Category Archives: serious stuff

Weekend Wildcard (Flashback #2: Brushing off my Faith)

Posted on by
Reply

WILDCARD liftingThis is my second time of re-posting from a no longer active blog I started in 2012. The blog was my way of working through a rather severe episode of depression.

My purpose in revisiting the “old” me is — I guess — the same as it was then, to remind myself and any others who care to read, to:

claim the positive energy that is available to each of us for our own benefit and for the benefit of others.

This entry was posted on July 13, 2012:

Brushing Off My Faith

While we can control a lot of things in our lives — probably a lot more than our depressed minds allow us to believe — there are certain things that will play out for us however they will, with very little input potential from us.

So what do we do? Sit there and be the victim? Stick our heads in the sand and hope the problem goes away? Mindlessly bash away at the problem with futile “solutions” that don’t really solve anything? I don’t know about you, but those have been my top go-to responses. How’s that working for me? Not very well, thanks for asking.

Since my last mental melt down (maybe not the proper medical terminology, but you get the gist), I have been unable to return to my job. Bills are mounting up and prospects for work that I can do in the future without relapsing back into “melt down” mode seem few and far between at the moment. I don’t consider myself handicapped by depression, but I am extremely cautious about the choices I will need to make moving forward.

Buddha smallThe big question for me is: what am I going to do about these concerns? Obviously worrying about them, ignoring them, or trying to bull my way through some desperate stop-gap measure isn’t going to help. So I am choosing to turn to another resource: faith.

That doesn’t mean that I have dusted off my Sunday School shoes, or that I let someone dunk me underwater in a lake somewhere. Not that those would be bad scenarios per se, it’s just not what I am talking about at this moment. I guess I am talking about what some might consider that “mumbo jumbo” kind of faith. Putting my situation out there into the Universe and trusting that things happen for a reason. I am here for a reason. I am in the situation I am in for a reason, and there is some (Divine, if you will) plan to all of this.

I don’t know the plan. That would take all the fun out of it, I suppose. I hear the Universe has a rather quirky sense of humor that way. But I am willing to trust that there is something bigger than me and that that “something” has my back. Something’s gotta give eventually, and my part in this is to be ready, receptive and proactive when opportunity comes my way.

A tall order, to say the least. It’s all too tempting to rehash every negative thing that has ever happened in my life and say, “See? Nothing ever works out for me. Why should this situation be any different?” But what does that line of thinking get me? Nothing good, for sure.

I am fortunate that I still have some wiggle room. There is still a roof over my head. And maybe that makes this whole faith thing a lot easier to swallow. My inner naysayer is telling me to just wait and see how I feel about all this Universe stuff once my back is really to the wall. That’s my typical depressed person thought, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And sometimes the naysayer is right. Time will tell.

In the meantime, I have a choice in how I respond to my situation, and I am choosing to trust, to put my faith in an outcome that I cannot see at this point. I will do the leg work once I figure out what that is. I don’t expect anything to be handed down to me from the clouds.

We’ll see… a great experiment. If it fails, I guess my naysayer can say it told me so. But if it succeeds… ah, there’s the faith!

All my best,
Maggie

When It’s Time

Posted on by
9

NaPoWriMo, Day 18.

Our optional prompt for the day takes its cue from how poetry can help us to make concrete the wild abstraction of a feeling like grief…

Today, I’d like to challenge you to write an elegy of your own, one in which the abstraction of sadness is communicated not through abstract words, but physical detail. This may not be a “fun” prompt, but loss is one of the most universal and human experiences, and some of the world’s most moving art is an effort to understand and deal with it.

When It’s Time

I wonder how they know.
They make the call.
It’s time to come.
But how do they know?

He’s been gone for years already.
The memory, the recognition, and —
eventually — even the words.

But now he lies here, eyes closed,
erratic breathing, pale skin.
The phrase “death warmed over”
comes (irreverently) to mind.

Still, how do they know?
Mightn’t he wake up tomorrow with
that good-humored sparkle in his eye
and say something silly?
“You’ve grown so tall now;
your legs go all the way down to your feet!”

No, of course not. But still…

His skin is hot.
His breathing is ragged.
I expected clammy and shallow,
respectively.

I kiss his forehead, pat his hand.
I feel embarrassed that I don’t know what to say,
even though he can’t hear me.

I don’t say goodbye, because —
well — he’s still here. For now.
Then again, as I said before,
he’s been gone a long time already.

I wonder how they know.

Weekend Wildcard (Flashback #1: Free Fall)

Posted on by
4

WILDCARD liftingIn 2012, I began my first of many blogs, entitled “Lifting the Weight.” Seems like eons ago. I looked this week and was surprised to see the blog still sitting out there in the ether, looking none the worse for it’s many years of neglect.

I decided to repost some of the content from that site on this one.

As described in the “About” statement from my “Lifting” blog,

July 11, 2012 —
Having suffered at the hands of my own negativity for far too long, I decided it was time to claim the positive energy that is available to each of us for our own benefit and for the benefit of others. Hence, I’ve begun the process of “lifting the weight” of depression from my soul and moving into a lighter, freer space. Please join me in finding a way to a more balanced, affirming life.

I continue that journey to this day, and I must say I see much more light than darkness these days. For that I am eternally grateful. So why revisit the “me” of seven years ago? It might provide inspiration to those still weighted down. It might provide insight to me for continuing to follow the light. If you want to skip my indulgences into the past, just forego reading my Flashbacks. Don’t worry, I’ll never know, and even if I did, I wouldn’t mind.

Here’s an entry to “Lifting the Weight,” posted on July 31, 2012:

Free Fall

“Now that my storehouse has burned down, nothing conceals the moon.”
Mizuta Masahide, poet and samurai
1657–1723

I got depressed and lost my job. In that order. And while my depression has abated, I have yet to recover from my joblessness. I am totally clueless as to what that recovery is going to look like. Yet despite my total lack of financial security, I am finding myself feeling unusually at peace; feeling, in fact, downright serene. I’ve never felt this way before.

It’s almost like I am a dissociated observer of my own life. I am watching myself with curiosity, waiting to see what’s going to happen next. I’m not judging what got me here, not dwelling on where I currently find myself, and not stressing about where I will end up. If I weren’t so mellow, I might find my attitude a bit disconcerting.

The reality is that in losing my job, I have gained the time and freedom and ability to concentrate on myself and my health, both mental and physical. I’m not working nine hours a day at a stressful job, spending seven hours trying to de-stress from my stressful job, and then going to sleep to avoid stressing about my stress. I am able to broaden my thinking, to look around and see more, to appreciate more, and to feel more. I am gaining balance in my life as I focus on healthy eating and exercise and sorting through thoughts and emotions.

I am experiencing all of these blessings while nonetheless being in a financial free fall. In the olden day cartoons, when characters fell off a cliff and started hurtling to the canyon floor, they would serendipitously get snagged mid-fall by a gnarled branch of some sort poking conveniently out of the otherwise barren cliff side.

That is, unless the character was Wile E Coyote, in which case he invariably smacked prostrate at the base of the cliff, ending up flatter than the proverbial pancake. By the next scene, though, he was re-inflated into his usual 2-dimensional self and was ready for his next adventure, something that would probably put him at the losing end of a stick of dynamite that had been purchased by Bugs Bunny from the Acme Company. Some coyotes just can’t win.

I’m not exactly banking on the notion that I will be snagged from my demise at the last minute. I’m not really banking on anything. I’m just watching. I don’t advocate this approach to life. If I fall flat on my face, there’s no saying that I will bounce back like Wile E Coyote. Time will tell.

In the meantime, I’m going to appreciate my view of the moon.
Maggie

###

Checking In

Posted on by
13

Day Four of NaPoWriMo.

And now for today’s (optional) prompt, inspired by Teicher’s poem “Son“. One thing you might notice about this poem is that it is sad, but that it doesn’t generate that feeling through particularly emotional words. The words are very simple. Another thing you might notice is that it’s a sonnet – not in strict iambic pentameter, but fourteen rhymed, relatively short lines.

Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own sad poem, but one that, like Teicher’s, achieves sadness through simplicity. Playing with the sonnet form may help you – its very compactness can compel you to be straightforward, using plain, small words.

My post from yesterday was sad enough, but okay. In sonnet form, here goes:

mirror 1500

Checking In

I don’t recall the last time we had dined
with just the two of us away from home.
I guess we’d never found ourselves inclined
to try relating one-on-one alone.

Conversation did not come easily,
but not for lack of words that need be said.
In short, your failing ears could not hear me.
Nonetheless you’d smile and nod your head.

A gentleman you’ve been for all your years,
your empty wallet drawn to pay the bill.
You needn’t pay, Dad, now that you live here.
I bussed the table once you’d had your fill.

A nurse came by and took you by the sleeve.
It’s best, she said, that you not see me leave.

Also posting for V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #42: farewells

In Passing

Posted on by
8

Haagen park

We met at the park, the one where a paved trail winds around an open grass field. He walked his tiny black poodle in one direction. I walked my midsize white Eskie in the other, and we would cross paths, usually beneath the tall cedar trees that provided welcome shade in the summer, and protection from rain the rest of the year.

His name was Don. The poodle was Mon Cheri, his neighbor’s dog that he borrowed for his morning walks.

Don would see us approaching on the trail, and would exclaim, “Look, Mon Cheri, it’s your friend!”

Mon Cheri would growl at my Chules and strain at her leash to gain distance. Don didn’t seem to notice, and neither did Chules.

Don would smile at Chules. “What a happy dog! Isn’t he pretty, Mon Cheri?”

At some point, Don changed direction on how he walked the loop, from clockwise to counterclockwise. I changed direction, too. Don seemed nice enough, but no matter how many times he tried to cajole Mon Cheri about her happy fluffy dog friend, Mon Cheri still rejected Chules.

Over time, our conversations expanded. I told him about stripping the old oak floors in my house. He warned me about fumes and gas pilot lights, lest they meet and blow up the house.

Don explained his reason for changing directions on the loop. It was easier to navigate a small incline in the path.

“You can’t see it, but it’s there,” he said.

He was right. I couldn’t see it.

I didn’t see Don for a while, and then one day he was back. He had shaved his beard, and maybe his head as well. He always wore a flat newsboy cap, and I had never noticed his hair length. His pace had slowed considerably.

“How are you doing?” I asked. “I’ve missed seeing you.”

“Oh,” he replied. “I’ve been coming later than I used to. I don’t get up as early in the mornings anymore. And on Sundays I go to church. It’s nice to see everyone.”

I contemplated inviting Don out for coffee. He seemed lonely. And frail. More frail each time we met. But it felt awkward, so I didn’t ask.

One day, we met on the path, and Don told me about receiving chemotherapy. He’d decided to stop treatment and resort to positive visualization and healthy eating  and “all those things they say to do.”

This was the first time Don had spoken of his health, or anything intimate or personal at all. I didn’t know what to say.

I made some throat noises that I hoped were consoling, and agreed when he said sometimes it’s best to let things take their course.

He was tired, I could tell. Tired of struggling to walk up imperceptible inclines. Tired of fighting battles he would ultimately lose. He’d even given up on trying to convince Mon Cheri that she and Chules were fast friends.

I didn’t see Don after that.

One day I crossed paths at the park with another man and his dog. I had seen them on several occasions stop and speak with Don, just as I had done.

“Have you seen Don lately?” I asked.

“Who?”

“The gentleman with the little black poodle and the newsboy cap. He used to walk here, but I haven’t seen him in a while.”

The man didn’t know who I meant.

I cried for Don. I hoped he’d had a good life. I hoped he’d been loved.

Chules and I don’t visit that park much anymore. We walk a different trail now, where we sometimes cross paths with a man and his midsize black dog named Pink.

It’s here: NaPoWriMo

Posted on by
9

NaPoWriMo celebrates National Poetry Writing Month, where one writes a poem a day for the entire month of April. As I did last year, I am participating by responding to the prompts given at the site NaPoWriMo. net.

The “early bird” prompt for today: “Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poetic self-portrait. And specifically, we’d like you to write a poem in which you portray yourself in the guise of a historical or mythical figure. “

So here we go!

woods

 Self-Portrait as a Sasquatch

It seeks me out,
hunts me down…
the commotion, the cacophony, the confusion.

I want none of it. It hurts my head.
I seek refuge in the cooling shadows of the forest.

I become curious, though, and
come out of the woods,
down from the mountain,
dare to be seen

only to discover nothing has changed;
the commotion, the cacophony, the confusion…
my head hurts.

Retreating back to the shadows, I content myself
with the serenity of keeping my own company.

The warmth of the sun brings sustenance to my soul,

but it’s not yet time.

Asking Bella

Posted on by
13

Bella

From where did you come,
and where did you go
before you came here to me?
What happened to make you fear
crates and loud noises and the prospect of
being left alone?

Who put you in a cell
with bars and bare cement floors
and people parading by to stare?
How did you choose me
to be the one you would enchant
with your soulful chocolate eyes?

When will I have done enough to thank you
for the privilege of walking this path
with you?

I can imagine answers to my questions,
but I will never truly know.
Of course, some questions have no answers,
and that’s okay. What matters is that
you are the answer to me, and
I am the answer to you.

For Emily and Bella

V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #37: Story

Invisible

Posted on by
27

tracks

You didn’t see me.
You watched my reflection
turn in a direction
you chose not to see.

You didn’t hear me.
You thought I was sleeping.
In fact, I was weeping.
You chose not to hear.

You didn’t touch me.
You thought I might crumble.
You thought you might stumble.
You chose not to feel.

You didn’t miss me.
You thought I had left you,
came not to my rescue.
You chose to move on.

I vow to be seen,
and heard and respected;
my path self-selected;
invisible no more.

dVerse Poetics: Invisible