flame mirrored in wax softens dark, long evenings holds vigil with me
The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: It’s Not This Time of Year Without…
Candlelight
15
Category Archives: serious stuff
lend a hand
when I wring my hands they lose their ability to reach out and help
Weekend Coffee Share (11/12/16)
If we were having coffee, I would tell you that I am trying very, very hard to not be political right now. Hillary supporters are grieving. Trump supporters are celebrating. And I’m not really sure who the people are that think vandalism and violence and rioting is the appropriate response to the presidential election results.
But I realized last night that I’m not being political at all. I’m being human. And that’s very important right now. One of the definitions Dictionary.com gives us for the word “human” is “sympathetic; humane.” I might add fallible, imperfect, visceral, discerning, emotive and perseverant to the list.
Regardless of our political stances, we are all human. And so it hurts when Starbucks puts out a drink cup design meant to represent unity, and social media trolls decry the design as a divisive political statement. Since when did unity become a Blue or Red characteristic to vilify?
And it hurts when I watch late night show host monologues of the evening after the election, and it makes me cry; not with laughter, but with sorrow. I try to cry softly so as not to upset my dog, because he doesn’t understand what’s going on. He watches me warily and worriedly, and then he comes over and jumps up to frantically lick my face as if to say, “It’s okay. Be happy! I don’t like it when you’re sad.”
And then I wonder how many parents are trying to grieve discreetly so as not to frighten their young children. And it hurts more. Much more.
If we were having coffee, I would think I should apologize for being such a downer, for being a thoughtless host for expressing my not-so-uplifting feelings. But then I would rethink, and realize that I’m just being human. And I would try to respect that you, too, are human and regardless of your thoughts and feelings about the election or the candidates or the Starbucks coffee cup, we would most likely both be humane about one another’s beliefs.
And what’s a good coffee share without honesty and respect and – if not real understanding—at least a willingness to listen. So please have another cup of coffee and I will respectfully listen as you share your honesty. After all, that’s what a thoughtful host does.
Thanks to Diana at PartTimeMonsterBlog.com for hosting the #WeekendCoffeeShare.
next step
the sixth stage of grief acceptance may bring comfort “What’s next?” leads to hope
Speechless Thursday
“On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart’s desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.”
~ H. L. Mencken (1880-1956)
As yet I cannot comprehend
the ills that have been ordained,
nor how they came to be,
nor how anyone justifies these creeds.
As yet I cannot see a way
to fight these ills that threaten me,
that threaten us,
and our children
and their children,
and this innocent Earth
with the bounty she so selflessly shares
while we systematically poison her.
As yet I cannot rightly communicate
my utter, utter dismay.
So for today
as I struggle to comprehend,
as I struggle for words,
as I struggle to fathom a response,
I will honor my speechlessness
and I will weep.
I Just Want to Be
“I’m miserable,” she utters despondently.
Her head drops to the table,
face smushed into the sleeves of her sweatshirt.
“I just want to be happy.”
Happy? Hell, I’d settle for functional.
“Is that too much to ask?”
She sniffles into her sleeve.
“Not at all,” he says.
“Everyone deserves to be happy.”
Kind eyes. Calm voice. Practiced cadence.
How does one deserve an emotion? I wonder.
Either you feel it, or you don’t.
Or is it a state, and not an emotion?
The state of happiness…
Can one deserve to be in a state?
What about the state of depression?
No one deserves that, that’s for sure.
Then again, no one would likely say,
“I just want to be depressed.”
The clock on the wall seems frozen.
I will the hands to move more quickly.
They don’t.
Perhaps I don’t deserve a faster clock.
He turns toward me. Observation mode.
I don’t meet his gaze, but I don’t look away, either.
Blank eyes. Silence. Practiced apathy.
“And how are you this morning?” he asks gently.
I consider the question.
Perhaps I should have prepared a response.
It’s not like I didn’t know he’d ask.
“Depressed,” I say.
“That’s why I’m here.”
I just want to be well.
Is that too much to ask?
The Daily Post Discovery Challenge: Radical Authenticity
Belated Quest
Sad to think
I never really knew you.
As I sift through gleanings
of a life concluded,
hidden facets surface that I am
just now seeing for the first time.
Sad to think
I am left to piece together
a life story that for all these years
lay nestled in yellowing tissue paper,
carefully tucked away at the bottom of
your cedar chest.
The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: Quest
From a Different Lifetime
One hand clapping
Today the Daily Post’s one-word prompt is Silence.
I wrote a poem years ago with that title, and will share it here. The poem has a totally different voice and came from a completely (almost) different person than I am today.
I am content with who I am today, and grateful for the journey that got me here. Sometimes it’s a valuable exercise to look back and be reminded from whence one evolved.
Silence
Before ego there was silence.
Then ego emerged, dragged by intangible forceps
from the serene sea of oneness with its maker
into the harsh artificial light of material world.
No wonder ego screamed.
The small, still voice – also part of Oneness –
was drowned out by a raucous cacophony.
Ego began devouring material world like a strident crow
feasting at an overripe dumpster.
I meditate, try to invoke the resurgence of silence,
but my goal eludes me.
I strive to empty my mind,
but ego will not go away.
It careens from synapse to synapse,
ricocheting off every thought mote
that sifts down through my span of consciousness.
Silence is golden (so they say),
but when I fall mute, others worry.
Outwardly I am judged as too quiet.
Inside, ego shouts in derision.
Is silence relative or absolute?
Is there such a thing as too silent?
Or partial silence? (The sound of one hand clapping, perhaps…)
We seldom understand what we hear.
Why would we expect to comprehend silence?
It is not essential to fill every void.
Only ego thinks this way.
Silence is not a void begging to be filled,
but I do beg…
that ego will surrender, and the void in me can be filled
with the still, small voice that is Silence.
~ MCC (@ 2000)
“Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure.”
~ Henri Nouwen
Light Meets Dark
at the edge
of the shadow
light meets dark
in a deception of
distinction and
division and
sometimes
dissention
but this edge
where light meets dark
is only an illusion
of differentiation
because under the shadow
no edge exists.
The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: Edge
Windows to the Soul
When I look into your eyes
and see the profoundness within,
I am thankful that your spark of wisdom and grace
has been added to this
wounded and ailing planet.
When you look out
through those sparkling windows
at the chaos of the world to which you’ve come,
I doubt you are thankful
for the brokenness into which
you have been born.
But perhaps
in your wisdom and grace
you see healing and hope for this world
if only we would all
open our windows.
The Daily Post one-word prompt: Profound
What Rhymes with Stanza? 