I sense the vibrations deep within me
Foundations quake, shaking that which once was firmly held
What was assumed to be eternal falls around me in pieces
Like glitter in a globe it slowly swirls, gravity accomplishing its work
I watch it crumble and tumble, down, down, down
Currents of anxiety keep it aloft past its time
It needs to settle, I need to settle
An active passivity restrains my impulse to jump, to move, to seek distraction
Let it settle, it needs to settle, don’t stir it up again
New awareness is finally breaking the old making room for what is not, yet
But the birth is like the grinding of hard stone and dust
Shifting of the plates, a new geography is forming
It threatens home and kin. They feel it too
But crisis calls for calm, don’t feed it, don’t jump
Old rifts will be mended, new vistas will emerge, danger and hope coexists
I can make neither mountains nor mole hills
The power is at work in me, I am not the Maker, I am being made
I will not jump, I will wait, and watch, and listen to the stillness
I have found that most of what I write is an attempt to be descriptive of some process at work in me. And then if I go back and look at it I find that many times it was in some ways prophetic in terms of where I needed to go next. Or perhaps it is that this student is slow and can only take what I need in small doses and must return again and again until the lesson is finally learned.
When I wrote this piece some years ago there was a stubborn anger and a blind faith that refused to move from where I was. It was during the beginning of the rebirth of me or at least of my awareness of the process. Today it is less desperate anger and more a statement of faith that somehow living in the paradox is the path for me. That in deep places I already know and am slowly developing a new language to contain the sights of the undiscovered territories of my Soul. In the end I wonder if the idea of “choice” is a bit overrated. Especially if the conscious options keep one blinded to that which is hidden within view.
Am I terribly weak, or terribly strong?
I am pulled between forces stronger than the earth.
Yet I am not utterly destroyed.
I may yet lose my mind or I may find it.
I am ambivalent yet I choose.
I choose ambivalence.
I wait.
I will not choose out of fear of loss.
I do not fear loss.
I fear being lost.
And the man is lost. His fears have come upon him.
Day Six: Today’s Prompt: Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year?
When I read this prompt I was not excited. Not because I have not met interesting, meaningful people this year but because I have. And I have already put that energy into a piece I called the Gift. It is about a beautiful soul who I have met across time and space but she is a part of my existence now. There are others who have also become a part of me and I so look forward to reading their work and interacting with them, but she was the first. She is brilliant in her ability to notice things and people who are often overlooked. Her genius is in what she notices and what she does with it. She is open to those who are different from her and she gives them grace. She is ever trying to learn and grow, a woman of courage. She is dedicated to those whom she loves and is fierce on their behalf. I love her writing. I could not do what she does, ever. It is like good bread and the fragrance of fresh cut grass, nourishing for body and soul. Thank you Calensarielfor noticing. And thank you for opening the door for me and introducing me to some of the coolest smartest people I have ever known. She is somebody worth spending your time with. You will have missed a treasure in your life if you don’t stop in and chat with her. Be Groovy!
The poem that follows is my attempt to give her a small token for a debt much too large to repay. The Gift.
The gift was not in Her doing but in being, Herself
I was desolate
Lying still among the debris
In desperation I wrote, seeking
Needing some response, some touch, some signal from the universe
All was void
Perishing for lack of me
Her genius, Her magic lies in her attention, what she sees
Dying ember
Her heart noticed
A bruised reed She would not break
A smoldering wick She would not snuff out
She saw beauty in the brokenness and as a child would She clapped for joy
She did not attempt to brace up the reed or give it instruction
She found wonder in the ember as it was
And as she clapped her hands it fanned a fire
Her mere interest helped the reed straighten it’s Self
Her gift was not in the doing
It was in the being of Herself
And in the recognition of the beauty found in ashes
I like being a Daddy. This is my baby. She is 18 now and soon to leave the house. A couple years ago we would get up early on Saturday mornings and hit the thrift stores. I would her and talk and learn about who the soul was that called me Daddy. She is in transition now. Her soul preparing her to leave our house and begin making her way in the wider world. And because she is a sensitive and aware she is feeling the changes. She is active with school and art and show choir and friends and and and . . . yet from time to time when it is quiet she will seek me out to talk or sit or laugh or cry. You know, we have not been to the thrift store in a while. I’m thinking we need to do that again soon.
I am Daddy to three souls.
This is my baby.
We go to the thrift store
I watch her sort through thousands of options
Choosing pieces that somehow effect and affect her
She puts them together in ways that are her own
She explains to me the difference between “granny” and “granny chic”
She tries to help me comprehend the subtle categories she has developed
I watch her choose and express herself
And in her choosing and expression I know her
I admire her sweet courageous soul
I love that she does not want to be different for difference sake
She would say that is as boring as being just like everybody else
She is wanting to be her
She is a glorious and brilliant thing
She is in search of her particular groove
I also like that shirts are $3 and blue jeans are $5
