Feelings

It was a real surprise to find myself sitting squarely in my past.

To be comfortable and settled in a room filled with familiar faces and furniture.

I dusted off the old memories, wiped away the years of untouched thoughts

I ran my fingers over the drawings and paintings which spoke of things long ago.

This house was somehow familiar but changed. They were the foundation of love and family holding

fast to their lives and to those they love.   Swaying in the rocking chair the one that

rocked so many babies over the years I leaned in closer to capture that which I had long

To be present to, the wisdom, the age, the stories.  All part of my history but severed by

inexperience.  It was a bittersweet day, the memories restored, the good and the bad.  It was holding hands with the woman that touched a place so deep that it took twenty-four more hours to well up.

Feelings she said.  “You always cared about their feelings.”  Little did she know that she was the one

Who taught me how.

The Hollow Place

I awaken with a start and the hollow place calls to me

Like caves of barren soil my mind searches for the light

My breathe steady and shallow like some sleeping creature

Yet fully awake

The hollow place demands my attention as I try to push it aside

Begging it to go away, to leave me alone, to settle somewhere

it haunts me all the day,

long like a burden of unbearable weight

Oddly light, not as a feather but as a child

The hollow place calls deep to my soul, stirring my heart provoked by

Nothing, hidden to the world it remains ever present and alert

Change

We are changed by the cascading waterfall of our choices. 

Relentless and powerful, sucked under by the current

we circle until, like some rejected thought we surface fighting for air

Finding purchase we are plunged once again into the new

Victory

The forlorn victory mirrored in the morning sky a moment of recall and a heart that wonders why

The path laid out in circular fashion peppered with an occasional sigh void of passion.

Grasping at the journey behind in order to make sense of where the road winds

Present moments in the journey not found than it matters not where we are bound.

Each living memory and efforts made thus bring depth and beauty to each of us

The forlorn victory no matter the place changes our hearts and leaves an empty space

Desire

This longing; this ever present desire to sit with You

like water to my soul quenching all.

 I see the space created by desire there in my living room

The one with the chair, the end table, the

 book and the pen. 

Stopping briefly I look longingly at the space

And  saying to no one at all “soon” as I rush

out the door. 

Purpose

It was hard to watch
the old man sitting small bent over
He railed cloaked in the anger of his grief
God, he spat. He must be crazy.
His grand design is all out of whack
It makes no sense

I see her everywhere, my wife.  I see her in
a memory a thought a shadow.  What am I without her?
No purpose no direction alone.

It was hard to hear that kind of pain.
Walking slowly picking my steps carefully
I approach him.  Holding the old man child
frail and small I become the elder
I mummur softly You are purposeful, you are my Father.

Shadows

Shadows of a pumpkin well beyond my reach
speak of barriers painful nothing one could teach

How does love find us
When we are looking overly hard
Then leave us worn and tattered
broken down and scarred

Knowing that it would be over
from the very start
Trying hard to protect the
breaking of the heart

And as it leaves the present and
crosses oceans deep are we left
clinging to the pillows of our sleep

Staring at the memory
figures on a wall
unable to draw ourselves up
to stand and face it all

As sunlight soaks the shadows and
in its fullness seen the image of his
face distant as a dream. 

Joy

Retreating to the familiar, the quiet space created long ago
Searching, reading, meditating deep in thought..they come
the ideas, the memories, the feelings
Carefully turning the pages of words that were scribed long ago
by others..and the others that taught the word.
Seeking the serenity and peace that surpasses understanding.
Hoping God can do for me what I can not
Joy settles in filling up the places that were dark only moments ago

Drink up

She wears tired like some kind of thick syrup that pours down her soul
looking for a place to lay it down she stares at the queen size bed she shares
with her thoughts.
Crawling between the cool crisp material she wedges her body between day
and night trying to disconnect from it all
It's there always; the inner voice that drives her on.
Tonight is just a differnt kind of weary. She is poured out for the ones
who need refreshing.

Gentle Picture

The hand worn with age feeling the weight of the diamond placed there so long ago reaches towards his face.  She places her hand gently upon his cheek trying to hold onto the moment.  He smiles as broad as wide can be; the gleam and sparkle evident in his eyes.  They both remember. Together they are one tied by the past and the memory of one who did not graduate this day but graduated to another life.  And they are grateful that the 'say one thing do another is gone.'  Grandmother to time and holder of history lives the past in an instant and turns gently towards the future.

Love

And it’s the puppy again that sets impatience in motion.  The center of me becomes dark, ugly and explosive.  Morning comes again too quickly and like the dog I try to domestic I become not domesticated.  Wild emotion fills my present moment and all thought is lost to emotion.  Contain it I think.  Where to today God?  To the bottom of the barrel?  To the place where love is displaced by anger?  Lead with love I tell myself.  Put it on like a coat even if it does not fit. Put it on and cover up and perhaps one day love will fit you completely.   I borrow the words saying them loudly to an empty room.  “Lead with love”  I put my foot forward.  It’s a shaky first step one that falters’ on tired and trips over indulgence. 

Peace

And I am touched by film and video

By thought by word by deed

And I am ripped open again

All that was stored up and kept at peace

Returns and I cannot breathe

I am at a loss to contain the pain that wells up from deep within

When the emotion falls unexpected rising up springing into action

I am stunned I am alive

It is almost too much to bear this realization that peace comes at a cost,

the peace of isolation, the peace of detachment.  The peace reflected on your face as we said

goodbye

Open

Where to today God? I am off with a thought.  The old man who sat across the table from me as we picked at the Salmon steaks he learned to cook since his wife died.  He prepares us french fries cooked on the stove top, something I had never seen before.  And the never seen before is the Father homemaker.  The man become women in the old tradition one that he married to for sixty years.  Then the day, the New Year Day when she died and he became.

Where to today God? As I recall the day, August 20th; the day the husband and wife married sixty years ago.  And I wonder does he remember?  The brain becoming adeled with his almost 81 years of thinking, recalling, storing and retreving.  And I remember his words as the tears fell down his face sitting there eating pearl onions and choking on his pain; be kind.  If I had only known she would be gone I would have been so much more kind.

Start

August 19, 2011

The day begins with the dawning of my seven month old puppy snatching my bra off the chair it had been carelessly tossed upon the night before.  Springing around the room as if she has captured some living treasure I know the day has begun.   I reach for my cell phone to illuminate time.  Even before the digital numbers spring to life my body tells me it is way too early to rise; 4:25 am. 

Sighing deeply I gather the remnants of yesterdays athletic wear, laundry piling up and head downstairs asking the question I ask each day.  “OK God Where are we going today?”

Where we head today is the land of patience.  Within ten minutes I have spilled over an ounce of powdered detergent onto the floor watching as it cascades down the pile of laundry like some old time slinky on a staircase; one level to the next.  I reach quickly for the box only to feel powerless  as the weight of the white powder inside and the awkward  angle at which I have grabbed the voluminous box act in opposition of each other.  Horrified I watch as the cardboard tears away and I am left holding an empty box.  I struggle to clean up the white mixture as my puppy dashes here and there scattering the powder throughout the room.  At least the room smells clean.