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,
It seems that I change from moment to moment,
first this for awhile,
then that comes up,
or things simply happen in the many events of the day.
Emotions, feelings, thoughts,
like a Ferris wheel spinning constantly
pulling me from the center,
becoming scattered in what is only passing.
Amidst the chaos,
the inner voices,
the ebb and flow of events
both inner and outer,
who is it that observes,
seeks to find true peace and meaning?
Under the illusion
I sometimes think that most of my “outer” life is an attempt to not look too closely to what is going on inside of me. I do spend time in prayer and meditation, also I read and study, yet even these activities can be used to avoid going deeper. I am often under the illusion that I know myself, but in the end I only see the surface. To go deeper; well it has taken me 58 years to get where I am at, wherever that is, so I suppose I will die still only experiencing and knowing
It was one of those days where the weather seems to be just about perfect.
Early Fall is often like that, such a relief after a long hot summer and drought;
which we are still in with no real end in sight, have no idea how many trees will die.
The worst drought in a century we are told.
I pulled up to the dialysis clinic; it was time to pick up Clarence, who received
dialysis three times a week. A long grueling procedure that he has been enduring
for about three years n
Violence is loved by all
though few will admit it,
the need to feed the anger is great
the thirst for havoc strong,
people have died for that game.
Love of killing of movies also a great sport
feeding the moguls who make it for us popcorn eaters
drinking our coke,
cheering the killing,
yet never admitting the pleasure we get from watching.
It is only a movie after all,
yet real all the same.
We love to see flesh pounding flesh,
The primitive within
Long ago, I have come to accept that it will always be with me, making itself known whenever;
if there is a trigger I have not found it, unless it is simply feeling at peace, or prayer, or just being. Perhaps it likes to surprise me, catching me unawares, though how one can prepare I have no idea, for this tidal wave of primitive raw, hot, emotion.
I feel it’s faint stomping, then a kind of clanging in my depths, the force of its march growing stronger, until it bursts
I call him the bishop, for he does have a dignity about him,
so many years of suffering from this dreaded horrible disease,
yet he has always retained an air about him of kindliness and even blessing.
He has his days, when his moods are darker and can be difficult but he soon comes around to that gentle smile.
Some nights he looks at me and starts to talk in his confused way,
reaching out trying to communicate what he is experiencing but cannot.
His eyes fill up with tears o
Freedom of movement
It seems to be instinctive for people to dance,
allowing the music to dictate movement,
in the young, wild movements in perfect flow
young beautiful bodies in perfect symmetry,
allowing one to think of perfection divine.
Sweating bodies gleaming,
the mind set free, as oneness with the music is sought
allowing self consciousness to recede into simple tempo evolution.
Primitive, ballet, rock and roll, heavy rap,
it maters not for those in flight,
for a t
Or so it seems
It is in the deep darkness of the night,
when all is silent and calm,
is when thoughts come of true reality.
Not the props that we call real when fully awake,
the people we know,
those beneath our concern of course
for our worth comes from comparisons.
Amid the sheets,
we see the abyss that swallows all,
everything we hold dear,
wealth and youth,
and yes our enemies
one by one fall into emptiness
Alive and cold,
gleeful in it’s artic feel,
rage feeds on the sufferings of others,
incapable of compassion,
for rage is always right,
at least in its own eyes
until fed out
leaving only pain.
It seems that I want so many things,
and in the pile of desires, God is in there somewhere.
Sad to say my heart is scattered lying in the sand
it‘s pieces like dark shards of glass lying motionless,
in the barren landscape.
Often distracted from the one thing necessary,
yet aware of the love pursuing me
I often seek suffering over joy,
stubborn in my oft childish rebellion.
I know of those who fly straight to the target,
some are my friends,
yet I zig and zag up
Burdens can build up as life progresses,
the past events adding weight to ones soul,
scar tissue cutting out the light that once broke through.
Loves lost, sometimes betrayed, rebuffed, or scorned,
leave a mark deep, enduring, that festers as the years move on.
Fear masked as prudence takes fore, leading to a peace of sorts,
though it could also be called a prelude to death.
Repression works, it protects, shields from life’s rough waves,
The price high, demanding l
He is lucky that he comes from a well to do family, who also care for him, protect him.To say he has a heavy burden would be an understatement, but perhaps lighter than some.He calls me from time to time, well actually quite often, so much so that I don’t always answerwhen his name comes up on my phone; no I don’t always answer, but he leaves a message.
I try to limit myself to four calls a week, for he never knows how to close, he goes on and on. It shows his pain, need, loneliness, which som
One moment he smiles, or laughs and seems to be his old self. Loud, lovable, jovial,
then he becomes quiet, morose, and verbal, in expressing his displeasure….. with me,
with life, well with everything; confused, lost, trying to fight his way to clarity.
Often he can’t be reached, nothing helps, just have to ride it out with him, not taking anything
he says personal, it is just his disease. He needs compassion, empathy, distraction when it
is possible, which is not always
William was not very responsive yesterday, deep sleep; though he would mumble a bit,but over all not his usual self. No fever, hands ice cold, feet very red and hot, blood pressure
high and continued to spike as the morning wore on. Dehydration was my first thought, has not been drinking much the last couple of days, so I called Rose, or very competent and dedicated nurse. She arrived in early afternoon, gave William some blood pressure medicine, since it was very high at the time. Normally h
That which is beyond
We often try too hard to grasp what we already have,
Our perceptions leads us astray,
Also bounded by cultural artifice
Blocking us from our inner life, fire, energy,
Often buried under layers of “ought”, and “should”.
Rebellion often leads to just another form of imprisonment,
different group, norms, and yes ‘should’ and ‘ought’.
Yet the outcome the same,
Chained by some kind of group think.
Atheist, scream believers are brainwashed,
Yet I see no diff
Talk on the Chaplet of divine mercy
What are they,
Why are they important,
What is their impact on our lives,
Are some devotions better than others,
what makes a devotion powerful in ones life,
What are they really for?
When praying the Our Father what is happening?
When truly focusing on this prayer what do we find?
We pray to “Our Father”,
It is not a prayer of self concern,
petitions for the family,
or for oneself,
Oxygen to the lungs
is love for the soul,
without breathe the soul dies
writhing in agony seeking release.
Rage, hatred, revenge sort after;
anything to fill the soul,
the bottomless void that exist
when light is gone.
only remnants screaming
choking on the airless darkness
that no one hears.
As is true
The limb rested upon the grass,
Gleaned by the fierce winds
Skinned from the limb.
Now the time had come
It’s part coming to an end,
Dried up long dead,
Returning to the earth,
Its mother from whence it came,
As is true of all living things.
What was once beautiful,
Alive, covered in green,
Robed in different shades,
Light and dark,
From jade to aqua,
The covering now long gone,
Brittle dust is all that is left.
Seasons came in fas
As life moves on its rhythm ever changing,
from extreme youth to old age,
one role we play is to simply observe, watch,
perhaps learn from what we see.
We stand still our souls never moving,
time flows around us,
as our experiences deepen and broaden,
we remain the same in many ways,
our bodies change, age,
yet inside we stay young,
shocked at whom we perceive in our reflection.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, is that really me after all?
Awareness’s deep, s