the devil. Why is that?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
The Anchor Holds....
There is a hymn, titled "The Anchor Holds" that means so very much to me, yet confuses me if I think about it too much. Of course, being a song ripe with "Christian-ese" it shouts of the omnipotence of "God the Almighty" in the mysterious symbol-speak so common in the Christian society.
I was exploring "religion" once again, seasonally, as I seem to sow, reap, and search in that order, my way through life. I'm not sure where I am at the moment in that cycle, probably the searching since that seems to make up the biggest percentage of my existence. I seem to respect the gifts of the universe, and think seriously when interesting opportunities for seeking drop in my path, as if from the sky. I have been led astray with this kind of respect, giving more credence to things for a while than I should...but I always seem to swim my way back out into open water, free of the dangerous currents of tide, where I can control my direction more easily. It's a wonder I am still jumping into the water at all, with the experiences I have pulled out of by the skin of my teeth. (What does that even mean...skin of my teeth????)
So, I made friends with a woman who was charming and friendly, in my little town...I was fascinated by her mix of modern and old-fashioned...intriguing, really. She dressed like something out of "Little House on the Prairie" minus the bonnet, but had a daughter who gave her modern day worries like: tongue piercing, tight clothing, boyfriends...etc. The woman introduced me to another woman, who had a dog very similar to my Wicket, and we all decided to start a walking-for-exercise group, since we were all endowed more than we wanted with our middle age middles. One thing led to another, and they charmed me into their "fold" gently wooing me into a really crazy, mixed up world that they called UPC...United Pentecostal Church. I mean no offense to anyone by my opinions, so if you are reading this, please understand that this is my experience, through my eyes, and it is my blog ...I even attended a big women's retreat (not a "big woman's" retreat for big women, but a large retreat for UPC women....although, really, there were some large women in attendance, because what else is left to them in the rules but to eat?)
In my early stages of seeking among the UPC women, I committed myself to a Bible study, even holding it at my house in turns...which of course meant dragging my family into my seeking ways as well. My husband, bless his sweet heart, just enjoys the ride, speaking up when he sees I am headed for rough waters, but letting me swim otherwise....It was at one of these Bible studies that I first heard this song... and it came at such an odd and profound time, that I know it was some kind of spiritual dropping that I needed to pay heed to while I seek.
Picture this: a circle of men and women, singing and praising their God, in my living room...I don't know if you are familiar with a spirit-filled assembly of worship, but if you are not let me say, it is very intimate and very moving, whatever spiritual persuasion you may be. The very sound of sweet voices in harmony, the sight of people joined together with eyes closed inviting their God to be among them...well, moving me, like I said, in an emotional way that releases much energy into the world. In the midst of this, when it was time to move on into the "study" part of the evening, the person leading the night's schedule disrupted the timing by declaring that he felt the urge to pray for my son Caleb.
Granted, upon arrival and greeting, we all asked each other routinely, how we were doing, blah blah, like good people do. I mentioned that I was worried for my son, who was procuring a sailboat in questionable circumstances, and sailing with a man who promised Caleb the boat upon arrival of their destination... they were sailing from southern California to Seattle area, and it was only the two of them. I was very uneasy all day about Caleb's journey, and he had called earlier sounding less than positive himself. He is a good sailor, but hadn't many years of sailing under his belt...and no experience at all of sailing alone, with a large vessel.
So, when our "leader" interupted the schedule, he pulled the song "The Anchor Holds" out of the air, and insisted we sing and pray.... Here are the words:
I have journeyed through the long dark night
out on open sea by faith alone, sight unkown,
And yet His eyes are watching me.
The anchor holds though the ship is battered.
The anchor holds though the sails are torn.
I have fallen on my knees as I face the raging seas
But the anchor holds in spite of the storm.
I've had visions and I've had dreams
Well I've even held them in my hands
But I never knew those dreams could slip right through
like they were grains of sand.
Chorus: the anchor holds....
Now I have been young and I am older now
Oh there has been beauty these eyes have seen
But it was in the night when I faced the storms of my life
Oh that's where God proved His love to me.
Chorus
So, you see... if you can imagine, I could not sing, I could not speak, I was crying so deeply...there was not a dry eye in the entire circle, and I truly felt that God, Himself had entered the room that night. When the praying was over, I felt a sense of peace and release, and such a sweet spirit towards these people who prayed and cried for my child. I will never forget. A momma never forgets.
When I said goodbye to all but one couple, the Pastor and his wife, we got startled with the phone ringing. It was about midnight, and that ring sent a shockwave through my body...running to the phone thinking, "caleb's dead..." and picking it up to hear his wonderful voice...so many thoughts were running into each other...Then I heard his story.
Apparently, the guy Caleb was getting the boat from did not know how to sail. The guy went below and drank himself into a stupor, being no help at all to my son uptop. The boat was already established out on course, not seeing land, when a huge storm kicked up ....well, to make a long story short, Caleb feared for his life and singlehandedly brought the boat into a safe harbor along the way with no engine working (it had blown) and only a wing and a prayer... Well, maybe only one prayer, but as I've shown you it was a MIGHTY prayer. I believe to this day that our prayers worked side-by-side with my boy, bringing that boat into shore.
So, you ask, why do I keep seeking, when it looks like my answers were just DROPPED into my lap? Why do I keep doubting the existence of our Christian God? I think I go through periods of my life when imaginary things get confused with reality, and I have always struggled with it. Magic vs. solid science. Spiritual vs. Intelligence. The ultimate: Head vs. Heart. I do not agree with most of the teachings of the UPC... I have considered them, and I reject much of their "law"....I did the same with the Mormon church. I have yet to find a place that satisfies my yearning for truth in a reasonable, yet magical way.... I still believe in the Shire, and in Hogwarts.... why do I struggle so much with God? I truly believe there is something really spiritual...really big "out there" that we are missing. It cannot be contained in a box, with limitations that are so many deity itself could not be sustained. The Lutheran church has "laws" that expell Jesus himself...excluding everyone but those who agree to agree, beyond reason. I do not support "boxes" when it comes to spiritual possibilities. It is bigger than us. I bow down to it. I just cannot embrace it.
I was exploring "religion" once again, seasonally, as I seem to sow, reap, and search in that order, my way through life. I'm not sure where I am at the moment in that cycle, probably the searching since that seems to make up the biggest percentage of my existence. I seem to respect the gifts of the universe, and think seriously when interesting opportunities for seeking drop in my path, as if from the sky. I have been led astray with this kind of respect, giving more credence to things for a while than I should...but I always seem to swim my way back out into open water, free of the dangerous currents of tide, where I can control my direction more easily. It's a wonder I am still jumping into the water at all, with the experiences I have pulled out of by the skin of my teeth. (What does that even mean...skin of my teeth????)
So, I made friends with a woman who was charming and friendly, in my little town...I was fascinated by her mix of modern and old-fashioned...intriguing, really. She dressed like something out of "Little House on the Prairie" minus the bonnet, but had a daughter who gave her modern day worries like: tongue piercing, tight clothing, boyfriends...etc. The woman introduced me to another woman, who had a dog very similar to my Wicket, and we all decided to start a walking-for-exercise group, since we were all endowed more than we wanted with our middle age middles. One thing led to another, and they charmed me into their "fold" gently wooing me into a really crazy, mixed up world that they called UPC...United Pentecostal Church. I mean no offense to anyone by my opinions, so if you are reading this, please understand that this is my experience, through my eyes, and it is my blog ...I even attended a big women's retreat (not a "big woman's" retreat for big women, but a large retreat for UPC women....although, really, there were some large women in attendance, because what else is left to them in the rules but to eat?)
In my early stages of seeking among the UPC women, I committed myself to a Bible study, even holding it at my house in turns...which of course meant dragging my family into my seeking ways as well. My husband, bless his sweet heart, just enjoys the ride, speaking up when he sees I am headed for rough waters, but letting me swim otherwise....It was at one of these Bible studies that I first heard this song... and it came at such an odd and profound time, that I know it was some kind of spiritual dropping that I needed to pay heed to while I seek.
Picture this: a circle of men and women, singing and praising their God, in my living room...I don't know if you are familiar with a spirit-filled assembly of worship, but if you are not let me say, it is very intimate and very moving, whatever spiritual persuasion you may be. The very sound of sweet voices in harmony, the sight of people joined together with eyes closed inviting their God to be among them...well, moving me, like I said, in an emotional way that releases much energy into the world. In the midst of this, when it was time to move on into the "study" part of the evening, the person leading the night's schedule disrupted the timing by declaring that he felt the urge to pray for my son Caleb.
Granted, upon arrival and greeting, we all asked each other routinely, how we were doing, blah blah, like good people do. I mentioned that I was worried for my son, who was procuring a sailboat in questionable circumstances, and sailing with a man who promised Caleb the boat upon arrival of their destination... they were sailing from southern California to Seattle area, and it was only the two of them. I was very uneasy all day about Caleb's journey, and he had called earlier sounding less than positive himself. He is a good sailor, but hadn't many years of sailing under his belt...and no experience at all of sailing alone, with a large vessel.
So, when our "leader" interupted the schedule, he pulled the song "The Anchor Holds" out of the air, and insisted we sing and pray.... Here are the words:
I have journeyed through the long dark night
out on open sea by faith alone, sight unkown,
And yet His eyes are watching me.
The anchor holds though the ship is battered.
The anchor holds though the sails are torn.
I have fallen on my knees as I face the raging seas
But the anchor holds in spite of the storm.
I've had visions and I've had dreams
Well I've even held them in my hands
But I never knew those dreams could slip right through
like they were grains of sand.
Chorus: the anchor holds....
Now I have been young and I am older now
Oh there has been beauty these eyes have seen
But it was in the night when I faced the storms of my life
Oh that's where God proved His love to me.
Chorus
So, you see... if you can imagine, I could not sing, I could not speak, I was crying so deeply...there was not a dry eye in the entire circle, and I truly felt that God, Himself had entered the room that night. When the praying was over, I felt a sense of peace and release, and such a sweet spirit towards these people who prayed and cried for my child. I will never forget. A momma never forgets.
When I said goodbye to all but one couple, the Pastor and his wife, we got startled with the phone ringing. It was about midnight, and that ring sent a shockwave through my body...running to the phone thinking, "caleb's dead..." and picking it up to hear his wonderful voice...so many thoughts were running into each other...Then I heard his story.
Apparently, the guy Caleb was getting the boat from did not know how to sail. The guy went below and drank himself into a stupor, being no help at all to my son uptop. The boat was already established out on course, not seeing land, when a huge storm kicked up ....well, to make a long story short, Caleb feared for his life and singlehandedly brought the boat into a safe harbor along the way with no engine working (it had blown) and only a wing and a prayer... Well, maybe only one prayer, but as I've shown you it was a MIGHTY prayer. I believe to this day that our prayers worked side-by-side with my boy, bringing that boat into shore.
So, you ask, why do I keep seeking, when it looks like my answers were just DROPPED into my lap? Why do I keep doubting the existence of our Christian God? I think I go through periods of my life when imaginary things get confused with reality, and I have always struggled with it. Magic vs. solid science. Spiritual vs. Intelligence. The ultimate: Head vs. Heart. I do not agree with most of the teachings of the UPC... I have considered them, and I reject much of their "law"....I did the same with the Mormon church. I have yet to find a place that satisfies my yearning for truth in a reasonable, yet magical way.... I still believe in the Shire, and in Hogwarts.... why do I struggle so much with God? I truly believe there is something really spiritual...really big "out there" that we are missing. It cannot be contained in a box, with limitations that are so many deity itself could not be sustained. The Lutheran church has "laws" that expell Jesus himself...excluding everyone but those who agree to agree, beyond reason. I do not support "boxes" when it comes to spiritual possibilities. It is bigger than us. I bow down to it. I just cannot embrace it.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Parenting....
Human reproduction is the result of pure, raw nature. I have come to believe that "parenting" is, on the other hand, totally un-natural. I can hear my good, nurturing friends who are wonderful mothers object to this, but let me just remind you that I have always wanted to be a mother. Crazily enough, I wanted twelve children at one time in my life. The "un-natural" part comes when I tell you that I have just discovered that my yearning for children was really just "all about me." You see, we just got a puppy. My fault. I was yearning for one. The "yearning" is the natural "all about me" part. And, yesterday, I figured out why I was yearning for a puppy. It is because I am a parent.
Let me explain. I am teetering on the edge of my messy little nest, with my last baby bird pecking and pecking at me. My little baby bird is growing a sharp, painful beak and long legs with pointy knees, and his once soft feathers are becoming oily and changing to meet his own needs...in other words, I am perilously torn between pushing him out of the nest too early, or jumping off myself! I think God made us all to be naturally selfish creatures... and in order for us to live and thrive, we learn to take care of ourselves first. This is where "parenting" becomes un-natural to us. When we get past the "cute, sweet, baby" stages of our seed, there is a huge part of us that says, "quick...hide...they won't find us here!"
The other, smaller, part of us starts yearning for the old days when our children were small and soft...and still loved us more than any Nintendo game or even cell phone, ever created. So, we take steps to appease that craziness by having more babies....or getting a puppy. Then we start all over again, but too soon find ourselves in the uncomfortable position that traps us more solidly in the endless circle. And by this time, we are all so tired and grumpy, that we become a person totally different than the person we started out to be. Only this time, we have a filthy house with all the nice floor moulding and paint chewed up, and half grown people snapping at our heels, trying to think for themselves in a very obnoxious way.
Let me tell you about yesterday, then multiply it by all the numbers of every day of the next 7 years. You will see why it is daunting to me. My quiet 12 year old and his friend planned an after-school event yesterday. They started their end-of-grade testing this week, so they deservedly wanted to make it a good one. It coincided with the friend needing a place to hang out so as not to be lonely, too, so I'm glad it all worked out for them. Unfortunately, they failed to let me in on their great, well-thought out plan, and well... some things just are doomed from the beginning, I guess.
They were both excited to be picked up from school, and my careful son gave me specific directions on where to park and what time to be there. Being the good mom that I am, I worried about it all day afraid that I would forget to pick them up and then panic when he didn't come home on the bus. So I packed a book and went to the carpool line a half hour early... second in line, I scored! Then I waited. And waited. Now I was first in line. Then I was first in line AND last in line. Finally, I saw two boys that looked like my charges, meandering around, chatting unconcernedly ...and they walked past my waiting car clueless as to where I was. The invisible mom. It was 3:30. I had been there an hour. Rolling down my window, I whistled my own distinct, head-swivelling command. Skipping over, still chatting, they happily clambored in the back seat, full of the day and things to come.
North Carolina has been very warm and sunny so far this season. But the last couple of days were fraught with rain storms and chilled air. I wore my sweatshirt all this cloudy day, so was unprepared for the next bit of fun. My son's friend pulled a very handsome swimsuit out of his bag, exitedly exclaiming how cool his new suit was. Hmmm, I wondered... did they have swimming at school today? My heart was beginning to fall, just a little, with foreboding. We had a discussion on Saturday, when the boys went to the friend's neighborhood pool and had a blast...that maybe we should go sign up at the pool in the neighboring subdivision so they could swim near us on hot days, also. Mind you, this pool is not in our neighborhood, and we need to pay a non-resident fee to sign up for the summer, and a discussion is as far as it went. Yup, you guessed it. They planned to go swimming this very day at the pool that we know nothing about. Bummer. Not only was this a chilly, cloudy day, but we haven't a clue as to the schedule or fee for the pool....so I did what any lame mom would do: I said, "not today, boys."
My son usually takes no for an answer the second or third time. But together, they tortured me and belittled me and argued and showed all the pointy claws they had... to no avail. It did accomplish some very hard feelings all around though, and the rest of the visit pretty much was sealed. They cancelled their plans to go to TaeKwondo, which surprised me, since Seth LOVES that class... and apparently they wanted to be bored longer together. In the natural world, I would have certainly run away and found suitable pastimes to forget I even had twelve year old boys at my house. So, between dealing with the boys and taking care of two dogs, a cat, and a squawking parakeet... the teetering continued. Where were the soft, sweet little things that I endowed myself with out of yearning?
Today, I am debriefing, and I discover it isn't that bad. My puppy was so happy to see me this morning when I got her up...wagging her tail-end and moaning with happiness as she tried to chew on my ear.... Wicket stretched out and offered up his smooth, chubby little belly like no other....cat stretched and purred at me and rubbed up on my legs to say good morning.... bird sat and trilled a pretty song when I uncovered his cage... and the boy...well, okay, so the boy still didn't want to get up and was grouchy, but I know that will pass...someday. How do I know? I got a call from my older son, who is out in the world with his own yearnings being born. Full circle.... he loves me, he needs me... he understands now what it must have been like.... It gets better, and then I will soon be yearning for these days too. This is it. This is life, and natural or un-natural, I am going to try to embrace it.
Let me explain. I am teetering on the edge of my messy little nest, with my last baby bird pecking and pecking at me. My little baby bird is growing a sharp, painful beak and long legs with pointy knees, and his once soft feathers are becoming oily and changing to meet his own needs...in other words, I am perilously torn between pushing him out of the nest too early, or jumping off myself! I think God made us all to be naturally selfish creatures... and in order for us to live and thrive, we learn to take care of ourselves first. This is where "parenting" becomes un-natural to us. When we get past the "cute, sweet, baby" stages of our seed, there is a huge part of us that says, "quick...hide...they won't find us here!"
The other, smaller, part of us starts yearning for the old days when our children were small and soft...and still loved us more than any Nintendo game or even cell phone, ever created. So, we take steps to appease that craziness by having more babies....or getting a puppy. Then we start all over again, but too soon find ourselves in the uncomfortable position that traps us more solidly in the endless circle. And by this time, we are all so tired and grumpy, that we become a person totally different than the person we started out to be. Only this time, we have a filthy house with all the nice floor moulding and paint chewed up, and half grown people snapping at our heels, trying to think for themselves in a very obnoxious way.
Let me tell you about yesterday, then multiply it by all the numbers of every day of the next 7 years. You will see why it is daunting to me. My quiet 12 year old and his friend planned an after-school event yesterday. They started their end-of-grade testing this week, so they deservedly wanted to make it a good one. It coincided with the friend needing a place to hang out so as not to be lonely, too, so I'm glad it all worked out for them. Unfortunately, they failed to let me in on their great, well-thought out plan, and well... some things just are doomed from the beginning, I guess.
They were both excited to be picked up from school, and my careful son gave me specific directions on where to park and what time to be there. Being the good mom that I am, I worried about it all day afraid that I would forget to pick them up and then panic when he didn't come home on the bus. So I packed a book and went to the carpool line a half hour early... second in line, I scored! Then I waited. And waited. Now I was first in line. Then I was first in line AND last in line. Finally, I saw two boys that looked like my charges, meandering around, chatting unconcernedly ...and they walked past my waiting car clueless as to where I was. The invisible mom. It was 3:30. I had been there an hour. Rolling down my window, I whistled my own distinct, head-swivelling command. Skipping over, still chatting, they happily clambored in the back seat, full of the day and things to come.
North Carolina has been very warm and sunny so far this season. But the last couple of days were fraught with rain storms and chilled air. I wore my sweatshirt all this cloudy day, so was unprepared for the next bit of fun. My son's friend pulled a very handsome swimsuit out of his bag, exitedly exclaiming how cool his new suit was. Hmmm, I wondered... did they have swimming at school today? My heart was beginning to fall, just a little, with foreboding. We had a discussion on Saturday, when the boys went to the friend's neighborhood pool and had a blast...that maybe we should go sign up at the pool in the neighboring subdivision so they could swim near us on hot days, also. Mind you, this pool is not in our neighborhood, and we need to pay a non-resident fee to sign up for the summer, and a discussion is as far as it went. Yup, you guessed it. They planned to go swimming this very day at the pool that we know nothing about. Bummer. Not only was this a chilly, cloudy day, but we haven't a clue as to the schedule or fee for the pool....so I did what any lame mom would do: I said, "not today, boys."
My son usually takes no for an answer the second or third time. But together, they tortured me and belittled me and argued and showed all the pointy claws they had... to no avail. It did accomplish some very hard feelings all around though, and the rest of the visit pretty much was sealed. They cancelled their plans to go to TaeKwondo, which surprised me, since Seth LOVES that class... and apparently they wanted to be bored longer together. In the natural world, I would have certainly run away and found suitable pastimes to forget I even had twelve year old boys at my house. So, between dealing with the boys and taking care of two dogs, a cat, and a squawking parakeet... the teetering continued. Where were the soft, sweet little things that I endowed myself with out of yearning?
Today, I am debriefing, and I discover it isn't that bad. My puppy was so happy to see me this morning when I got her up...wagging her tail-end and moaning with happiness as she tried to chew on my ear.... Wicket stretched out and offered up his smooth, chubby little belly like no other....cat stretched and purred at me and rubbed up on my legs to say good morning.... bird sat and trilled a pretty song when I uncovered his cage... and the boy...well, okay, so the boy still didn't want to get up and was grouchy, but I know that will pass...someday. How do I know? I got a call from my older son, who is out in the world with his own yearnings being born. Full circle.... he loves me, he needs me... he understands now what it must have been like.... It gets better, and then I will soon be yearning for these days too. This is it. This is life, and natural or un-natural, I am going to try to embrace it.
Monday, May 17, 2010
"When I grow up..."
Like everyone, I spend more of my time floundering around, sort of guessing which way to go which inevitably leads me down a very meandering and somewhat unattractive path. Not that the path is unattractive, mind you, but because I do not let myself enjoy the sights and smells on it, my path is fraught with mostly a little panic until I get a hold of myself to be still for a bit. I picture myself trying to reach that point of where "grown up" is, by tripping and flopping and sweating and just plain floundering. I have yet to reach my destination of "Grown Up" and do not know how much further I have to go. I thought I would be there long ago. Long ago. Having seen my 54th birthday come and go, with 55 getting closer on my heels, I would have expected to see that sign rise up in front of me proclaiming my maturity!
When I was really young, and people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I would, without hesitation, and in all sincerity blurt: "Mary Poppins." As I grew older, and less magically inclined, my answer became more reasonably, "a teacher..." which is more or less the same as Mary Poppins, but without the great singing voice and bottomless carpet bag. To be fair and honest, I still want to be Mary Poppins and think it is entirely unfair that my life has not indulged me with either the great singing voice OR the carpet bag. Later, much later, as I was farther on in my journey, and, I thought, much closer to my "Grown Up" destination I harbored a great yearning for my secret "witch" to blossom and to hear from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to be a teacher there and to leave this heavy earthbound muggle existence behind me. Alas, I am still waiting. And, as you can see, probably not any closer to being a grown up than I was when I wanted to be Mary Poppins.
I do not know when that magic grown up time comes for people. Maybe it never does. I always thought of my mom and dad as being "grown up." But looking back on them from my vantage point of the here and now, Heck...I am older than THEY were back then when I thought they were grown up!!! How does that happen!!!! I know my own children haven't a clue that I am not really grown up. I keep pretending, when they are around, because I don't want to scare them or anything. I do the grownup stuff...say the grownup things... and, yah, it isn't very much fun. Come to think of it...why do I even WANT to get to that GrownUp place? Maybe that is the secret!!! NOBODY is a grown up....who are we kidding? Those people who I think are really grown up? I bet they are not having very much fun. Next time anyone asks me what I want to be when I grow up, I am going to tell them, "Mary Poppins"...and skip away on my meandering silly path that apparently goes everywhere, but to the Grown Up place. Because you know what? THAT is just where I want to be....
When I was really young, and people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I would, without hesitation, and in all sincerity blurt: "Mary Poppins." As I grew older, and less magically inclined, my answer became more reasonably, "a teacher..." which is more or less the same as Mary Poppins, but without the great singing voice and bottomless carpet bag. To be fair and honest, I still want to be Mary Poppins and think it is entirely unfair that my life has not indulged me with either the great singing voice OR the carpet bag. Later, much later, as I was farther on in my journey, and, I thought, much closer to my "Grown Up" destination I harbored a great yearning for my secret "witch" to blossom and to hear from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to be a teacher there and to leave this heavy earthbound muggle existence behind me. Alas, I am still waiting. And, as you can see, probably not any closer to being a grown up than I was when I wanted to be Mary Poppins.
I do not know when that magic grown up time comes for people. Maybe it never does. I always thought of my mom and dad as being "grown up." But looking back on them from my vantage point of the here and now, Heck...I am older than THEY were back then when I thought they were grown up!!! How does that happen!!!! I know my own children haven't a clue that I am not really grown up. I keep pretending, when they are around, because I don't want to scare them or anything. I do the grownup stuff...say the grownup things... and, yah, it isn't very much fun. Come to think of it...why do I even WANT to get to that GrownUp place? Maybe that is the secret!!! NOBODY is a grown up....who are we kidding? Those people who I think are really grown up? I bet they are not having very much fun. Next time anyone asks me what I want to be when I grow up, I am going to tell them, "Mary Poppins"...and skip away on my meandering silly path that apparently goes everywhere, but to the Grown Up place. Because you know what? THAT is just where I want to be....
Friday, April 30, 2010
"You Should...."
I wonder why those two words, "you should..." simply makes me cringe. It might be a terribly misformed dna sequence that just makes my spirit burn and spark when I hear those words, or it could be a rebellion learned at the feet of authority as I tried to untie its shoe....
"You should..." never fails to make me miss the instruction that follows. "You should..." seems to be written in red ink, marking my mistakes and mismanagements, brightly highlighting my once-hidden ignorance. I don't seem to mind it when it is spoken in fun, with crazy ideas attached to it, but give it an authoritative spin...boom, I'm gone. Those are two words you won't hear me say to my students in my classroom.
I wish it didn't bother me as much as it does. And, to be fair, most of the time the speaker is absolutely correct: I really should. But what gives them the idea that I hadn't thought of that before and that I don't struggle with making myself do what I "should?"
Let's look at it together, shall we? The person demanding, "you should..." probably feels like he/she is giving me a gift of themselves.... of their knowledge, so to speak. Why do I feel smaller for it? More humble, less creative and certainly less powerful....? Could it be the spirit of the gift? Is it one of those things that gives strength to their insecurities, making mine more vulnerable? It is similar to when a sentence begins with, "did you know...?"
I don't know how many times I have bit my tongue and grinned, even if I have thought of exactly what I am being told to do, all by myself long ago. I politely say, "oh, good idea..." or some such inane comment that fuels a repetition of more "you should's..." It brings to mind some information I found about training a puppy. How is that, you might ask? Apparently, there is a lot to know when trying to be the master of a good pup. They have a "herd" mentality, and there is a definite hierarchy to their culture. It is imperative that we, as puppy owners, show that we are the "Alpha Dog"...otherwise we won't have a very peaceful cohabitation with our new family member and they will be running the show chewing and biting and running rampant, being an animal all over the place at us.
When we pick up a puppy, we need to make sure their front legs are tucked under our arms, with their chins resting on our forearms, otherwise they feel they are superior to us, and "we get no respect." Never let a newbie keep their paws on us as if holding us down, because that is exactly what they are doing. I know it sounds silly, especially if you have a tiny little cuddly puppy, but believe me, when your tiny little puppy weighs over 15 pounds at 12 weeks of age, you won't be wanting them to feel superior to you for long!
Those words, "You should...." seem to me like paws on top of me, holding me down. Like I am not a full grown alpha woman at all, but it puts me back into kindergarten when I was learning all kinds of things I "should" do. Maybe I am too far gone as a rebel, and there is no hope of redemption.... "I should" just buck up or go back to bed.
"You should..." never fails to make me miss the instruction that follows. "You should..." seems to be written in red ink, marking my mistakes and mismanagements, brightly highlighting my once-hidden ignorance. I don't seem to mind it when it is spoken in fun, with crazy ideas attached to it, but give it an authoritative spin...boom, I'm gone. Those are two words you won't hear me say to my students in my classroom.
I wish it didn't bother me as much as it does. And, to be fair, most of the time the speaker is absolutely correct: I really should. But what gives them the idea that I hadn't thought of that before and that I don't struggle with making myself do what I "should?"
Let's look at it together, shall we? The person demanding, "you should..." probably feels like he/she is giving me a gift of themselves.... of their knowledge, so to speak. Why do I feel smaller for it? More humble, less creative and certainly less powerful....? Could it be the spirit of the gift? Is it one of those things that gives strength to their insecurities, making mine more vulnerable? It is similar to when a sentence begins with, "did you know...?"
I don't know how many times I have bit my tongue and grinned, even if I have thought of exactly what I am being told to do, all by myself long ago. I politely say, "oh, good idea..." or some such inane comment that fuels a repetition of more "you should's..." It brings to mind some information I found about training a puppy. How is that, you might ask? Apparently, there is a lot to know when trying to be the master of a good pup. They have a "herd" mentality, and there is a definite hierarchy to their culture. It is imperative that we, as puppy owners, show that we are the "Alpha Dog"...otherwise we won't have a very peaceful cohabitation with our new family member and they will be running the show chewing and biting and running rampant, being an animal all over the place at us.
When we pick up a puppy, we need to make sure their front legs are tucked under our arms, with their chins resting on our forearms, otherwise they feel they are superior to us, and "we get no respect." Never let a newbie keep their paws on us as if holding us down, because that is exactly what they are doing. I know it sounds silly, especially if you have a tiny little cuddly puppy, but believe me, when your tiny little puppy weighs over 15 pounds at 12 weeks of age, you won't be wanting them to feel superior to you for long!
Those words, "You should...." seem to me like paws on top of me, holding me down. Like I am not a full grown alpha woman at all, but it puts me back into kindergarten when I was learning all kinds of things I "should" do. Maybe I am too far gone as a rebel, and there is no hope of redemption.... "I should" just buck up or go back to bed.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Rough Starts
Rough Starts. That's me. When I was a child, playing whimsical make-believe games even alone, I would often walk thru the woods, trying not to make a sound, like in the stories I read about the Indians who silently swept through the forests when our country was young. Placing my foot so gently upon pine needled ground, I made up names for myself, magnifying my skills and talents in them, like "Swift Deer Prancer" and "Beautiful Lilac" ... I know, but remember I was a kid. Nowadays, humbled by life, my name is more like "Rough Starts..."
I am no longer afraid of rough starts. Looking back, it seems all my beginnings were a "hard go.." but they all seemed to lead to some form of happiness or other. Leaving my parent's home, as a young idealistic bride, wanting to see the world and experience it "all" without knowing what "all" meant... I was hopeful. Well, my young husband and I had some memorable times, and unique experiences to start filling up our tool boxes with. I made the poor young man join an all-girl trapeze act for a bit, with a bunch of unusual and interesting people to learn about. For first steps, that was pretty cool. But, certainly not a smooth transition from our clean, modern parental environments into "the world." As things often go, I found myself on my own for the first time, embracing the possibilities, but stumbling around like a babe learning to walk again.
Time and time again, as endings occurred and beginnings bloomed, rough starts would cripple me for a while. I ended up as a single mom at some point, certainly not recognizing the girl who flew on a trapeze anymore. But with each rocky beginning, I worked it out and found my footing. Pretty soon, I am looking back, once again, at a place made smooth for resting, and feeling hopeful as the mountain rises again in my journey. I've come a long way... now I have muscles and brains and fortitude that I never could have predicted... and can tackle the next mountain with the never-ending hope of experience as my tool.
My next mountain is made up of a little pup named "Eris"... named, of course, after the Goddess of Discord. Honoring my son's choice, but with great disturbance in my soul, I tacked on the name "Harmony" as her second name, in hopes of turning "Discord" into "Harmony"... At the moment, being ten weeks old and only three weeks into coming home, little Eris is living up to her first name very well. My job is going to be challenging, I can tell. Her little personality is not similar to my previous beloved Airedales, but she is her own unique and active little girl. She is smart as a whip, but she has a rebellious and sassy little attitude that challenges me. It will be interesting to see how this little girl turns out. Our family has been tossed into a turbulent sea for the moment and we are all waiting impatiently for those puppy teeth to fall out and for our girl to mature. She has been good for my diet and exercise routine though... no time to eat, and constantly on the move...high-stepping over gated doorways, and chasing after garden tools disappearing under pine trees where Eris is hoarding "her" things. But I have high hopes for this "Rough Start"... I know we will wake up one day and realize that our gates are put away, and our home is loved and protected by this beautiful, loving girl we named "Eris." She is my mountain, but what a good life for the opportunity to climb. It is always wonderful reaching the top.
*************
Rough Starts
Stepping out into the world
seemed so easy at first...
Walking out the door, not looking back,
Not thinking to even wave goodbye.
Not long after the first gentle hill
rose a mountain.
Only a mountain, I say...
beginning to climb, unaware
that my feet were bare and I had no rope.
Scrambling, digging into rock
with dirt embedded in my nails
and sweat dripping from my brow
I climbed.
That mountain took years to climb.
Places of rest hard to find...
Looking back more often now,
wishing I had waved goodbye.
Upon reaching the top I noticed
tough skin on my feet...
Like shoes
Ah...I am forming a "soul" like a sole...
Tools collected from my climb
Muscles strengthed from
lifting myself up.
Doing a dance of joy at the open-ness of the sky
so high up in the air.
Raising my arms to the heavens
catching my breath.
As my eyes glance around
and the sun starts to set...
I see.
Another mountain faces me.
I am no longer afraid of rough starts. Looking back, it seems all my beginnings were a "hard go.." but they all seemed to lead to some form of happiness or other. Leaving my parent's home, as a young idealistic bride, wanting to see the world and experience it "all" without knowing what "all" meant... I was hopeful. Well, my young husband and I had some memorable times, and unique experiences to start filling up our tool boxes with. I made the poor young man join an all-girl trapeze act for a bit, with a bunch of unusual and interesting people to learn about. For first steps, that was pretty cool. But, certainly not a smooth transition from our clean, modern parental environments into "the world." As things often go, I found myself on my own for the first time, embracing the possibilities, but stumbling around like a babe learning to walk again.
Time and time again, as endings occurred and beginnings bloomed, rough starts would cripple me for a while. I ended up as a single mom at some point, certainly not recognizing the girl who flew on a trapeze anymore. But with each rocky beginning, I worked it out and found my footing. Pretty soon, I am looking back, once again, at a place made smooth for resting, and feeling hopeful as the mountain rises again in my journey. I've come a long way... now I have muscles and brains and fortitude that I never could have predicted... and can tackle the next mountain with the never-ending hope of experience as my tool.
My next mountain is made up of a little pup named "Eris"... named, of course, after the Goddess of Discord. Honoring my son's choice, but with great disturbance in my soul, I tacked on the name "Harmony" as her second name, in hopes of turning "Discord" into "Harmony"... At the moment, being ten weeks old and only three weeks into coming home, little Eris is living up to her first name very well. My job is going to be challenging, I can tell. Her little personality is not similar to my previous beloved Airedales, but she is her own unique and active little girl. She is smart as a whip, but she has a rebellious and sassy little attitude that challenges me. It will be interesting to see how this little girl turns out. Our family has been tossed into a turbulent sea for the moment and we are all waiting impatiently for those puppy teeth to fall out and for our girl to mature. She has been good for my diet and exercise routine though... no time to eat, and constantly on the move...high-stepping over gated doorways, and chasing after garden tools disappearing under pine trees where Eris is hoarding "her" things. But I have high hopes for this "Rough Start"... I know we will wake up one day and realize that our gates are put away, and our home is loved and protected by this beautiful, loving girl we named "Eris." She is my mountain, but what a good life for the opportunity to climb. It is always wonderful reaching the top.
*************
Rough Starts
Stepping out into the world
seemed so easy at first...
Walking out the door, not looking back,
Not thinking to even wave goodbye.
Not long after the first gentle hill
rose a mountain.
Only a mountain, I say...
beginning to climb, unaware
that my feet were bare and I had no rope.
Scrambling, digging into rock
with dirt embedded in my nails
and sweat dripping from my brow
I climbed.
That mountain took years to climb.
Places of rest hard to find...
Looking back more often now,
wishing I had waved goodbye.
Upon reaching the top I noticed
tough skin on my feet...
Like shoes
Ah...I am forming a "soul" like a sole...
Tools collected from my climb
Muscles strengthed from
lifting myself up.
Doing a dance of joy at the open-ness of the sky
so high up in the air.
Raising my arms to the heavens
catching my breath.
As my eyes glance around
and the sun starts to set...
I see.
Another mountain faces me.
Friday, April 16, 2010
The Seekers
Faith. What a beautiful word, conjuring up a mystery and intangible solidity strong enough to move a mountain with nothing but an idea and mist. I have met so many people who profess owning Faith, claiming Faith, and preaching Faith. The word itself speaks of beauty and time to me.
I cannot define myself with that word, no matter how my heart yearns for it. Faith belongs to angels, and to elves...and to all things in another world less earthy. I admit judging harshly fellow human folk who are made up of mud and blood and bone when they proclaim their "faith" on the soapbox of religion. Substance. Science. Earth as a firmament to be dug, and touched, and embedded under nails and skin.
Doubt is perceived as a darkness, and a muddy cloud... and in such an element has my heart lived. But I was recently enlightened, by my good friend Melanie whom I love. She gave me words from a church sermon, no less, that filled me with awakening and lightened my guilt. Let me tell you about Melanie...a little, and according to my limited experience of that friend who is becoming a sister of my soul. First off, I will come right out to say, Melanie is the wife of a Pastor. But that is such a deceptive and shallow description of her, and her sweet husband, that most of you will be all over it thinking you know all of what you need now. Ha. I repeat: ha. I have NEVER met a pastor or a pastor's wife who has affected me the way these two people do. I am sorry to say that this couple, in the Lord's Army, is unique. They are people who are not afraid of my questions, and do not pretend to answer them...they just listen, and they respond simply and solidly. They do not try to talk me out of my disbelief and my doubt...indeed, they have not once argued any point with the lame and inane, and might I add stupid, rebuttal of "I just "know" because I have "faith" that this is true."....
They feel free to laugh with me about things of the real world, without contempt and without fear... and I don't feel like a dark and "lost" soul when I tell them I cannot take communion because there is NO way I believe I am drinking somebody's BLOOD (eww) or partaking in the eating of somebody's BODY (double ewwww)... and if I DID believe it, I so would NOT even consider doing it....! Beside the fact, that my diet leans heavily toward vegetables, I can easily gross myself out during communion at the Lutheran church I tried attending picturing my loving friends and family actually lining up to eat and drink someBODY....eww, ewww, ewww. It is hard enough to eat a cow.
Melanie and I connect in many ways that are similar to each other. Our lives have gone a similar path in past relationships, and current relationships... our husbands share a sweetness and the same playfulness as each other. We both have grown children, and a single sixth grader left to raise. We have both been single moms, and have both been "good" and "bad" in very similar ways. But it is our differences that I believe bonds us together. For one thing, Melanie actually swears more than I do. She likes the taste of wine more than me (although we have been known to down a bottle together in no time flat, where taste no longer matters...) Mel is from a different decade and yearns for the more free spirited era that I wallow in, and thinks of me certainly as something better and more than I really am. She has a great solid head for business, where mine is usually in the clouds. She is a precise thinker, who has capacity for details and analyzes everything way more than I care to. Melanie is the kind of person who measures twice, cuts once... which I totally admire, especially when my projects turn out to be very "folkish" and "whimsical" due to digging in bravely but certainly just eyeballing it all. Our differences inspire each other, and it just works.
She totally gets me. In expressing my doubts, in religion...Christianity, to be precise, Melanie just takes it in, and then sits on it in her way of quietly digesting and analyzing my words. Then, out of the blue, she comes up with the perfect analysis' of it all. Recently, upon hearing me saying "I WANT to believe in God, in Christianity, in the Bible...but I just don't see it..." I watch Christians every day... most of my friends profess Christianity as their way of life... and it doesn't fit. I hear them shout political views that to me are inhumane and totally NOT what Christ addressed or adhered to, in the name of Christianity. Melanie listens, and doesn't make me feel "less than." Days later, she hands me a sermon that she just heard... and non-chalantly as she lives, she thought of me and knew that it would be interesting. I did not read it right away. I think she understands my rebellious nature, and if I thought I HAD to read it, would not... but sitting down with my coffee this morning, I really read it, and re-read it, and was amazed. It did not answer questions, but it so gave me hope. Words spoken by a real pastor, who seems to understand people like me.... now we are talking! The title was "Three Seekers"... and it was about three different people : an African boy, a Jewish leader, and Thomas, who is always portrayed as "the Doubter" in the Bible.
The African boy was working in the home of a Christian (from "Out of Africa") and asked to be let go because he was going to go work in another man's home for a while. Even turning down a raise... his reason being that he is seeking. He worked (and worked well) for a Christian family, and now he wants to work for a Muslim family, because he wants to decide what religion he wanted to follow. Of course, the Christian person thought, "oh my, I wish he had told me when he started ..." feeling as if they were set up as a test. Which of course they were. I loved it. What a smart boy. To see how each person lived with their religion, and for their religion in daily life. Where it counts. How different would people act if they knew they were being tested? Interesting.
The Jewish leader who is cautious about the Christian movement, waiting to see how it lasts...with time, and with strength...before making his decision about the movement.
And then, Thomas, who is already a disciple of Christ...who wants a personal experience in order to validate his faith....This pastor does not put Thomas down as a "doubter" but as a seeker. Christ would welcome the seeker, proving that He understood by allowing Thomas to have the personal experience he needed. Jesus did not judge Thomas, as a doubter... fellow "christians" did. I see Thomas as someone who does not "pretend" easily. And that's good in my book.
The pastor who wrote this sermon gave me permission to walk my own way...to Seek as I needed. Seekers are after Truth. I don't feel bad at all to doubt, because I am walking the path that my spirit will trust in the long run. Thank you Melanie, for sharing this sermon with me and letting me be just who I am, without pretending. Maybe "faith" will someday find its way into my heart.... but until then, I just Seek.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Creamy Coffee Moments
At first, I hear nothing. Silence, I think. Like taking a breath after the tornado passes.... then life seeps into my realm with the gentle whispered "tick tock" from the kitchen clock, introducing more gentle noises of morning. The sweet bell dingles from the bird's cage as he playfully maneuvers for some attention. A steady little slurp keeping time to the clock while the dog cleans himself at my feet. A dull "white noise" of Chris' computer, blending the easy sounds together while I sip my creamy cup of java, hopeful of a great day ahead.
This time is mine. It fills me with joy, like the sugared cream I pour into my coffee. Hopeful of sunshine, whether it be rainy or not, my heart rests...knowing my boys are off safely into their days (well, as far as I can tell...there is always that "momma's worry" tugging in my heart)...yes, this time is mine.
Before I pick up loose ends and the scurry and bustle of the morning, I just sit with my coffee and "be." Just be. This is my time, where I can put my thoughts out onto the table and sort through them quietly, at my leisure.
There are always the thoughts of my children...falling or fallen away from me like leaves from a tree. My thoughts of Caleb are all I can strengthen him with by now... the blood running through his veins is his own now, whatever strength and wisdom and love I gave through it, are independent of my umbilical cord. My thoughts are all I can give him. I always hope he got enough of me before he drifted from my branches.
And, Seth, my dark little elf, still filtering strength while his heart gathers to leap... my thoughts are of more concrete things. Making parachutes for him with notes to teachers and grocery lists for his still-growing body.
Then, there comes, inevitably, the comforting ever-present strength I draw from my husband...thoughts of him are just like mist, wrapping about me in a constant cover. There is mostly gratefulness and peace in my thoughts of Chris. The "Chris" card on the table of thoughts is more a melting and powdery thing that enables me to carry on without fear or panic.
This is my time to spend with my thoughts. I spread out the cards on the table... my friends who need "prayer" for themselves or their children or their lives. I cannot separate my thoughts from prayers, and wonder if they are the same things? I acknowledge each of them separately, until it gets too much...too many... and I worry that someone or something will get missed.
That is when I know "my" time is ending... when I worry that something will be overlooked...when the world starts pulling me back to unmade beds, unsaid prayers, and ringing phones. I sigh. Shake the mist a bit... I so relate to Luna Lovegood from the Harry Potter characters. I do what she would do... gently try to dissolve and blend two worlds together, until life becomes real, in a magical way. Time to go make some beds.
****
In the real world, we are bound by time
We are bound by solid gravity...
In the real world, the laws of nature rule.
But in my mind...mist swirls, ideas grow
Without form, without reason
In my mind, there is nothing concrete.
Prayers are floaty things, heaven bound
Thoughts clinging to each prayer stickily
not trying to ground them, but to fly with them...
This time is mine. It fills me with joy, like the sugared cream I pour into my coffee. Hopeful of sunshine, whether it be rainy or not, my heart rests...knowing my boys are off safely into their days (well, as far as I can tell...there is always that "momma's worry" tugging in my heart)...yes, this time is mine.
Before I pick up loose ends and the scurry and bustle of the morning, I just sit with my coffee and "be." Just be. This is my time, where I can put my thoughts out onto the table and sort through them quietly, at my leisure.
There are always the thoughts of my children...falling or fallen away from me like leaves from a tree. My thoughts of Caleb are all I can strengthen him with by now... the blood running through his veins is his own now, whatever strength and wisdom and love I gave through it, are independent of my umbilical cord. My thoughts are all I can give him. I always hope he got enough of me before he drifted from my branches.
And, Seth, my dark little elf, still filtering strength while his heart gathers to leap... my thoughts are of more concrete things. Making parachutes for him with notes to teachers and grocery lists for his still-growing body.
Then, there comes, inevitably, the comforting ever-present strength I draw from my husband...thoughts of him are just like mist, wrapping about me in a constant cover. There is mostly gratefulness and peace in my thoughts of Chris. The "Chris" card on the table of thoughts is more a melting and powdery thing that enables me to carry on without fear or panic.
This is my time to spend with my thoughts. I spread out the cards on the table... my friends who need "prayer" for themselves or their children or their lives. I cannot separate my thoughts from prayers, and wonder if they are the same things? I acknowledge each of them separately, until it gets too much...too many... and I worry that someone or something will get missed.
That is when I know "my" time is ending... when I worry that something will be overlooked...when the world starts pulling me back to unmade beds, unsaid prayers, and ringing phones. I sigh. Shake the mist a bit... I so relate to Luna Lovegood from the Harry Potter characters. I do what she would do... gently try to dissolve and blend two worlds together, until life becomes real, in a magical way. Time to go make some beds.
****
In the real world, we are bound by time
We are bound by solid gravity...
In the real world, the laws of nature rule.
But in my mind...mist swirls, ideas grow
Without form, without reason
In my mind, there is nothing concrete.
Prayers are floaty things, heaven bound
Thoughts clinging to each prayer stickily
not trying to ground them, but to fly with them...
Thursday, March 18, 2010
After St Paddy's Spell....
The unicorn flew, a sprite in the night;
trumpet proclaiming, spirit in flight...
With wings made of rainbows and horn made of gold
bearing might on his back to the gates of Mehlode.
Mehlode opens wide, its arches of love,
the beauteous beast wafts through from above.
His mouth made of foam from distance trevailed
muscles a-tremble, all worn with assail.
Pouring forth a dispatch of danger and war,
stout-hearted he pawed, resting no more.
His rainbow-wings twitched, eyes full with dread
the thought of a foe filling Mehlode with dead.
Bursting forth from the ground with vigor anew
all plans have been made, Mehlode will pursue!
The unicorn held a gnome-king astride,
with a star-riding army flying beside.
With love for their land possessing their hearts,
fury and strength grow on their march.
Glowing with pride, stars harness the sky,
"Forward to battle!" the troopers all cry.
The unicorn surges ahead of his league,
a flash of his rainbows, with gnome in between.
His sinews are churning and nostrils are fire;
onward he burns, battle inspired.
Streams of light in his wake, the star-riders flow
drawing nigh to the evil, nigh to their foe.
Weapons are flourished, trumpets have sung
Battalions thrust forward, stars ever lunge.
The voice of the thunder as universe cracks
is lost in the battle, bound by attack.
Mehlode flies its banner o'er blood thirsted ground
the battle is brief, the death cry is sound.
The army all gather to count all their heads...
the strong who survived, the brave who are dead.
The unicorn sinks, slowly to earth,
the rainbows are hid by the sheath through his girth.
The gnome-king descends, all covered with blood.
"Mehlode is now safe, let us clean off our mud.
Some wounds may not heal, some lives may soon fade,
but Mehlode has the children...the future is made."
He knelt by his friend, the unicorn brave
and cried gentle tears for the life he now gave.
He knew in his heart, the little king gnome
that rainbows when weary won't make it alone.
The unicorn smiled and whispered so clear,
"Mehlode is my home and no price is too dear."
The horn once so gold has faded quite pale,
and the wings of the world will never more sail.
His eyes were now shut and he said to the gnome,
"This is not the end, there is more than one home."
His spirit ascended, translucent with light
the horn ever gold, his rainbows in flight.....
*******
St Patrick's Day was yesterday, and it means so much more to me than drinking green beer and wearing green shirts. I tend to go deeper into my head and my soul ...back into what "Ireland" means to me in my imagination. I have a most romantic vision of the Emerald Isle, and I think of it as in memory of a long-lost previous life. Silly, I know, but to me it is ancient and something medieval deep inside...where thatch covered cottages and vine-covered castles are kept cozy with fireplaces and families. Where sheep wander the roads, and bicycles bling their little bells to get by... mud and rain, and smiles and fields...drinks in the pubs where the hobbits dance on tables and sing.
I grew up in my own little world...to this day I live inside stories and words that nobody else can hear. I read Tolkien over and over again, thirsting and hungering for more, feeling myself falling deep under his spells... Enchantments that keep me secluded ...and deluded, I know. It is a fine delusion. I can have a really cool accent when I talk to myself in "me" head. I am always longing for the curly long red hair that graces the young women in my imagination. Somehow everything is nicer and happier and truly magical in that place. Can you blame me for digging down to stay?
My poem of the day is a reflection of my frame of mind this morning... I feel bursting full of olde stories, full of grand magic and mist... trying to bring it with me to my solid and everyday world. Maybe I can find my own source of magic to share?
trumpet proclaiming, spirit in flight...
With wings made of rainbows and horn made of gold
bearing might on his back to the gates of Mehlode.
Mehlode opens wide, its arches of love,
the beauteous beast wafts through from above.
His mouth made of foam from distance trevailed
muscles a-tremble, all worn with assail.
Pouring forth a dispatch of danger and war,
stout-hearted he pawed, resting no more.
His rainbow-wings twitched, eyes full with dread
the thought of a foe filling Mehlode with dead.
Bursting forth from the ground with vigor anew
all plans have been made, Mehlode will pursue!
The unicorn held a gnome-king astride,
with a star-riding army flying beside.
With love for their land possessing their hearts,
fury and strength grow on their march.
Glowing with pride, stars harness the sky,
"Forward to battle!" the troopers all cry.
The unicorn surges ahead of his league,
a flash of his rainbows, with gnome in between.
His sinews are churning and nostrils are fire;
onward he burns, battle inspired.
Streams of light in his wake, the star-riders flow
drawing nigh to the evil, nigh to their foe.
Weapons are flourished, trumpets have sung
Battalions thrust forward, stars ever lunge.
The voice of the thunder as universe cracks
is lost in the battle, bound by attack.
Mehlode flies its banner o'er blood thirsted ground
the battle is brief, the death cry is sound.
The army all gather to count all their heads...
the strong who survived, the brave who are dead.
The unicorn sinks, slowly to earth,
the rainbows are hid by the sheath through his girth.
The gnome-king descends, all covered with blood.
"Mehlode is now safe, let us clean off our mud.
Some wounds may not heal, some lives may soon fade,
but Mehlode has the children...the future is made."
He knelt by his friend, the unicorn brave
and cried gentle tears for the life he now gave.
He knew in his heart, the little king gnome
that rainbows when weary won't make it alone.
The unicorn smiled and whispered so clear,
"Mehlode is my home and no price is too dear."
The horn once so gold has faded quite pale,
and the wings of the world will never more sail.
His eyes were now shut and he said to the gnome,
"This is not the end, there is more than one home."
His spirit ascended, translucent with light
the horn ever gold, his rainbows in flight.....
*******
St Patrick's Day was yesterday, and it means so much more to me than drinking green beer and wearing green shirts. I tend to go deeper into my head and my soul ...back into what "Ireland" means to me in my imagination. I have a most romantic vision of the Emerald Isle, and I think of it as in memory of a long-lost previous life. Silly, I know, but to me it is ancient and something medieval deep inside...where thatch covered cottages and vine-covered castles are kept cozy with fireplaces and families. Where sheep wander the roads, and bicycles bling their little bells to get by... mud and rain, and smiles and fields...drinks in the pubs where the hobbits dance on tables and sing.
I grew up in my own little world...to this day I live inside stories and words that nobody else can hear. I read Tolkien over and over again, thirsting and hungering for more, feeling myself falling deep under his spells... Enchantments that keep me secluded ...and deluded, I know. It is a fine delusion. I can have a really cool accent when I talk to myself in "me" head. I am always longing for the curly long red hair that graces the young women in my imagination. Somehow everything is nicer and happier and truly magical in that place. Can you blame me for digging down to stay?
My poem of the day is a reflection of my frame of mind this morning... I feel bursting full of olde stories, full of grand magic and mist... trying to bring it with me to my solid and everyday world. Maybe I can find my own source of magic to share?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
...The Lost Way to my Destination...
"Let's just turn here...and see where it goes." Inevitable words spoken by me or my sweet husband, as we journey in unknown territory. It hasn't always been this way, and well into our developing relationship, I believed something horrible would happen to us if we ever got "lost." Following maps, following rules, following directions seemed to be part of my nature that took me safely on routes well-traveled. Completely at the mercy of technicalities, I always completed projects on time, and intricately by-the-book. Fearing ultimate disorder and chaos if I did not adhere to "the right way."
I have always been most comfortable with limits, in a lazy sort of way. It is safe, and one can always find the way back to repair or rebuild or rework a certain junction in our life by following "the map." But it is really, somehow, more difficult to read the map backwards, and often not worth the trouble.
My husband, Chris, has been so good for me, and I owe him so much. I owe him my joy. Right from day one, I noticed he didn't really use a map, or even follow directions. If I would say, "you can't do that..." or "you can't go that way..." he would look so surprised, and I almost felt ashamed to have spoken. He always would say, "why not?" and proceed to forge ahead as if to verily prove me wrong. And prove me wrong he did...over and over again. Not in a mean way, either, but in a gentle, hand-holding, guiding way that led me beyond my borders into a new direction, while showing me that we could still reach our destination.
We laugh now, and always go the "lost way" in our journeys. I have found so many beautiful, funny, interesting things along those ways that I would not have known existed if I hadn't learned to "just go." And we always find our treasure at the end of our journey... especially if we reach our destination...and we always do... with added joy and fun.
************
I owe you joy
************
I have always been most comfortable with limits, in a lazy sort of way. It is safe, and one can always find the way back to repair or rebuild or rework a certain junction in our life by following "the map." But it is really, somehow, more difficult to read the map backwards, and often not worth the trouble.
My husband, Chris, has been so good for me, and I owe him so much. I owe him my joy. Right from day one, I noticed he didn't really use a map, or even follow directions. If I would say, "you can't do that..." or "you can't go that way..." he would look so surprised, and I almost felt ashamed to have spoken. He always would say, "why not?" and proceed to forge ahead as if to verily prove me wrong. And prove me wrong he did...over and over again. Not in a mean way, either, but in a gentle, hand-holding, guiding way that led me beyond my borders into a new direction, while showing me that we could still reach our destination.
We laugh now, and always go the "lost way" in our journeys. I have found so many beautiful, funny, interesting things along those ways that I would not have known existed if I hadn't learned to "just go." And we always find our treasure at the end of our journey... especially if we reach our destination...and we always do... with added joy and fun.
************
I owe you joy
************
Monday, March 8, 2010
On Bended Knee...
It appears that spring has arrived in Apex. I shook off that cloak of winter, when I saw the sun, because I could not wait to feel the warmth that comes from its face and not from my furnace! It could not come soon enough for my little family.... healing from a long year of transition and adjustments. To my surprise, closing on our house last week was like an elephant off my back, and shedding winter was the next step that just seemed to happen... I felt a lightness in my feet again, and had to skip around on the soft spring grass a bit before I could settle into the day!
I grabbed my garden tools, and using the rake that was made most faithful with a nail holding its metal fingers in place, I dug in. Wow...I LOVE uncovering my sweet, full, tender bulb shoots that have been buried under dead pine needles and leaves all winter. It was like uncovering sunshine itself! Feeling the warm sunshine on my back, and a little start of that raking blister that wakes up on my thumb...(and reminds me to find my gloves...)...it is what I imagine heaven to be like. A little pain, a little sweat, to keep me remembering that I am alive and glad to be human. The world seems a nicer place after time in the garden.
For me, like a good hard run, gardening is my prayer-ful place. My spiritual place where I commune with my God. I find myself thinking of my friends and my family, and just falling in love with them all over again. I love my friends, and I love my family...and I love tending to them like my garden. It doesn't matter what politics, or religions are, or are not,...I love them. Tending them becomes my prayer, too. Prayers are people too... LOL...
************
A prayer is an intimate thing
Quiet or noisy, with tears or with song,
tucked away in the "closet"
Or wide open, flat on the ground...
A prayer can be soulful and longing,
filled with moaning and groans,
A parent in mourning
Grieving deep in their bones....
A prayer can be a run in the sunshine
Giving all glory to God,
Feet pounding the pavement
or digging deep into sod...
A prayer can be sung to the skies
and cried out to the clouds
And it is good to be whispered
or even sung to a crowd...
My prayer is my gardening
and digging down in God's earth
Setting free tender shoots
and planting seeds' hopeful worth...
I don't always pray
with man's interpreted words,
But in actions and deeds
are how they are heard...
However we pray,
to whomever we speak
I wish you enough
whatever you seek.....
I grabbed my garden tools, and using the rake that was made most faithful with a nail holding its metal fingers in place, I dug in. Wow...I LOVE uncovering my sweet, full, tender bulb shoots that have been buried under dead pine needles and leaves all winter. It was like uncovering sunshine itself! Feeling the warm sunshine on my back, and a little start of that raking blister that wakes up on my thumb...(and reminds me to find my gloves...)...it is what I imagine heaven to be like. A little pain, a little sweat, to keep me remembering that I am alive and glad to be human. The world seems a nicer place after time in the garden.
For me, like a good hard run, gardening is my prayer-ful place. My spiritual place where I commune with my God. I find myself thinking of my friends and my family, and just falling in love with them all over again. I love my friends, and I love my family...and I love tending to them like my garden. It doesn't matter what politics, or religions are, or are not,...I love them. Tending them becomes my prayer, too. Prayers are people too... LOL...
************
A prayer is an intimate thing
Quiet or noisy, with tears or with song,
tucked away in the "closet"
Or wide open, flat on the ground...
A prayer can be soulful and longing,
filled with moaning and groans,
A parent in mourning
Grieving deep in their bones....
A prayer can be a run in the sunshine
Giving all glory to God,
Feet pounding the pavement
or digging deep into sod...
A prayer can be sung to the skies
and cried out to the clouds
And it is good to be whispered
or even sung to a crowd...
My prayer is my gardening
and digging down in God's earth
Setting free tender shoots
and planting seeds' hopeful worth...
I don't always pray
with man's interpreted words,
But in actions and deeds
are how they are heard...
However we pray,
to whomever we speak
I wish you enough
whatever you seek.....
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Don't rock the boat, baby!
All I want, nowadays, is "enough." I used to want "more" and tried going with "less" and in the wisdom of this age, I am happy to be content. We closed on the house in Wisconsin on Monday. I never thought I would recuperate from letting it go, but after just a itty bitty shower of tears...I am actually reveling in delight. I feel as if I lost about ten pounds and ten years (I didn't, of course, but I felt so light)...
We are gaining so much more than we "lost" and I have to admit, my delight surprises me. It does not ache at all like I thought it would. The prospects are delicious, and now I can do more than dream about the things on my "after-the-house-sells list."
You know what it feels like? I think I must feel exactly like a serious artist, who spent years creating a masterpiece, who actually fell in love with their own work and lost sight of the whole world outside of his painting...and then, the artist sells the artwork, which has become part of his soul, ...knowing he created the art to sell to the world but not counting on how hard it would be to part with it. Now there is a new canvas in front of him... and the possibilities are endless. I don't want to create another work of art like that one...I am in search of something new .... How exciting is that?!!! It is freeing.
And I am in a new town named "Apex" which is known as "The Peak of Good Living"....wow... how appropriate. How did I not see that before?
So.. I need to sit and just look at the page awhile, because I am overwhelmed with a confusing fireworks of inspiration....I will have to try a poem in a little while.....
We are gaining so much more than we "lost" and I have to admit, my delight surprises me. It does not ache at all like I thought it would. The prospects are delicious, and now I can do more than dream about the things on my "after-the-house-sells list."
You know what it feels like? I think I must feel exactly like a serious artist, who spent years creating a masterpiece, who actually fell in love with their own work and lost sight of the whole world outside of his painting...and then, the artist sells the artwork, which has become part of his soul, ...knowing he created the art to sell to the world but not counting on how hard it would be to part with it. Now there is a new canvas in front of him... and the possibilities are endless. I don't want to create another work of art like that one...I am in search of something new .... How exciting is that?!!! It is freeing.
And I am in a new town named "Apex" which is known as "The Peak of Good Living"....wow... how appropriate. How did I not see that before?
So.. I need to sit and just look at the page awhile, because I am overwhelmed with a confusing fireworks of inspiration....I will have to try a poem in a little while.....
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Lookin' on the new side of March
Well, here it is almost the tail of February and I am lazily letting it slip away from me as if there is going to be another today. I know what it is like to look at this awkward part of the year with disdain and discontent... it is always February that tests my patience for life to grab some traction.
My beautiful old house stands empty now, since my husband stripped it of it's sparse staging cutes. We desperately raced the clock to shakily write our names on all the lines dictated by the legal Gods... giving our okay to say goodbye to a sweet life, in hopes of new adventures elsewhere. I can only picture it empty in my head, being two thousand miles away from it... but I see it clearly. Surrounded by snow, staunchly maintaining its hold on the corner of 3rd and Locust. The queen of our block, ever regal, glorious even with its empty echoes... Goodbye house. May you be a blessing and a fortress to all who live within your walls.
As if nesting, like a long-pregnant woman ready to give birth, I frantically paint and wallpaper and start huge projects in my everyday, run-of-the-mill subdivision cookie cutter house ...while my husband sweeps clean our history up north. I make brownies, and scrub corners and rearrange furniture ...anything to bring back the cozy at-home warmth in my heart. It flickers... it's true... I can be home now, when my husband finally walks through the door.
So. I am ready to start over. Here is poem number 3:
The new side of March
is looking rare and wild
and it is easy to feel lost
like a vulnerable child.
Protecting my heart
Winter clouds in my eyes
Wrapped up in myself
where cold heaviness lies.
And then I see it,
tender green and so sweet
a small shoot to behold,
hopeful and strong at my feet...
Throwing open my arms
to welcome the sun
I laugh at the clouds
and skip while I run...
This new side of March
I welcome with glee
Dancing winter away
waltzing with February!
My beautiful old house stands empty now, since my husband stripped it of it's sparse staging cutes. We desperately raced the clock to shakily write our names on all the lines dictated by the legal Gods... giving our okay to say goodbye to a sweet life, in hopes of new adventures elsewhere. I can only picture it empty in my head, being two thousand miles away from it... but I see it clearly. Surrounded by snow, staunchly maintaining its hold on the corner of 3rd and Locust. The queen of our block, ever regal, glorious even with its empty echoes... Goodbye house. May you be a blessing and a fortress to all who live within your walls.
As if nesting, like a long-pregnant woman ready to give birth, I frantically paint and wallpaper and start huge projects in my everyday, run-of-the-mill subdivision cookie cutter house ...while my husband sweeps clean our history up north. I make brownies, and scrub corners and rearrange furniture ...anything to bring back the cozy at-home warmth in my heart. It flickers... it's true... I can be home now, when my husband finally walks through the door.
So. I am ready to start over. Here is poem number 3:
The new side of March
is looking rare and wild
and it is easy to feel lost
like a vulnerable child.
Protecting my heart
Winter clouds in my eyes
Wrapped up in myself
where cold heaviness lies.
And then I see it,
tender green and so sweet
a small shoot to behold,
hopeful and strong at my feet...
Throwing open my arms
to welcome the sun
I laugh at the clouds
and skip while I run...
This new side of March
I welcome with glee
Dancing winter away
waltzing with February!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
4 am Valentine's Sunday...Alone and Awake
4am Musings...saying goodbye to my sweet husband, on Valentine's morning, led to a bit of sleeplessness. This came out of my keyboard, and now I am going to crawl back into bed and wait for the sun.
* * * * *
Memories, so much like smoke and like veil
Flitting here and there, teasing and tickling
my mind...
Leaving me yearning, closing my eyes to solidify mist.
Memories of loves that were lost, either on purpose or not
Some dropping more tangible packages
like breadcrumbs and children...
Leaving me more determined and earthbound.
Each step of my path becomes more solid as I age
Memories more often and fleeting, leaving wisdom intact
if not sanity.
Accruing wisdom comes with knowing when to yearn, and when to live.
Like a large maple tree, I am...dropping leaves and changing colors
collecting years to shape into wrinkles and sugar
Memories flowing like blood to be tapped
to sweeten the taste of today.
* * * * *
Memories, so much like smoke and like veil
Flitting here and there, teasing and tickling
my mind...
Leaving me yearning, closing my eyes to solidify mist.
Memories of loves that were lost, either on purpose or not
Some dropping more tangible packages
like breadcrumbs and children...
Leaving me more determined and earthbound.
Each step of my path becomes more solid as I age
Memories more often and fleeting, leaving wisdom intact
if not sanity.
Accruing wisdom comes with knowing when to yearn, and when to live.
Like a large maple tree, I am...dropping leaves and changing colors
collecting years to shape into wrinkles and sugar
Memories flowing like blood to be tapped
to sweeten the taste of today.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Valentine's Day 2010
Having recently moved from a small town in Wisconsin, to the more polished and stretched out suburban area that sort of washes into the big city of Raleigh, I am struggling with a heavy sense of vagueness. It is like being cozy within a sweet yard enclosed safely by an attractive picket fence, gated welcomingly with a rose-covered arbor. After rooting myself into the fertile ground that I nurtured and gardened specifically to plant my heart within, I found myself ripped out and thrown spread-eagled onto sterile ground in a cookie cutter world. I knew it would be a difficult transition, but as is normal for me, lacked any significant thought to the actual outcome. The following poetry may very well be a morbid expression of my feelings, especially to be entered in something so positively titled for optimism. But I assure you, that this is as ever a part of the journey, and the whole process of Growth, is truly inspiring....wherever it needs to begin.
Poem #1: A Very Whimsical Good-bye
I planted too deep, for this gypsy spirit of mine...
A mistake and a sadness, a "should-a known" care,
That caused me to leave a tender root there.
I waited too long, and I planted too much,
Deceiving myself, deceiving my heart...
As always a gypsy, pushing her cart.
I should have known better, planting so deep
I learned long ago, that the blood in my veins,
are for planting the annuals, over again.
For many, like me, who are gypsies at heart,
we plant and we nurture and never take rest,
we may see the flower, but never harvest.
Well, this is a start, and I know this is lame...but it is a first draft, and of course, a first step. I am really very simple, and if nothing else, this might give you a chuckle. Re-reading it, it did bring out some of my long-lost sense of humor...! And, for that alone...it was worth it. Ta-ta for now. Sheree
I planted too deep, for this gypsy spirit of mine...
A mistake and a sadness, a "should-a known" care,
That caused me to leave a tender root there.
I waited too long, and I planted too much,
Deceiving myself, deceiving my heart...
As always a gypsy, pushing her cart.
I should have known better, planting so deep
I learned long ago, that the blood in my veins,
are for planting the annuals, over again.
For many, like me, who are gypsies at heart,
we plant and we nurture and never take rest,
we may see the flower, but never harvest.
Well, this is a start, and I know this is lame...but it is a first draft, and of course, a first step. I am really very simple, and if nothing else, this might give you a chuckle. Re-reading it, it did bring out some of my long-lost sense of humor...! And, for that alone...it was worth it. Ta-ta for now. Sheree
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Sheree's Half Full Glass
Well, here it begins. Tentative, unsure...little steps at a time. I find it humorous that I display more caution in working with cyber technology than I do in my everyday walk. I fear not to put one foot in front of the other, unplanned and unmapped...going into neighborhoods that should require some strategy if not a little fore-knowledge. But, sit me down in front of a computer and I turn into a sweaty vulnerable child trying to complete a difficult math test. It is worse when I have my husband looking over my shoulder, helping, as it were, watching my dignity crumble with every backspace. Which is why I am sitting here right now, sneaking, so to speak, to start up my own damn blog all by myself without anyone's help. My rebellion motivates me.
So. Let me tell you why this Blog is my own "Half Full Glass." My maiden name is Glass. And I like to look on the positive side of life. There. Simple. And no matter how old I get to be, I will always relate to being a "Glass" as compared to any other name that I attach myself to along my journey. I've had a few. Too many, in today's rather self-righteous society, but if it makes you feel better, I wallow in my guilt. Sometimes.
My intentions for this blog was to create a purely self indulgent venue for sharing my poetry and writings, but already I have a feeling this could be a bigger soap-box upon which to stand. I am not courageous enough to submit my work to professional publications, and I find it takes a bit of backbone to lay it out here, too, as an exploratory expression. Please be kind to me, and if you dislike my thoughts, please just stop reading. Make your own blog, and I will be kind to you as well.
So. Let me tell you why this Blog is my own "Half Full Glass." My maiden name is Glass. And I like to look on the positive side of life. There. Simple. And no matter how old I get to be, I will always relate to being a "Glass" as compared to any other name that I attach myself to along my journey. I've had a few. Too many, in today's rather self-righteous society, but if it makes you feel better, I wallow in my guilt. Sometimes.
My intentions for this blog was to create a purely self indulgent venue for sharing my poetry and writings, but already I have a feeling this could be a bigger soap-box upon which to stand. I am not courageous enough to submit my work to professional publications, and I find it takes a bit of backbone to lay it out here, too, as an exploratory expression. Please be kind to me, and if you dislike my thoughts, please just stop reading. Make your own blog, and I will be kind to you as well.
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