31.
Because he had his ‘operation’ while he was still a young cat, the Vet warned
it would take Shiloh longer to build up testosterone, but he was still a tomcat
and the placidness I so admired would fade in time, and I waited in apprehension
glad to see his innate training as a Birman outweighed his rowdiness,
though he chased the car lights across the wall as fiercely as any lion in Africa,
and no paper wad was safe from his cunning and his ability to stock and lure,
it wasn’t until the end of his fourth year that puberty hit home-and hit
hard.
Wild Chases at full out for the length of the apartment at MIDNIGHT
when my legs
weren’t there to impede his passage or demand an abrupt
swerve,
in his dreams his paws sweep, claws snag, and mouth crunches
what must seem real
even in the daylight when he’s nestled against
me. But the day came-no, the night,
when he sidled up to me, back arched,
tail straightened to every inch it was capable,
and ears laid back he
challenge me to fight, or wrestle, or run, whatever came first,
and bad
Mama, I laughed! I tried to coax him out of it but he was full of himself,
so
I reached for the safety of the feathered toy on a string.
Though he seldom
uses them, he keeps his claws razor sharp I knew,
Then it faded, and I
coaxed him back to the comfortable companion he’d been before,
Though
I could tell he felt the house was his as much as mine now,
A feline rite
of passage I could only observe and wonder at, and smile as I admired
safely
out of the rage of the new limits he felt impelled to place between us-
but
last night, as I felt bereft, he demanded, three times, to get into my lap
-until I finally resigned,
and as he lay his head
was held in a strange position, mimicking the ceramic white cat
on the
microwave in the other room and I last track of my show watching his head
slowly
moving backwards, eyes closed, extended beyond my lap which he now fills
and
I realized he was sound asleep, his head resting confidently in my hand,
and
bad Mama, I wept at the loss of my kitten and lovingly held my equal near.
32..
Isn’t it strange and wonderful that we cannot know in advance
the nature of the day about to unfold before us - no clues as to what
will be unless we simply set our heels, put back our ears and refuse the day.
This morning was so cloudy and laid back I didn’t find myself
expecting anything of such value,
and it was only
in the course of the day as I laid down to ease my back
that I remembered-with
a start-that I had a ride scheduled
for this late in the day, and groaning
wearily,
I covered Cat with his ‘blankie’ and slipped off
my house dress
to wedge beside him, for I had to go, no matter how weary
I felt.
He’d been quite demanding, attempting to scratch loose the
material
so he could make a second ‘cave’ within his ‘cave’
and sleep
next to my bared, warm skin, and purred, even failing,
having to sleep against the cloth, making kitten noises in his sleep.
I feared it too much to hope for but when I got home
only two hours later, my necessary shopping complete,
he
was still asleep in the same lump I left him.
I hoped he might not guess
I’d left but he sniffed the wheels of my walker
and he knew I’d
been places where other people walked,
but sloe eyed he jumped into my
lap
and allowed me to know, he didn’t mind-he’d gone places
I’ll never guess, in the safety of his dreams.
33.
This morning we were wakened by the clang of testing the fire alarm system
So I rose unwillingly after a night of pain and being wakened by Cat
at five-thirty, and I fear I wasn’t very graceful, not yet awake enough to be grateful,
it wounded my heart to have him creep up at daylight, unsure of the greeting he’d receive
after waking me by sticking his pins in my arm and scratching, however gently
at my chin, but he forgives so much easier than I do,
and hopefully the unintended lesson of throwing away the covers-with him on them-
took hold because he turned in the other direction to press his spine near
but withheld his face from under my chin-as I had his…
delightfully
I was able to get small three tasks done before I had to wake,
my ‘paperwork’
is caught up since the nurse will arrive today,
and Cat is sleeping next
to me in ‘his’ chair-strengthening his claim on it
since I
move him bodily when the nurse arrives and I am relieved to see
no harm
has been done our friendship, I am falling back on him, yes,
but that
doesn’t mean I want to fall on him!
While I stumbled
around only half awake since the pre-arranges test made even a nap
impossible,
I was treated to a second impossibility—other than my now being in a
bad
mood. The second hand teakettle actually attempted to whistle and sing!
I
guess this is going to be a cheerful morning no matter what I try to do? Sigh….
34.
The morning clouds press near, gray masses clumped together, some dark,
some light,
the rain holds off from
its actual appearance as the curtains are held together by hand
awaiting the appearance of the primary actress breathlessly while the light
orchestra tunes its instruments and quietly begins the prelude confident
that when the rain curtains part she will be there
for her graceful fall to the earth.
To
caress, to nourish, to strengthen, to build the promise of next year’s growth
lodged within the waiting nodes for winter’s calm to allow them to grow.
I find myself grateful hat the Seasons around us
are constant, as moods are not
And
the holidays of this time of year are drawing near. Old and trusted friends as well. For it was GOD who ordained them, and
after Noah's flood, promised
they
would remain as long as the earth. In the midst of so much change
they are constants on which we may trust, when we raise our heads in grateful prayer.
That buried in the acceptance of things I cannot change
is the excitement of the changing seasons
and
the realization how much of my life is still under my direction,
if not
under my control. That GOD ordained the passage of events and seasons,
not
to suit our whims but to achieve His ultimate purpose of eternal good for our souls.
35.
‘There will be trials all through it’ The Holy Ghost
warned deep inside me as I woke
groggy with exhaustion from yesterday’s
run to the bus and the doctors,
and yet the sheer relief of being faced
with an overwhelming new obstacle,
and discovering that God had already
healed it, was such good medicine!
I breath in icy cold and I know that
my lungs are tight, but I’m breathing,
I have a small ache where
once overwhelming pain crippled me and I can smile.
Just as Wednesday
is the midpoint in the week, so is the midpoint between agony
and the
simple challenges and trials of life-a welcomed respite as I look
down
a shadowed lane that leads to a place more impossible than Oz….
I
put away Jerusalem as Judaism put me away and yet the indestructible link
Remains,
as real, as firm, as immutable as ever before,
And though I am to come
to GOD with the innocent trust of a child, I see
That He has grown me-much
against my will, and groomed me
For the life that is to fill the next
twelve months. And even if I could see beyond that
I
don’t know that I’d want too!
Sickness has been replaced with
courage and resignation, but I have been warned.
‘There will
be trials all through it’ as The Holy Ghost warned deep inside me as I woke
But
I am no longer alone, I no longer feel alone. He was always there!
36.
I try to do at least one poem each day but I’m anxious to reach number forty,
This has been both a challenge and an insight, to say much with little,
the reason I thought I couldn’t be a novelist since I’m too wordy to ever be
successful as a newspaper reporter…but in a magazine article I read yesterday
that today’s younger generation thinks capitals and grammar rules
too ‘formal’
and I watch as giant newspapers go under,
replaced by sound bytes and physically pleasing faces saying it as if it were
true,
I would suppose in retrospect that there wasn’t any means
to train for ‘today’
For it has no seeming roots in the truths
of my yesterday, nor its heroes or mores.
Until now I accepted the genteel
‘decline’ from the ‘strictness’ of previous generations
As
a mater of course, now I wonder where this coarse is taking us?
The world
doesn’t follow, we harbor illusions born from the spurned past,
and
the triumphs and the sacrifices are misused, mislaid, delayed, and denied.
I
heard that too, from the old folks, the generation watching mine in contempt,
But
its fear that’s chilling me as I reject the chance to ‘target’ my website
to a specific audience and ‘taste’ on the new electronic reality-
that many teens don’t even bother to answer e-mails,
they
just use their FACEBOOK pages to communicate with their own….and…
I
wonder. Who’s reading my page?
37.
The sheer joy of being almost pain free threatens to make me euphoric
And yet it is a challenge, like sunlight breaking out after the rain…in that
Once I am well, what will I hide under? Will my face be seen when the umbrella
is pulled away and I am exposed to sunlight that seemed too far away
this more than half-decade that I’ve been hidden away?
Will
the joy of purpose and renewed challenge fade or will I find new strength?
More
new friends? More purpose? A renewed commitment?
Even being able to ask
the question gives a new scope to my universe!
What if allowing me to
blunder into the consequences of my own actions
Was indeed the act of
love implied by GOD’S continued Presence
Even when I pushed Him
away? Cursed at Him? Begged for His help-
And felt as unworthy of it as
I was needful of His grace and respite.
ALL of us have good days, filled
with energy and vigor, and other days
When simply raising up to look at
ground level seemed too much effort
since we’d probably only be
stepped on by a heel of walking life
passing us by, or so it seemed in
our weakened state,
and yet this quiet theme of rising to the top of the
warm level nearest the Son-light
has remained even on the darkest night
when all I had strength for
was to crawl in His Everlasting arms and lie
my head on His chest,
falling to sleep in the only comfort offered to
me,
days like today when I sense a purpose behind the chaos of my own
thoughts
and useless regrets and though the day is gray and cloudy.
The Son shines more brightly than ever within my humbled heart!
38.
I can hardly believe
it! I’m so close to fifty stanzas~ it seemed so impossible
When
I began. I feared I run out of something to say of value and fresh insight
I’ve
learned so much, what I denied myself from internalized doubts I couldn’t escape
That
sometimes in the debris of our shattered dreams is the compost mound
Where
a truer, more realistic vision has the time to take root, be nurtured and grow!
Why
is it for forty plus years I’ve recognized that my fictional characters
Always
fail on the first attempt, learn more about themselves and redefine their goal
And
come back stronger, clearer in what they have to achieve, not merely wish too,
And
yet I didn’t glimpse that format works because it reflects real life?
How
could I struggle to be wise-and remain so blind?
How could I sing of great
faith assisted from the Beyond, and fail to hear the song
Whispering through
me in the quiet moments of sacred contemplation?
Find the hero, find the
villain, show the arena of conflict and hint resolution,
Build the forces
against the hero; make it seem impossible for him to succeed…
it’s
all there, from beginning to end as Bible Heroes became real to me
and
I walked out of my father’s tent, on a journey no other feet could follow
I
think I’m beginning to understand, but as in writing, it all comes down to the “Big If”
IF….I can follow through what I’ve now learned and find the strength
To get back on my feet for one last attempt, oh! The glories that wait you and
me!!!
39.
I am so grateful for the healing process provided to me, please understand,
and a part of me is sufficiently Hedonistic to enjoy being touched,
a pleasure denied me in my everyday life, but sometimes…
the healing strength pf their Friday morning visits is in the time
I
have to rest quietly on the sidelines to watch people pass by….
The
way their approach is heralded, first by a subtle shadow on the baseboard
at
the end of the hall, and then by the shadow their body casts ahead ,
enlarging,
lengthening, then at last, the sound of their footsteps,
usually followed
by the sound of their voices-telling much about each,
the odd solitude
clinging to people’s faces and body posture as they come into sight
as
they round yet another empty hallway looking toward eternity
and the
forced recognition of mortality that the ordinary life so gaily denies,
the
sameness of each corridor a simile for the lives narrowed here to need
the
way in which we are all the same, no matter or color, gender, or race
our
uniqueness dissolved in the same of efficiency and purpose
-necessarily
so, but perhaps not pleasantly, even when just scraping past.
looking
toward eternity - or perhaps past it? Who can say?
To define it is to
own it, so we meet eyes- perhaps, smile- and look away
The manner in which
two professionals men walking side by side
In haste toward some implied
urgency- almost- but not quite match strides.
The way a single woman wraps
her world around her- but never her arms?
Because she’s indoors
or because she feels safe from harm?
How purses aren’t clutched,
unconsciously acknowledging they have
no power here, in this sphere of
life and not life.
Wheels, shoes that squeak because of the rain, so
many things in common,
few causal friendships are struck up here, to be
contained by these lime green walls
-it is both vortex and void-
and who of us can truly say we are comfortably in control when we enter here,
in coats and shoes and slacks, or recognizable uniforms of another sort? Why?
Professional or Patient, something larger than ourselves is in control here,
not we!
40.
The lights of the hospital corridor reflect on the polished floor,
narrow where narrow, wide where wide; and I walk
their
assigned path, briefly obscuring it as I glimpse traumas,
not of my own,
though I have experienced many in my own past.
The tread of people’s
feet mirroring what is within them, like the floor
mirrors the light shown
down on it, as well.
The couple looking for Cancer Care, wrapped up in
one another,
a woman walking alone in the midst of others, her legs wrapped,
who pauses at the water fountain to allow me and my walker to pass
rather than remain just out of the line of sight behind her.
The sound of a walker and shuffling feet, like the grinding of teeth,
People in good health walking by rapidly, quick to leave,
Professional
People wrapped in an air of leaves room to ask:
“ Do you need
help? I’m busy-but I’m approachable. “
~ Life
in microcosm as cars pull up gracefully outside the rain draped window
seeking
shelter-the raindrops, the cars, me.
And people with briefcases and purses
who avoid eye contact in their haste,
As I sit here on my walker, clipboard
evident, like a spider
Waiting calmly for her web to tremble in the throes
of her prey,
And I think to myself: “These words will look better
once they’re on the Web. “
I listen with all my senses
fully engaged, though I keep my face serene as Buddha,
noncommittal, still.
Still at the hospital, receptive, questioning as the rain pauses,
I feel
as much as hear the hum of the sods pop machine chilling its remaining contents,
the
automatic sliding doors to my right, steady and rhythmic as a heartbeat
the
click of the dust mop caressing what remains of the polished surface,
disembodied
voices drifting from the Pharmacy deeply recessed to my left,
the chirr
of gurney wheels, the hum of wheelchairs pushed forward by gloved hands,
and
the brightness of the overhead lights no matter the gray vista
behind
my back, pressed against the picture window of urban Spokane traffic
And
I think to myself: “These words will look better once they’re on the Web. “
41.
It’s Shabbat; therefore as I write, I’ve begun to cook the large slice of dyed red meat,
and the smell of warmed oil and candles loans this rainy afternoon a sense of
continuity
between a past that exits outside of me as much as I existed
outside of it,
a vague but comforting blur of other flickering lights,
of comforting older voices
of women who weren’t
Nuns, so I could pretend I belonged to the faces
and the themes and the
joys and demands of the Day, while I knew I didn’t,
and I listen
as the fall of light slows cars downer to singular passage on a two way street,
the
absence of busses, the lack of horns, peace will remain until the drunks emerge
with
the raising of the moon, washing them out of the doorways of bars on an
irresistible
tide of drunk and lust and loneliness, the desires, to be seen,
to be
felt, to be noticed, to be less alone, to heard their voices echo between the bricks
and
the dark, empty curl of the street long since abandoned by people old enough
to
drink at home or use the violence ion the television to work out their rage,
their
pent up frustration, the mating game is too demanding once you guess
you
can come away as empty as you entered, unlike the peace of the Sabbath
which
approaches quietly with the sulfur strike against your nose membranes,
the
acidic plunge, the instinctive snort-the same need which drove them indoors
releasing
one from the too busied and unmarked boxes of the week’s contents,
to
be sorted through, filed or discard, rather than danced upon in fevered intensity,
the
smell of fresh baked Challah, braided and drown, serene,
the brief promise
of tang on the lips, illusive promise of the Sabbath Cup,
the need to
admit one’s smallness I the face of such a huge Existence,
the
Yin to the drunk’s Yang of loud-mouthed intensity demanding a place,
and the serene admittance, if only for a few hours, to a place as unique
as the Family or Individual entering into conversation with the Master of the Universe.
Whether we seek appropriation from a real Being, or merely a respite
from the wearing sea-saw of emotions of demands, we find the promised Spring,
the lush waters, the promised Guardian for the time that we remain,
and if we are lucky, as we say the prayers and close the lid on the fragrant herbs
at Shabbos’ end, we may carry a portion of it with us into the week.
and having experienced both profoundly, I prefer that to waking up hung-over!
42.
It’s a small thing, this plastic mouse that flicks across my computer
screen
Like so many of my daily servants that I take for granted.
For some reason this morning, though I am an hour and a half earlier than I
planned
I feel pressured, the need to hurry, and at the same moment, so
profoundly at peace?
For the last two mornings I have woke, bathed in
the Holy Spirit’s peace
the calm assurance that this healing will
continue,
Not because it is now but because it was promised before any
healing signs!
It’s like the mouse on the computer that I reached
for automatically expecting it to work
Then remembering sharply that for
the last three second-hand computers, it hasn’t.
I plugged and unplugged
it, temper rising, fear engulfing, cursing inward and out,
banged on the
machine, wept and pleaded with a vague ‘Fate’ and only lastly,
turned
humbly to my God because all else had failed-and the mouse worked!
I needed
it too, I knew that none of the foul things I’d done had helped, but…
I
needed to try in ‘on my own’ like so much else in my life...and as my mouse
leaped
eagerly into service this morning I was shown yet another aspect of my life
where
so much is going well, where before I could expect harm,
that I can wake
two mornings in a row absolutely certain of my health
when I’d done
as I had the non-working instrument:
I’d plugged and unplugged
it, temper rising, fear engulfing, cursing inward and out,
banged on it,
wept and pleaded with a vague ‘Fate’ and only lastly,
turned
humbly to my God because all else had failed.
Yet He remains faithful
when I am faithless, He remains true when I fear and shun it,
He is gentle
when I tear and claw at anything that risks coming near-and now,
I am
in Him, in Sabbath peace, safe and secure through none of my own doing?
If I hadn’t guessed, a deep inner Voice warned me without words my ear could hear
That there will be trials through it-but like the small black and gray mouse
resting quietly on the mouse pad till my hand reaches for it,
I
am at peace waiting for His Hand to reach out and use me.
GOD is so good!!!!
43.
When the dew point and the humidity are the same, fog drapes the urban scene.
I watch it from my window and know that the sun isn’t lessened,
It still shines bright from the vacuum of space trapped
between
Dark Energy and Matter, its self absorbed functions merely blocked
by
the commonplace necessity of clouds, Life reused and recycled by the Master.
The
shapes and images of my inner landscape are likewise diffuse and vague
this
morning, the LORD’S Day, where I have no compelling need to accomplish.
I
didn’t get to sleep until dawn, but that light has faded away, replaced by calm.
God’s Plan of eternal salvation finds it way past my resentment at new pain
and gentles it to the understanding that I am merely human;
healing
but human, and having see how often and quickly He responds to my cries
I
needs must sit down quietly beside the Still, Smiling Figure with whom I will
soon
be joined more completely in joy than I may know except in glimpses
and
allow my soul to draw in sustenance as my body heals and my mind wakens
and
I realize that I have set myself apart from the World which had no time for me,
and
oddly, my regrets are gone, my delight is in the quiet hours of creation,
the
discovering of things about myself I was too intense to permit
because
it struggled with the frowns and expectations I was raised with-
the assumption
that I will disappoint Him as I have the others…fading…
into
a single quiet question, or perhaps two, the Yin and Yang of my quest:
How do I feel about it? How can I share the pleasure growing in me,
Even if my pursuit of the Gilded Snail is unworthy to those who hunt wolves.
44.
Despite the pain and the uncertainty I woke with this morning, I am pooling into serenity.
The waters which flushed over the dam as pain and challenge
and wondrously kind strangers mixed with
the
rare October sunshine yesterday have found their own depth.
Some has swept
on, contemptuous of the quiet place where I linger,
my fingers trailing
in the pellucid green depths I never imaged where hidden there.
Some have
sunk to the muck and the methane percolating on the bottom
Being turned
into worthy organic material once the waste is expelled, recycled
in the
cataclysmic upheavals of continued existence, in the land, in the sea,
in
the air, and inside of me! I am of the earth-not a ape’s genes!
I
am the breath of the Master, not the nauseating whine of sixteen commercials
for
every eight minutes of television programming!
I am become more than the
sum of my experiences to the moment my fingers
hesitate over the next
keyboard stroke, but I never guessed it-until this morning?
It is as though
I have been sleeping inside a shell that moved to time and tide,
Awakening
I relish my sense of connection yet perversely, my lack of connection?
I am not the sad faced Soul who welcomed the intrusion of living persons
into a life constricted with fear and sickness, but neither am I the Soul already in praise
in perfect communion with the Being in Whom I have my existence.
I hunger, I quest for words, I enjoy the mantle of Writer, thinker, Philosopher and Poet
and I am this person so newly discovered and I look forward top meeting me
as this new sense of purpose and place in Jesus continues to unfold.
The Rock remains higher than I am, a respite and sheltering place where I know
I am welcomed and loved, just as I am, in all I will or cannot be, and yet…
The embankment seems nearer to the force of the water flowing through it. Depth
I never imagined as been churned from the flailing and grasping and a deep channel
Has been made to allow the water to flow, Living Waters, cleansed and refreshed
on a daily basis and I have a place here. A Place at last!
45.
I feel the need to speak coursing through me, and the devil take who listens!
when I finish this, I have only three stanzas left to write, the other wrote
themselves
My small thoughts, foibles, insights, moods, whims, complaints
shared
With someone whose face I cannot imagine, whose gender and age
I’ll never know
But I know this-we are connected Thee and I, across
all boundaries,
for our hearts have touched and Thee have loaned me something
of yourself
during this journey. The seed for trees have been blown in
on white-hot winds
but took root, adding shelter, grace and shade as my
dream slowly took shape,
the current pushing over the wall so forcefully
halved, part racing on heedlessly
the remained cleaning the stagnatecy
of pain and fear and physical corruption
to ebb and flow at the surface,
then cleaned, to seep to new depths unguessed as Life
reemerged-as it
must, for Life is the heartbeat of the Master of the universe,
and calm
and growth even along new lines torn by conflict and storms the norm,
the
promised continuation of the season, seedtime and harvest, until the end
when
its very disruption will chill men’s souls as they must admit the reality
of
the One they despise and deny before the Earth shudders at His wrath
and
the sea boils and life-like ‘normalcy’ is destroyed by one-third and men’s hearts
faint with fear at the first guess at His awesome power, held in check by love
while we act as though He doesn’t exist and our will is supreme….
I feel the need to speak what’s coursing through me, and
the devil take who listens!
46.
This morning I woke the second time and found the fear had dropped away with
sleep,
and now the sunlight peeks over my shoulder thought the horizontal
slates of the blinds
as if as curious as I am about what it appearing
on the screen as my fingers race
across the keyboard. It’s all these-all
twenty-six keys, waiting to be struck,
for some new idea to image from
the gentle depression of individual bytes
and though I am hungry and need
to close the blinds, the better to read the screen, I am
reminded that
all lives are like this keyboard-most of us possess the same keys-
its
how we use them. How we come back to the familiar to discover something new,
something
deeper, something truer, and record the passage as if it were unique?
Things
that I took for granted last year—six weeks ago-walking in here and sitting
under
the platform on my desk that holds my keyboard now a challenge.
the awareness
of pain never far removed, the fear of what might happen complicated
by
what has already happened, and on the uncertain edge of this I walk amidst
the
new experiences afforded my by my enforced residence in a single place.
I
hunger and I thirst, inwardly and physically as I walk along the new foliage,
the
new visions of other parts of the world once so alien and distant from the life I led
Exotic
blossoms and perfumes of shared experiences with people at the edge of the Sea,
forcing
my aching body up snow bound glacier walls or jungle trails.
Hearing new
voices telling age-old stories where the wrapper is no longer strange,
for
when an unseen translator repeats the story in words that I may understand
I
recognize a still older truth-we come from a single Family of Man.
Our
words differ but the emotions and fears and joys they express are identical,
A
mother’s concern, a father’s love, a child’s dependence in a house, a hut, a boat,
The joy of hopes achieved, the ache of goals lost to time, the struggle of the Spirit
to find a place in itself and in its content to blossom…no, I never got to see the world
but the World has found me out and we embrace, for hearts understand
where ears do or not!
47.
Cat sleep in ‘his’ chair beside
my desk, the sunlight laying in a single streak
against his hip bone as
he curls in a catty nap, his nose tucked under his paw,
and there is such
a deep feeling of contentment as I watch him, for he is the nail
that
hold my restless spirit to this moment of High Noon as the silence in the street
below
us seems more like the soft hiss of the shoreline than the absence of cars,
when
my heart feels wonderfully apart, without feeling alone or isolated.
I
am ‘with book’, there is deep contentment and respite in that for me,
The closest I may come to sharing what my dear little white cat takes for granted!
48.
I have a limited amount of physical resources and I’ve learned to use them
to achieve the balance between action and reflection, solitude and solicitude
for the people still in the writhing mass of humanity and its call to action-any action.
Until now I’ve assiduously avoided falling into ‘The System’
and endured the lacks
forbidden by my stubborn refusal to be charted,
analyzed, held to a yellow-green scale
pre-packaged by the marketing engineers
of our new Social Order but I weakened…
it sounded so nice to have
young, enthusiastic people to come into my life,
to fold in new experiences
and new challenges that fear and pain have denied me;
but no matter the
quality of mink lining the teeth of the trap, when it closes-
you’re
caught in it just the same-and to break free is to do without again.
Even
within-I’m doing without-for all that has been added to brighten the cage,
and
by this I am condemning myself to a label, again,
I see I’ve failed
to live up to their standards, again,
I’ve failed to communicate
what’s dear and precious to me, again
My back is tight and I’m
in great pain this morning, again
but it merely reflects
the tension struggling for a voice within me when good people with the best
of intentions swoop down on a life I’ve carved for myself and brush it off!
They will be offended when they read this-but this is my only voice.
I was so excited to share “Majesty” on the Website-the only place in my life
where I haven’t failed to live up to my mother’s standards deeply
ingrained in me.
Instead I’ve placed words where people may judge
me by them-where I’d hoped
to have the stories judged for their
goodness and integrity. Their ability to
thrill, incite, inspire, arouse,
arise urgently questions-but all I found was silence?
It sounded so nice
to have young, enthusiastic people to come into my life,
but youth and
enthusiasm and people found me at my Quiet Place
and came to rest beside
me at the edge of the deep water where Koi fin against
the invisible
current, keeping their place, and my Beloved’s Voice reaches my heart
if
not my ears, and bids me rest, and so I shall - for I do not control others,
I
can’t claim to control all of myself and though their disapproval hurts, again,
there
is something new budding on the winter desiccated Tree of Me…
a
small green bud that waited out my long years of anger and refusal and regrets
that
as the Son-shine eases the ache in my back and the anger in my heart
I
have the wit to see that disapproval has its own reward.
That other’s
approval, being too necessary, diminished the sense of one’s own
judgment.
Though Judgment is something best left to the Lord, and I?
I will filter
out my own judgmental refusal to see the love behind the actions,
to recognize
that pain distorts and to give thanks that having spoken, I am free
to
make the remaining twenty-three and a half hours something of value to me!
49.
The last verse to be
created: the others have already found their voice and waited
more patiently
than I would have thought possible while I lived in Green Acres.
This
life I now weave from the springs and boughs and blossoms in my Quiet Place
seems
as though it will always be so, and yet I know, it too is transitory.
There
is much trouble I have to faced, trouble I will create, trouble God will deny
Since
He is kinder to me than I am willing to be to myself…and yet…
for
all that as happened, for all the aches and fears and pressures I deny to write,
there
is a growing sense of identification with the hidden me in the explosive little girl
the
‘disturbing cheerful’ adolescent, the deeply moody and moved matron, for I
have becomes someone I may respect and admire, though I fail as often as I succeed,
after so many years of attempting to force Life to happen to my rhythms and needs,
I have the long sighed for hours to create, to write, introduce into existence
That which wasn’t there before, no, nor ever would have been if I hadn’t passed this
way.
A sense of quiet determination air already filleted and denied by
doubts, the expectation
of failure given way to a ledge on the rock where
I may now rest and draw up my knees
to look down on the still waters and
smile at the reflection looking back up at me.
The face sags, the hair
is thin, the eyebrows given up in the fight and empty,
the eyes nonetheless
meet my gaze as I look inward and reflect on what I see.
Trees and bushes
and brushes crowd the edge of the embankment in happy disarray
reminding
me of projects I took on and challenged myself, having completed them
to
a rare sense of satisfaction I had to learn to grant myself for a job well done.
The
excitement of projects I wish to attempt as soon as I have become accustomed
to
winter’s demands on a weary body and aging soul, giving me new purpose and
strength;
new friends yet to meet; new paths to wander and perchance to bring back
some
telling memento that it might grow at the edge of the deepening pool of experience
and
personal insight into a joy too long denied me by my quest for perfection
A
shadow dancing on a wall I couldn’t move-became the backdrop for the
Life
I was meant to live when once upon a time God’s Hand placed me
and
my sisters in my mother’s womb.
The dance is universal-only the
steps contained within it are unique-and I have smiled
as I saw the shadow
dancing next to me, for I was no longer alone-
nor shall
I have to be-to be!
50.
Greetings and peace in the name of our dear Lord on the Lord’s Day,
Dear Ones,
Sometimes I lean on your shoulder and sob as if
my heart will break,
so I think it only fair to share the
wonders of a morning such as today,
when I woke (three times)
as Shiloh did his best to do his job, but simply drifted
back
to sleep again because I didn’t sleep well last night.
But
when I woke at 9:30, completely refreshed and restored, I found he wasn’t
going
to be coaxed back so I could stay a’ bed for another hour
I
got up with such a smile on my face!
I puttered around the
house, fed Cat and straightened things up but
I know I’ll
postpone any of the big things until this afternoon because
I
feel so wonderfully lazy,
and the sun shined warmly on my
back for an hour, as if in apology for the rains
and the coming
snows. But no matter that it’s slipped behind the clouds again,
allowing
the chill to be self evident, my smile won’t go away
nor
the contentment in my heart.
When I was so sick these last
six years Going Home was my only goal
for each week found
me able to do less than the week before
while the infection
and sickness ravaged me without respite.
I clung to the Promises
but it got harder and harder to raise my eyes to the Face
I
felt so near mine in love.
Then, imperceptibly,
as my faith grew despite what my eyes saw
or the aches I endured,
health began to seep in between the cell edges
and this morning
I woke to that sense of a fresh start I thought impossible.
That
I don’t have to wait that extra year, my new day began today.
The
Gift of Seven Creative Years may have ended last night, as it was supposed too,
for
it was given a finite beginning and a finite ending, and ending,
and
my new Life has begun.
If not amidst the people I love from
my past, then in the apartment I love,
with a release from
the bitter pain and the discouragement it brings.
A
new sore is attempting to form, but this time, instead of being afraid and helpless,
I know to treat it aggressively, to end it before it puts me through the same hell,
such a small disgusting little thing, a boil, who could have guessed
they can kill you so horribly? Like a little sin, they overtake all and
leave you without hope if left unattended to fester.
But Hope,
kept alive and tenderly nurtured can provide us
what we were
meant to have by our loving Creator!
I still have twelve months
of blessed creativity ahead of me,
and even if some of the
pain returns, this time
I am iron shod in my understanding
that certain gifts are inalienable.
If thee are going through
some unimaginable horror too,
like the death of loved ones
from a force of Nature,
or the bombings and bloodshed thee
had no part of,
my heart and my prayers go out to thee, and
if my small voice may say anything,
it’s a whispered
prayer they can still hope.
Tomorrow the sun WILL shine, tomorrow
your heart WILL be released from pain
and tomorrow you WILL
know beyond the shadow of a doubt
there
is no turning away in our GOD. He is, and He will be, and He CARES!!!!!
This
is the lesson we learn in sorrow, one our enemy will never guess.
In
that, we must rest quietly, until our turn comes to be free
and
wing home to the One who loved us more than His own life!
In
deepest respect and admiration, and gratitude to Thee and Him, I remain,
Faithfully
your sister in the risen Christ,
Asia Koheen
