Category: Uncategorized

Where have my words gone?

It’s as of they’ve packed their bags

And have left me forever. 

Have I asked too much?

Have I disrespected their contribution

Or were they frightened by my apparent imbalance?

Have I asked my words to dwell

Too low below my surface

And scrape so furiously that they feared

That they were too deep to climb out?

Have my words become confused 

By the odd occasions when I demand,

Without warning, 

For my words to help me be funny?

Maybe my words will miss me.

Maybe my words will return re-energized

And with a more interesting vocabulary. 

Meanwhile I will sit here.

Abandoned. 

Alone.

Sitting here on this rock

With Writer’s Block.

I am admirer of the beauty of nature.

I walk country roads where I live nearly every day

And travel over an hour nearly every week

To an ocean trail that the hiker shares with deer and hawks,

As well as the ever-present seagulls.

Unlike my neighbors, I have no garden of any type.

No tomatoes, no green beans, not even flowers.

Wait, we do have some azaleas and stuff like that.

My wife, as you can tell, is in charge of the flowering plants.

I don’t lift a finger.

But I wait for one thing every Spring.

This is about the ornamental apple trees in my yard,

Whose tiny fruit feeds deer right at my house

All winter long.

I can see, even here from my window,

The beginning of some type of budding.

I check each of these early Spring mornings

For the hint of white, pinkish white and

Pink Blossoms

Which don’t last very long

And fall victim often earlier than should have

Because of wind and rain.

So I wait for the beauty and enjoy it for as long as I can.

Despite my self-inflicted feelings of guilt for having done

so little

To enjoy something so beautiful so much.

I sit in the same chair I have always sat in.

I don’t know why I prefer it to the other three chairs.

Perhaps because the window is just behind the therapist’s head

Allowing me to only appear to be looking right at him,

An appearance which seemed to ease his worries about me.

I glance around the room and see the Buddha statue

And the nature photographs,

All of which were the props used to discuss a range of mindfulness topics.

Today, we are ending all that.

His retirement will end a relationship I valued,

And I wish him well.

He nods.

He asks how I am feeling.

I tell him I am ready.

He asks if I will look for another therapist.

If I need a recommendation.

I tell him no.

I leave him with a sad truth,

which does not mean that I am not ok.

I tell him I may never go to another therapist,

Because I never want to have to tell my whole story

ever again.

The rather sprightly old man takes a turn on the ocean path

To an old favorite spot where one can walk out on to the rocks and can sit in splendid silence.

He arrives and looks out and says to himself,

“Dude!”

(And yes, he refers to himself as “Dude”. He is that kind of old man.”)

He continues talking to himself,

“Today is not a day to venture out onto the wet rocks.

They are slippery from the crashing ocean waves

And wet from the intermittent but insistent drizzle.

I could fall and hit my head

And lay there bleeding on the rocks,

Semi-conscious, unable to talk, moaning and groaning.

Hikers will come by in the usual groups of two or three

And stand up here looking past where I’ll be laying.

Staring out into the fog and seeing nearly nothing at all.

Only hearing my incomprehensible utterances and assuming that I am just another hangry seagull.”

He speaks to himself again,

“Dude, maybe it is just time for you to stop taking these kinds of risks!”

He looks out to the jigsaw puzzles of flat and jagged rocks.

Some large and some small,

But nearly all glistening of treacherous wetness.

And he says to himself,

“Well, kid. Do you feel lucky?”

He carefully takes a step forward.

Then another.

Then another.

You bristle at the designation of a “Christian” nation.

Well I am on the fence.

I wouldn’t want a religion imposed on anyone,

But why not consider refocusing our efforts

To feeding the hungry,

To housing the homeless,

To taking care of the sick,

And caring about the imprisoned?

And, you know,

considering giving all we have to the poor?

Do it.

Do it in the name of Christ,

or

Do it for the love of country,

Or

Do it for the love of your own precious humanity

and

Those whom you love,

and

Why not love everybody?

A Christian Nation.

If only the name was as sweet as its namesake,

If so, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

You Know Me

Of course, if you know me,

You know I watch the news.

I read the news.

I love the human interest stories

Of good people,

Devoted parents,

Inventive children,

Brave firefighters,

Rigorous runners,

Delightful dogs.

I lament the pain I see,

The atrocities of war,

The pain of loss

Of all types.

I leave for my walk,

My dog by my side.

I listen for the screech of my

Morning neighborhood hawk,

And the odd cackle of my regular

Red-winged Blackbird

And the sharp, short shrill whistles

Of the red cardinal.

I know I need the news

The good and bad and happy and sad.

But I need this walk

As a reminder that beauty persists

Even in the worst of times.

For some this effort

Was the lifeline to their survival

In truly the worst imaginable times.

Before I know who did this,

I try to summon up forgiveness,

Like it is a requirement for me to breathe.

But my gut wrenches and my mind envisions the smiling faces of each one of my children when each was just eight years old,

In the same way people say that your whole life flashes before you just before you die,

because a small part of me, as man, as a citizen, as a human and as a father died today.

And my pain, part of humankind crying out in despair and agony

Is a pittance of pain compared to those who knew the child,

A smidge of the hurt compared to those who knew the adult,

A mere scare to those who were there to experience the explosion

Which they will hear for days and days on end.

A finish line so far from the start and so far from the hope that finishing offered.

I will never run a marathon,

But I will never forget this one.

The shock of remembering what we all know

As we start each day

That we are never safe

And yet we wake up everyday and

Run

Run to the light

Run to hope

Run to love

Knowing that the risk is that while forgiveness is required to breathe,

Caution is now our new collective tattoo,

And we don’t know,

I don’t know,

If it looks good at all on me.

She asked me,

“Well, do you like him?”

I said,

“Yes, I do. You know that. I love him.”

“Then why would you not go?”

She knows this answer too, yet she had to ask.

“He dissed me, skipped my feature,

Said he was not well.  

Then scheduled this, his own feature.”

I explained.

She looks at me and says nothing.

Her silence speaks to me.

“He must be well now.

You should go.

Your friendship runs deeper than that.

Your years are long.

He has already given you more than he’s taken.

Don’t be that guy.

You hate THAT guy.”

Don’t worry,

My mind tells me.

Certainly you see the tide turning, 

My mind tells me.

“Look!”,  my mind says,

“The rats are beginning to jump off

Of the luxury liner,

Even as the band still plays.”

My mind says “Look at our bank account!”

And giggles that “We will be just fine. 

We will survive this.” 

My heart raises its fist in anger.

“I will fight the two of you my way.

I will throw peace, love and understanding 

Your way.

Sadly, it may be hard for you, because

I will torment you with tales of

Terror,

Torture.

I will haunt you with images of

Homeless from bombs,

Homeless from oppression, 

Harmed in incurable ways.

I will try to remind you

Of the destruction 

Of property, 

But also of relationships,

Families,

Loved ones.”

My minds concedes that the heart made some important points,

And that while this may end,

We will both live on in the shadows

of all kinds of deaths. 

Worry

Don’t worry,

My mind tells me.

Certainly you see the tide turning, 

My mind tells me.

“Look!”,  my mind says,

“The rats are beginning to jump off

Of the luxury liner,

Even as the band still plays.”

My mind says “Look at our bank account!”

And giggles that “We will be just fine. 

We will survive this.” 

My heart raises its fist in anger.

“I will fight the two of you my way.

I will throw peace, love and understanding 

Your way.

Sadly, it may be hard for you, because

I will torment you with tales of

Terror,

Torture.

I will haunt you with images of

Homeless from bombs,

Homeless from oppression, 

Harmed in incurable ways.

I will try to remind you

Of the destruction 

Of property, 

But also of relationships,

Families,

Loved ones.”

My minds concedes that the heart made some important points,

And that while this may end,

We will both live on in the shadows

of all kinds of deaths. 

Anonymous said:

“A satisfied life is better than a successful life.

Because our success is measured by others,

But our satisfaction is measured by our own heart, soul and mind.”

Now I wonder,

If, perhaps, this explains that even at the beginning of what became the most successful rock band in history,

Mick and Keith could not get no satisfaction,

And I wonder if this is still an issue for them.

Wait, I think Keith is doing ok.

Now.

But what does it take to discard this notion of having missed the mark,

Made the truly big mistake,

Took a disastrous wrong turn,

While you sit in a warm chair,

In a comfortable home,

With a beautiful wife,

A wonderful family,

And steadfast friends?

How much Mary Oliver do you need to read and hear?

How often do you need to read Emerson’s “This is my wish for you”

And sit imagining the voice of your departed younger brother issuing that mandate for you,

How many Jack Kornfield meditation videos do you have to watch to learn how to just

Live your life today,

And appreciate all that you’ve done,

And, for the love of God

And yourself,

Realize that you a A-OK?