Saturday, October 12, 2013

Mess

I wasn't supposed to make it, but I did.

The odds were against me...  I was insane, inane, pounding the pavement with angst on my feet, eyes obfuscated by my dreams, those bewitching nightmares of cocaine and drug addicted fiends that befriended me every which way and that and then some.

Of course I had to.  My mind wanted and fought and sought to obtain more and everything bad to prove to myself

that I could,

that I could,

that I could,

that I wasn't afraid, that I was tough, and nasty, and mean.  I became a cockroach because of it, making nice to to scum and the like because I thought that was cool, that was the way to go, and coke-whored my way through North Beach --pretending of course--  aye, sigh.

But I'm grateful to be where I am today, who I am today, no bonds or chains to hold me back. Addicted no more to a gangsta rapist who drugged me with his "love" and murdered me with his soul; slashing me to pieces so that when I left, I collapsed in a mound on the sidewalk while people walked around me gaping, pointing, staring.

Nope!  Now I am whole, loving, a creature of modest means, of high hopes and big dreams.  Happy to be making my way through this thing called life, haunted no more by heinous crimes, and twisted lies inflicted upon the soul, the heart and everywhere else.

Now, Jesus fills me top to bottom, yes siree Bob, and I can say that life, in all its raw beauty, sings an eternal heart song at once wrenching, at once glad, that I can finally live with.



Monday, September 16, 2013

Life

It hits you hard sometimes, don't it?  With its twists and turns and unforeseen nightmares that come screaming at your door begging for entry, apparently out of nowhere.  Occasionally, these horrors push their way in, menacing and unkind, without regard that you're making dinner or mopping the floor.  And there they stand, staring at you in the face, point blank.  Things you can't ward off with garlic or Vic's Vapo Rub, like tumors and accidents and heartbreak.

Sometimes life hits you square in the jaw and you gotta take it.  Asking "why" is beside the point --it's like asking why the sky is blue, or the grass is green.  It is because it is, and that's that.

But does it end here?  What about the blue-haired lady in the Mini who always smiles and has a kind word for you, or the man at the gym who composes a poem out of nowhere in the middle of a stretch, leaving your heart open wide, and your eyes glistening with tears?  What about sunflowers so big their faces heave over, and museums, and Farmer Joe's, and warm laundry and Chinese food?

These, I believe, are the reasons I stick around.  Because as bad as evil is, good is better.  So yeah, my heart aches, people kill each other and the world is going to pot, but "I know the Lord is always with me.  I will not be shaken for he is right beside me."  Psalm 16:8

 And so it is.

Season



As summer fades and autumn creeps in picking up momentum as the days go by, my mind adjusts.  Fleshing itself out like a newborn putting on weight, the season takes form and I watch, observant and curious. Things are changing; light is shifting and the sun readies for a snooze. Nodding off, I start to fall asleep as well.  Somnolent and heady, these impending months lull me into slumber, a different dimension now chilly and contemplative filled with their own treasures.

Where summer was brash and insouciant, fall is modest and moody, winding down it's cha cha and slowing to a trot.  I feel sluggish and sad as I adjust to a pace no longer carefree and blithe.  If I tossed my cares to the wind in the wee months of heat now I bare them bravely, weeping with nostalgia (am I being melodramatic?  I'm listening to Wagner).

A forlorn fan sits on my desk; a relic of days gone by.  I'll be putting it away soon and my heart bleeds.  But autumn comes, and with it cozy, reflective days, root vegetables and the like...

If summer was flowers by my computer, fall is a pumpkin on my desk.  I guess that's not so bad.


Friday, September 6, 2013

Trust


"Trust Me" He says, and my heart goes bad; fluttering and palpitating...
"Trust Me" He says, and I wanna cry and scratch at the walls, tearing off plaster until my nails bleed. I want control, but have none.
I cry and writhe in agony; impatience a gnarled whisper that tethers and pollutes my soul.
Yet I know he's right... 
Still, I rail against him calling him every name in the book and then some.
Pounding the ground, I whimper and moan. The pavement is dented with the weight of my rage. Railing against him I beat at his chest, my fists pummeling into him like sleet; sharp and merciless. And yet he stands; bearing the brunt, looking at me with his gentle, steady gaze, waiting for me to relent.  He is patient in calling my name, calling me, to a higher ground, steadfast and sturdy.
"Daughter" He says, and I come, my handkerchief dirty and soaking with tears.
"Come" He whispers, leading me away, his arms around my shoulders enveloping me in peace. "Let's see where he goes" I say to myself. And for now, it is enough.


Fear

Fear is a four letter word.
It tears and it grabs and it grips at my throat,
and when I cower, it stands up to gloat.

I've sat on the sidelines too long, yes I have,
while others jump hurdles and win on demand.

It takes naught to keep me still and subdued,
just enough menace, a handful of boo's,
and I'm hunching and yielding to folks right and left;
I wonder, what will it take to display weight and heft?

Others have noticed how timid I am,
but none more than me...
O, that fear would disband!

What must I do to dislodge and unglue
this hesitant fright that saps my delight,
and leaves me to feel like a flea caught in flight
detained and contained by a lid on so tight?

There must be an end,
a daring voila` to this story that's been
since the time of papa`.
Some edge I can use to attack and destroy
timidity's subtle and poisonous ploy.

But alas I fear (there's that word again)
that all I can do is dance and pretend
I'm not quite so scared as I seem to be,
and hope no one is looking directly at me.

But don't you think it would be sad
if all I did was play dead for dad?
After all, it's not happening still --
for the past sorrow adds up to nil.

All the sadness and pain that flooded like rain,
and made me so hurt and so damned insane,
now still like a carving of marble and stone
I salute time to time with barely a groan.

And so the solution lies in my hands,
and not in the memory of some mean man.

I've come full circle now, not quite so sad,
fear's on it's way out and baby, I'm glad.