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
One of mankind’s greatest gifts is having the ability to laugh, to be able to find humor even in the most painful and darkest of circumstances. There are also a lot of things that happen in taking care of others that can cause one to laugh, not at the person but just at the unexpected things that do happen.
William continues to decline, unlike Philip, he does not seem to be one who will reach a plateau and stay there for awhile. His Alzheimer’s is taking its toll fast, and it saddens me to see
There are times when I just know that I will be called in to do the 11-7AM shift in the infirmary, where I work. It is usually on a weekend, Friday night to be exact, when I am most often called in. I don’t mind, of all the shifts it is the most quiet, though it does take a couple of days to get my self back on track. So it happened, and I went in to work.
People will sometimes ask me, who is my favorite patient, the one I like the most, or least mind taking care of. It is
His own creation
He lay in pain on the bed of his death,
knowing not when it will happen,
hating how he could do nothing to forestall.
Thinking of times past when he controlled his world,
people scampered when he yelled,
listened when he talked,
feared him when he was angry.
Power, wealth, it was all his,
he worked for every cent,
at times sweating blood,
sweeping everything away,
no mercy or quarter shown to any.
Alone now, for all have left him,
his power and weal
in anger turning the knife on himself
seeking to cause others pain,
too late as the blood poured out
flowing down from his chest
gushing around the knife.....
in rage pushing it in to the hilt
spreading out in a pretty pattern over the floor,
the red on the white tile actually beautiful,
the pain greater than he thought,
not however as great as regret,
knowing there was no turning back,
the world fading into black,
They are everywhere, looking at us, asking, begging perhaps,
homeless, those without jobs; yes the mentally ill,
an unending flood of those less fortunate, isolated, outside.
Some survive by manipulation, con men or women, using others,
the generosity of others abused, used, so that they may not have to work.
Many more suffer the burden of begging because they have fallen far,
perhaps due to drugs, or some other addiction, perhaps just a lost job,
living from pay check to pay check
You have traveled far in your life, going from place to place,
often expelled because of simply how your are,
always thinking about some other environment, perfect, smooth,
you so want that place, yet each time you move it is the same.
For a while things go aright, then the replay starts over,
is it some kind of a nightmare for you,
the situation arising again and again, having to move on?
Or are you good at looking at others, leaving yourself in peace,
setting up hou
Not for isolation
He is a nice man, both gentle in some ways, rough in others.
A normal kind of man, with his share of burdens and anguish,
as well as joys and triumphs in his life.
I have known him for about twenty years,
Intelligent, insightful; which can lead to its own kind of suffering.
He has a dual diagnosis for mental illness,
a crushing burden for the one who has to carry it though life.
Some are defeated by just one; he carries two, and is doing well.
I won’t say he
also the eternal,
without beginning or end;
how can such a thing be grasped?
when thinking of divine mercy,
we can recreate God,
with serious consequences
in our own image.
God is like us just much better,
a projection of our best selves onto divinity,
if true then we are all in trouble,
which is what many feel when thinking about God.
the people hid in caves
saying let the mountains fall upon us,
in their desire to hide from eter
what is mercy?
does it have a certain feel to it,
is there a state in which one will seek it?
why is it often joyfully accepted,
yet seldom given out among peoples?
thankful for the gift,
often unable to pass it on to others….. why?
the fruit of mercy, when come to full bloom,
is like rain on the thirsty ground,
dry, parched, life dormant,
suddenly allowed to drink its fill,
allowing new life once again to come forth.
if one is deserving, then mercy is not n