It is not just the night that I like to walk in,
though not in the height of the day,
but in the early morning,
for the Sun and I are not on speaking terms,
too many burns to attempt at much communication,
with that fiery orb that seems merciless to me.
When the day is fresh and the heat of fatigue not yet arrived,
that even makes nature seem tired and discouraged
when at its height. No spring like are many mornings,
with cool air, and birds song accompanying a pleas
I have always loved the night, the quiet, the darkness, also the muted colors where everything is reduced to different shades of gray. I also love how the limbs from trees are silhouetted against the sky; I never seem to tire of simply observing the simple beauty of this living art. Of course full moons are the best for long slow walks, especially in the winter when the moon can be so bright that on occasion it would be possible to read in its glow. In the summer, at least now in
Fighting the monster
Life is a hard teacher, especially for those who struggle to deepen their relationship with God and to strive to live it. Religion is something that I don’t have a problem with. For me it is necessary, it gives form to the journey, meaning, a story in which as time moves on, deepens, or if not it can become a prison with heavy doors and barred windows, with no way out. The thing about relationships is that in order for them to deepen and mature a number of crisis’s have to
It is really not that difficult to believe in the God that many people present to the world. In fact it is even possible to use scripture to back up any idea of God, no matter how evil and sadistic. It is done everyday over the radio, TV and yes in magazines and books. A God easy to believe in, is just like us, only written large, bigger than life. Loving us in a humanly sort of way, which means it can easily slide over into rage and yes of course, a punishment like that meted out e
He has no idea
I have a friend a very good one, though there is a certain level of care giving involved in it. Juan (not his real name) is a little younger than I am, in his early fifties, his physical health not so good; however it is his mental health where his main problems lie. I first met him in the early nineties; he came across as a very intelligent man, which he is indeed, of Cuban decent, and his family well off.
I was at first put off by him, because he was very direct about his
Why is it so hard for me to have compassion for myself?
Easier by far to show mercy to others,
while often having only scorn for my own soul.
Perhaps hell resides within us slowly taking root;
the real struggle is simply to show oneself the mercy offered,
if not, then the darkness grows.
There is a melancholy pleasure in self denigration,
pushing oneself under the dark waters.
I have been told this is so;yet perhaps the message is simple:
self hatred more
So easy to forget what we are about,
or perhaps forgetting is not the point,
for if truth be told it seems we don’t know.
Money, power and yes, sex seems to be a main concern,
only the veneer important, the body, clothes, the car we drive,
the face we put out to others lest they look to deeply inside,
bluster is an art that is developed too perfection
though we all know this, we pretend it is all true.
Running on empty yet we still run this silly race,
I often don’t understand what I am about,
saying one thing then doing another,
wondering all the while at my mediocrity,
my winding journey up the mountain,
fits and starts unending or so it seems,
often ending back in the valley lost and alone
among my own inner demons,
also just a simple fear of going forward.
I seek you and your presence flees,
seeking to hide myself and you gently show yourself,
only to again withdraw.
Knowing all the while
Emergency rooms are places of waiting,
of hurrying to get there and then just sitting,
often in a crowded lobby,
witnessing the human drama of our fragility
played out in living color;
pain, worry, suffering lived out in full view,
though most so preoccupied with their own drama
it can mostly be fazed out.
I suppose I am good at it now,
bringing my reading materials,
and yes something to write in if I desire,
sometimes the wait flows by in ra
She sat in front of me crying softly,
reliving what happened the night before,
her son called her in the early morning
acting in ways unknown,
scaring her into also calling me.
He cried, she told me wiping her eyes,
he has never done that before,
sobbing about his wife,
whom he adores,
after six years of marriage
he still worships her.
The tumor much bigger than they thought,
he is in a panic,
fearful of losing the love of his life.
Ask everyone you know
They are everywhere those people,
we see them under bridges,
living out meager lives;
getting food from our refuse
or perhaps in shelters.
Many have mental problems,
and yes un-bathed.
Many are belligerent and pushy,
manipulative in their games;
it is how they survive.
Trapped I would think
sinking so low in the social order
that climbing back for many perhaps impossible.
I am not sure that is the
I guess we had our first Fall day today,
a very cool morning,
perhaps for some cold,
yet refreshing in its mild sting
with a promise of more and yes colder mornings to come.
Wore a jacket,
a sure sign of age.......
for in my younger days
the cold had very little sting at all.
for the heat no longer bothers me as much as well,
so I have found yet another plus with aging.
My mind thinks of apples this time of year,
the sour ones,
or mayhap the semi sweet,
Doing what does not work over and over again,
unable to learn,
a cycle embedded,
lived out again and again,
War is an act of insanity,
seeking revenge also, for neither work,
yet both are pursued with gusto
like a man plotting to seduce a love one
knowing that in the end
disappoint will come.
Knowing that our habits kill us
yet we progress in them
cling to them
refusing to listen to reason.
Our addictions kill us by the millions
Doubt and faith are partners in the dance,
first one leads and then the other
in the quest of surety,
which never comes.
For some they are friends,
sitting down over tea and cucumbers sandwiches
listening to each other,
spurring the other on,
the quest unending for truth.
For others they live in the same house
but one is in the attic,
the other in the crypt,
communication cut off
leaving bitter fruit.
Doubt allows faith to deepen,
to ask questions,
freedom to allo
Was it rage?
He was a clean cut young man,
known by all,
living in a very small town,
only two thousand souls.
Well perhaps not,
for who could predict the deed done,
the havoc delivered,
the death and pain spread out,
parceled unequally to those 1,993,
His humanity lost for a short time,
long enough for chaos to rule,
six lives gone,
the seventh perhaps will follow,
bullets and pizza don’t go together,
one points to celebration
the other d
Entering the room quietly,
the old man upon the bed heard nothing.
His life grey,
forgotten by loved ones,
or perhaps his memory plays tricks;
Padding softly now,
jumping upon the bed,
the charm worked.
Reaching out the man petted the dog,
moving closer licking his face
the dog drew him out.
laughter came forth,
an alien sound in that room,
a long time
The way it is
So, we go through life,
what else can we do?
Bearing, or perhaps enjoying,
the journey as it unfolds
also the big ones,
leave their mark,
repressed or remembered it matters not,
for we either bleed,
a little at a time.
We give out joy
and yes pain,
we receive like in return,
much of our harvest
a karma of sorts.
or perhaps not,
either to our ruin or
We round people up inside our heads
acting as if we really know them,
or a further conceit, we understand,
which gives the right to judge.
So we wrap them up in tight little packages,
glued down the lid,
then wonder why they scream
as they smother in their tight airless spaces.
I was nine almost ten,
sitting on my mother’s bed,
and I listened also to what she had to say.
Her hair black,
she looked tired and worn
though she was only 37.
“He only lived three day’s”,
they had to force his birth,
knowing that death would be the outcome,
the little one would die.
They tried to save his life,
three months premature back then was often fatal,
tired and simply stopped.
In one so young,
Never get it right
I have a few people who just call me to talk, who are trapped in cycles that they can’t seem to break; very unhappy, depressed, filled with anxiety and fear. All I can do is listen, though I do give some points, but I don’t expect them to either agree with or perhaps do with what I recommend. Like the old saying goes, advice is cheap. Amen to that, hell I don’t often follow my own advice.
Sometimes I won’t answer the phone. When I feel overly stretched I ignore the ca
It was in 1976; I was twenty eight and needed time to think. About things, my life, if the path I was on, the right one. I sort of knew it was, but I was so young when I made my choice, that I wanted to step back and just look at it. I took off for six months; it was interesting to say the least. I hitched across country, met some really nice people, gave some money away, got some given to me, in fact I had more money with me than before I left, go figure. The more I gave away,