"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.

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.


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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.

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.

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...

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?

...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.


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I owe you joy


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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...







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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.....