Going on vacation and numerous repercussions.

Santa Fe street art August 2017

Becoming an avid traveler, going places I once only dreamed of, and doing it alone, has taught me many valuable things about myself but one stands out larger than all the others: I do best as a creature of habit.  I am all out-of-sorts and finding it difficult to get back into a writing routine. What to do? Oh! what to do?   

Well, two new excursions are booked. Oh bother! This is one lesson not learned very well but the excitement of driving 1000 miles one way to see my daughter in Boston (Scituate MA) is, well, all worth it.  So I wait diligently for autumn colors and the wind in my hair!  

As for writing, perhaps a few days will warrant something of value. If not, I am cool with that just as long as the view before me keeps on changing.   Next up, U2 in Indianapolis.  

Desert dream, August 2017

Self-doubt relationships 

Summer Sky 2017

Disappointed by a desire to evaporate, pray give me strength to stand against a false self forced on by others.

“Who do you see?” she who exists in a pool of rippling waves, sensing her life over.  “I see failure,” the mirror retorts.  She dips her finger to find an icy portrait bound by time.

“Still try dear friend,” a small voice quivers. “Find a piece of you to push through the depressed madness, the canned identity.” 

Self-doubt relationships play in reality and fantasy.  Ego stands disappointed by self-defeat, a desire to evaporate. Is anyone alive? 

(6/26/2017)

Roots (confession)

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well-lived.

Christ before Pilate, David Aronson, 1949, Art Institute Chicago
(I think.)  We all like to believe we are the be-all to end-all solution to the adverse we face.  Complex problems are produced by simple acts gone awry.  Well meaning people get tangled in their desires that eventually overtake all soundness of mind.  We become corrupt in thought not out of kindness but selfishness.  I think I stand in such a bubble.

My bubble bumps my neighbor’s bubble and on and on the bubbles bump.  In time the bubbles burst and the earth is covered in a sticky film that does not wash away easily. It takes effort to see clearly.

The reflection that digs into my soul has both a hatchet and a pick.  A hatchet to chop off major faults and a pick to clear the crevices.  What is left of a person who undergoes such surgery?

Many find religion compensates for the faults of man. Those who object I ask, would you die for another? Most likely yes. Would you die for a stranger? Possibly. For evil of others? Probably not.

What drives a person to hang for wrong deeds that are not their own? Was Jesus a narcissist? A delusional lunatic? In the minds of some yes. So those who have faith, the affect of such love, to believe they are forgiven, not forsaken to their own hands, rest easy. You too may be ridiculed, beaten in the market of ideas but steadfastness is a peculiar trait.

“Well, then, I will tell you. Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, and I myself have founded great empires; but on what did these creations of our genius depend? Upon force. Jesus alone founded His empire upon love, and to this very day millions would die for Him.”
— Napoleon Bonoparte

World leaders such as Bonoparte are frowned upon in the “modern” age. Jesus is too. Or anyone who subscribes to such a philosophy.  So the world waits until every knee surrenders to what? If not Napoleon or Jesus, who?

Look around. Is this world any more peaceful. Do platitudes of “Be happy” make us so? Will we follow anyone who promises peace? Are we really still so gullible?

1 Thessalonians 5:3 “While people are saying, ‘Peace and security,’ destruction will come upon them suddenly, like labor pains on a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.

What of the little wars within ourselves? Are these not battles we should wage? I profess they are worthy! Inner battles given to circumspect.

Those who choose to end their inner battle we fight for their freedom to end life? Why is life not respected? Is pain only fought with the sword? Where are we in their hour of need?

“It is a higher glory still to stay war itself with a word, than to slay men with the sword,” –St Augustine

To be continued…

On reading poetry.

Love the poem that seduces, draws you in with an immediate connection. Stop! 

A poem to stop and pause. Words that breathe life and suck marrow. To turn, burn the other side, the unseen now bright and glaring. 

You swore secrecy, temptation by a flicker. A lingering finger traces backward and stops midstream. This passion stored ignites once more. 

Browse and ponder the others. At first glance they bore and bother but dig deeper. Solve the riddle. 

Some thoughts before…

Heading to Santa Fe
again
to study -poetry
in the dirt, sky and man

reading V. Woolf -Atwood
wondering if anything lies within me
to surrender
in words
this extracted life in 2-dimensions

just
yes -still perplexed
by fear
fear of living
sidelined -choking

and Leonard
her husband calls her critics
less sophisticated
-hmmph, he shuts a voice down
while she belittles
Rossetti, Mansfield & Browning.

while she may have
a place to complain
-be irritated
her critics stand shoulder-to-shoulder
on their ladders

Oh, yes!
today is another day
to work
just -let it all out
this quietedvoice
is stronger than all others.

Happy to spend July 28-August 5 with Gina Franco and a class of peers looking to refine who we are as writers.

Just -yes just another day to be.

Resurrection

My garden pillaged; I wept flowers.

My mental strength has returned after a decade (minus a year) and the summer has been vibrant in my Promise Garden.

Optimism rose to the occasion with plans for a fall planting.   Two new oriental lily varieties…

‘Indiana’ and ‘Miss Lucy’ so very appropriate for my Indiana garden that houses my Lhaso Apso, Ms. Lucy, along with two trumpet lilies…

‘Madame Butterfly’ to commemorate my son’s girlfriend’s opera performance and opera in general and ‘Summer Palace’ to celebrate summer, of course.

Photos and bulbs ordered from The Lily Garden.

Moving parts

‘Job’ 1949 Karl Zerbe

without telling
the shame shone
rocks rattling his cage

I remember seeing this artwork at the Boston Fine Arts Museum in 2015 and it struck a cord. A cord being the rope which moved parts of me for years. 

Looking behind, I lift the rope, retrace my steps to see what has kept me alive.  It led to this day and I am happy I followed.  Courage says “I am in charge now.” 

Roots (storyteller)

“Are you a teller?”

“Do you mean a confessor?”

“No. I mean a teller. A teller of stories?”

It seems fitting one should stop here and think, am I? Are we?  Someone once encouraged me to be a writer. She was a shield from the world. I hid behind her in fear. 

**********************************

Eyes pierce through tender skin, skin as transparent as vellum. One could see through the intricacies; blood flow and muscle tissue forming that lacked strength. Passersby would watch the skin peel away each day, parting a course for a larger skeleton that housed parts of her most ignored. Everyone but me. I saw more than I wanted to know. 

One in a million (along the seashore 7-11-2017)

Roots (endless conversations)

“Bet you dont know?” smirks a friend.

“No, i dont.”  A splendid confession I was proud to concede as honesty has always been a good friend.  The problem was doubt sunk in.  “What should i know?”

“I dont know.”  A pause ensues and confusion from both parties.  Together we pondered “What is there to know?”

From there we politely parted ways, perplexed as to what next to do with our respective lives. 

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Do any of us really know our purpose?  I recall as a kid having a myriad of dreams. I wanted to be a teacher, lawyer, school counselor, dancer and even a missionary in the inner city for single moms and their kids. I am none of those. I am exactly the opposite in all regards but as I head into the second act I return to my roots. 

All dreams stem from seeds and what heart is fertile produces endless blossoms.

Illinois prairie restoration 7/7/2017