First I walk alone. I do not feel afraid, and wonder why. Something seems to await me with an ominous sort of darkness before me. Yet my feet continue to step.
One foot in front of the other, I wet out, eyes focused at the long road before me. Darkness approaches. It comes quickly, quicker than I had expected. A chill runs through my body and I feel the goosebumps prick my skin. Yet I move forward. My feet seem to move on their own. They drag me forward fearlessly, ignoring the pattering of my heart.
My eyes continue to stare ahead, focusing on the graveled road stretching before me. The way is straight. It appears to be simple. Yet that daunting feeling of something dark awaiting me does not let go of my heart. My chest squeezes within me painfully. Yet I move on.
Then before I was aware, a warm hand took hold of mine. It clutched me with confidence and I looked to my side. He had come to help me. The chill left me instantly as my gaze met with his for an instant. Then together we continued forward. The darkness, still ominous, was not so harsh. My journey appeared to be brighter. The dark sky opened for a moment and I could see past its hold, a glimpse of blue.
We stepped forward together with a confidence, a partnership I hadn't expected. Hope returned. There is a light at the end.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Friday, September 4, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
A Child's Prayer
"Heav'nly Fadder
Tank dee for my fam-y. Tank dee for my fends. Tank dee dat we can stay and Gramma and Gammpa's house. Tank dee dat we can have a pace to stay when we need help. Tank dee for my Mommy...and my sister...
Please bless Daddy in Afghan'stan. Keep him safe and so he can come home... and so I can see him again.
Bless me to have good dreams.
Name of Jesus Ch'ist, Amen."
(Actual prayer I overheard spoken by my nephew one night.)
Tank dee for my fam-y. Tank dee for my fends. Tank dee dat we can stay and Gramma and Gammpa's house. Tank dee dat we can have a pace to stay when we need help. Tank dee for my Mommy...and my sister...
Please bless Daddy in Afghan'stan. Keep him safe and so he can come home... and so I can see him again.
Bless me to have good dreams.
Name of Jesus Ch'ist, Amen."
(Actual prayer I overheard spoken by my nephew one night.)
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The Cemetary
Diversity-
Conformity-
Equality-
We're born.
We live.
We die.
Each cross set in remembrance
One for each life
Each one the same
Only set apart by writing
Marking a different date
A different life
Diversity? No.
In death we find ourselves the same.
Conformity? No.
In death we are set free.
Equality? Yes.
In death we are seen as equals.
Finally.
We all were born
We all lived
We all died.
Living on only in a memory.
Keep us.
Conformity-
Equality-
We're born.
We live.
We die.
Each cross set in remembrance
One for each life
Each one the same
Only set apart by writing
Marking a different date
A different life
Diversity? No.
In death we find ourselves the same.
Conformity? No.
In death we are set free.
Equality? Yes.
In death we are seen as equals.
Finally.
We all were born
We all lived
We all died.
Living on only in a memory.
Keep us.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Opening
I remember that day the door was closed. It seemed it was closed forever. She had whispered those words to me through the telephone. Those words that burned me through to the core. The words that I didn't think I would ever recover from. Then it seemed that my life was over. The door was closed. Slammed shut tightly, right before my face.
Yet today I feel another door has opened. It breaths fresh air into my soul and I am lifted up with exhilaration like a soft warm breeze blowing in my hair. I am lit up with the natural light from what lies within. Love has returned to me, if through another form. It is different. Yet it is better.
The door is opening and she breaths life into my heart once more. It beats; it pounds. I am revived by it. I now can walk through bravely, for I know this time it will not swing back. It will not slam in my face like it had once before. For this time, she holds it in her hands, beckoning me forward.
So I enter.
Yet today I feel another door has opened. It breaths fresh air into my soul and I am lifted up with exhilaration like a soft warm breeze blowing in my hair. I am lit up with the natural light from what lies within. Love has returned to me, if through another form. It is different. Yet it is better.
The door is opening and she breaths life into my heart once more. It beats; it pounds. I am revived by it. I now can walk through bravely, for I know this time it will not swing back. It will not slam in my face like it had once before. For this time, she holds it in her hands, beckoning me forward.
So I enter.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Waters of Life
I hadn't expected it to feel like this. Many times I've floated out into the water at daybreak just like today. So why was today different?
Well, today is different because I'm leaving more behind. So many times in the past I've set sail out into this open water, looking forward with so much longing for the sea, looking forward to the many adventures that could await out over that water.
Today I look back. I feel the shore pulling at my heart more than before. I look within myself for the answers.
For so long I've loved the sea. I've gone out with no other desire in my heart, no other place I would rather be. I look toward the watery horizon and the rising sun. The air is crisp and touches my face, as it has so many times before. It is beautiful. Yet it has changed somehow and I am drawn back.
The birth of my daughter changed many things. It made me a father. It made my wife a mother. But that is just what happened on the surface. That is just what other people can see.
My friend comes up behind me and rests his hand on my shoulder with a smile. "Excited to get back out on the water again?" He said. I could hear the old excitement in his voice. The one we used to share.
I gave him a small smile, but I knew that after this last time on the water together, I was ready to do what my wife had suggested: stay ashore and watch my daughter grow up.
Well, today is different because I'm leaving more behind. So many times in the past I've set sail out into this open water, looking forward with so much longing for the sea, looking forward to the many adventures that could await out over that water.
Today I look back. I feel the shore pulling at my heart more than before. I look within myself for the answers.
For so long I've loved the sea. I've gone out with no other desire in my heart, no other place I would rather be. I look toward the watery horizon and the rising sun. The air is crisp and touches my face, as it has so many times before. It is beautiful. Yet it has changed somehow and I am drawn back.
The birth of my daughter changed many things. It made me a father. It made my wife a mother. But that is just what happened on the surface. That is just what other people can see.
My friend comes up behind me and rests his hand on my shoulder with a smile. "Excited to get back out on the water again?" He said. I could hear the old excitement in his voice. The one we used to share.
I gave him a small smile, but I knew that after this last time on the water together, I was ready to do what my wife had suggested: stay ashore and watch my daughter grow up.
Home
It was the same. Yet different.
I was back at the home I grew up to the age of 10 years. I remembered running around the wrap-around porch on summer days with a bubble wand, watching them shimmer and float in the light. Feeling invigorated as my young dog chased me around and snapped at the floating spheres.
The home was different now. Yet it was still my home. It was still the same shape that had been etched in my mind since the time I left it. When my parents had passed and I was taken away to live with my aunt. I didn't like to remember that part.
Now other people lived within those walls, but I found myself drawn to return. To see what had become of it. This home was mine, in spite of the years I spent away. It was mind, in spite of the new white siding now covering the old lovely brick I remember. It was mine, in spite of that black dog- instead of the white mutt with the brown and black spots I remembered standing on the porch last.
I approached, knees trembling a touch, and stepped up onto the first step. Everything seemed fresh and new. I was pleased. The home, although now different than how I remembered it, had been well kept. I knocked.
The woman who answered allowed me to walk through what was now her rooms, her walls, her furniture, and I told her stories about the way I remembered the place.
As I departed, I was again invigorated from the experience. Time goes on. People grow up. People die. What is left behind either can fade or bring new meaning and memories to others.
That's what made this house a home, not only to me.
I was back at the home I grew up to the age of 10 years. I remembered running around the wrap-around porch on summer days with a bubble wand, watching them shimmer and float in the light. Feeling invigorated as my young dog chased me around and snapped at the floating spheres.
The home was different now. Yet it was still my home. It was still the same shape that had been etched in my mind since the time I left it. When my parents had passed and I was taken away to live with my aunt. I didn't like to remember that part.
Now other people lived within those walls, but I found myself drawn to return. To see what had become of it. This home was mine, in spite of the years I spent away. It was mind, in spite of the new white siding now covering the old lovely brick I remember. It was mine, in spite of that black dog- instead of the white mutt with the brown and black spots I remembered standing on the porch last.
I approached, knees trembling a touch, and stepped up onto the first step. Everything seemed fresh and new. I was pleased. The home, although now different than how I remembered it, had been well kept. I knocked.
The woman who answered allowed me to walk through what was now her rooms, her walls, her furniture, and I told her stories about the way I remembered the place.
As I departed, I was again invigorated from the experience. Time goes on. People grow up. People die. What is left behind either can fade or bring new meaning and memories to others.
That's what made this house a home, not only to me.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Advise from the rubber duck...
Don't try to fill yourself up with too much of what's around you. You'll find you start to sink. Be true to yourself and who you are inside already. Do that, and you'll float along through life with no problems.
PPP win
PPP win
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Waiting for the Light
He stood in the shadows waiting-
Waiting for the light.
For so long he stood watching-
Yearning to be lifted-
Waiting for the light.
The sun would rise above him-
He'd still stand, watching and waiting-
Yearning for the light.
The sun would pass him by-
He would stand angry again-
Wishing, for once, the light would come-
Come and envelope him.
He stood in the shadows waiting-
Waiting for the light.
Yet one step forward and he'd be there.
One step forward and he'd find it.
If only he would notice-
The light was waiting for him.
Waiting for the light.
For so long he stood watching-
Yearning to be lifted-
Waiting for the light.
The sun would rise above him-
He'd still stand, watching and waiting-
Yearning for the light.
The sun would pass him by-
He would stand angry again-
Wishing, for once, the light would come-
Come and envelope him.
He stood in the shadows waiting-
Waiting for the light.
Yet one step forward and he'd be there.
One step forward and he'd find it.
If only he would notice-
The light was waiting for him.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
The Last House on the Right
My house was the last house on the right before the cow pasture. Then if you followed the road you would come to the local reservoir. I remember the times we would walk down the road to go wading, or simply to watch the sunset reflect off the water.
I recall that time a bunch of girlfriends accompanied me to the reservoir, but when we got there we noticed people were camping and fishing. It was a group of men and they started calling to us and swimming toward us.
So we left, jittery and linked at the arms, singing comforting songs to relieve our jitters. I was the only one that looked back at the vehicle that approached behind us. They were still calling to us and waving. I was the only one tempted to wave back. The others kept me safe from that piece of me.
If I were to walk the opposite direction from my home, I would pass an old trailer home, a white house, and then I would come to the scary broken-down brick house. This was the half-way point between my house and my best friend's that lived down the road. We would agree by phone to meet and then each walk down the road and meet in front of that house.
It was a comfort for us to know that we wouldn't ever have to pass that scary house alone. It's dark cracked or empty windows seemed to watch us as we traipsed passed. Usually we would talk of other things, avoiding the subject of the dark house. But our eyes always watched those windows as if waiting for some kind of creature to appear.
This was the street where I grew up. Now someone else has moved into my old home and then left it vacant and for sale once more. They tore down our precious trees and left our property like an empty casket. My friend's home also now belongs to someone else. Her parents built a home behind it down another road. Somehow, although those walls are new and different, it still feels like home there.
Whenever I visit, I am pulled to the street- to walk along that road again, pass the scary brick house with the dark windows that now seem to be some kind of historical monument, and down the dusty road to the drained and empty reservoir.
I would sit on the cement there to watch the sun go down again. Now, only imagining its reflection on the water.
I recall that time a bunch of girlfriends accompanied me to the reservoir, but when we got there we noticed people were camping and fishing. It was a group of men and they started calling to us and swimming toward us.
So we left, jittery and linked at the arms, singing comforting songs to relieve our jitters. I was the only one that looked back at the vehicle that approached behind us. They were still calling to us and waving. I was the only one tempted to wave back. The others kept me safe from that piece of me.
If I were to walk the opposite direction from my home, I would pass an old trailer home, a white house, and then I would come to the scary broken-down brick house. This was the half-way point between my house and my best friend's that lived down the road. We would agree by phone to meet and then each walk down the road and meet in front of that house.
It was a comfort for us to know that we wouldn't ever have to pass that scary house alone. It's dark cracked or empty windows seemed to watch us as we traipsed passed. Usually we would talk of other things, avoiding the subject of the dark house. But our eyes always watched those windows as if waiting for some kind of creature to appear.
This was the street where I grew up. Now someone else has moved into my old home and then left it vacant and for sale once more. They tore down our precious trees and left our property like an empty casket. My friend's home also now belongs to someone else. Her parents built a home behind it down another road. Somehow, although those walls are new and different, it still feels like home there.
Whenever I visit, I am pulled to the street- to walk along that road again, pass the scary brick house with the dark windows that now seem to be some kind of historical monument, and down the dusty road to the drained and empty reservoir.
I would sit on the cement there to watch the sun go down again. Now, only imagining its reflection on the water.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The Earth, The Bulldozer, The Tree, and The Rock
My mother once talked to me about how I resembled earth. I was nourishing and loving. I could help things to grow. But at that time I was dating a bulldozer and he pushed me around wherever he wanted me to go. He spread me thin and rolled over me.
He needs a rock, she said. Someone that will stand strong and immovable so he cannot push her around. He may not find her right away and he might not like her right away, but he needs a rock. And you aren't a rock. You are like earth.
Time passed and I found myself a tree. He stood tall and strong and I could nourish his roots and he dropped his leaves to nourish my soil right back. This was love.
Someday I hope that bulldozer finds his rock.
He needs a rock, she said. Someone that will stand strong and immovable so he cannot push her around. He may not find her right away and he might not like her right away, but he needs a rock. And you aren't a rock. You are like earth.
Time passed and I found myself a tree. He stood tall and strong and I could nourish his roots and he dropped his leaves to nourish my soil right back. This was love.
Someday I hope that bulldozer finds his rock.
Friday, July 3, 2009
She
Sometimes I forget what she looks like. Because it really doesn't matter.
I go about my day, doing everything I need to. Taking care of my children. Taking care of my house. Sometimes I can go a full day without even making eye contact with her.
Then when I do, it's like a reminder. Sometimes it can even be a slap in the face. It's like she is screaming to me "PAY ATTENTION TO ME! I'M IMPORTANT TOO!" and I decide to take a moment with just her. She gets put on the back burner too often.
Sometimes I forget what she looks like. I haven't memorized the curves of her face. I don't know exactly how many freckles she has, or how many gray hairs she has. I just know the obvious details and the picture in my memory.
Then when I see her it hits me again that she's aged a little more. It hits me again that she has weathered a few storms. She's important too. She needs my attention now and then.
So I close the door to my bathroom and give her that time.
My reflection.
I go about my day, doing everything I need to. Taking care of my children. Taking care of my house. Sometimes I can go a full day without even making eye contact with her.
Then when I do, it's like a reminder. Sometimes it can even be a slap in the face. It's like she is screaming to me "PAY ATTENTION TO ME! I'M IMPORTANT TOO!" and I decide to take a moment with just her. She gets put on the back burner too often.
Sometimes I forget what she looks like. I haven't memorized the curves of her face. I don't know exactly how many freckles she has, or how many gray hairs she has. I just know the obvious details and the picture in my memory.
Then when I see her it hits me again that she's aged a little more. It hits me again that she has weathered a few storms. She's important too. She needs my attention now and then.
So I close the door to my bathroom and give her that time.
My reflection.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
My Best Friend
I miss her.
Since age 10 we were inseparable. Joined at the hip, they used to call it. We were two peas in a pod. If we weren't at home, our parents knew we were at the other house. Our second home.
We were like sisters.
Spending every summer's day together, and every afternoon hour during school days, we were that.
We even gave ourselves our own last name. Because we were family.
Then we parted. It was like tearing a piece of fabric down the center. College. Marriage. Life took hold of us and sent us in different directions.
Now it's phone calls, cards, birthday and Christmas gifts. Two or so daytime visits every year.
Someday we like to think we'll live next to each other again. Like we did way back when. Someday we'll be neighbors and grow old together. We'll watch our children grow and take off in their own lives. Then we'll sit on the porch together and things will be how they used to be.
Joined at the hip. Two peas in a pod. Inseparable. A second home.
Since age 10 we were inseparable. Joined at the hip, they used to call it. We were two peas in a pod. If we weren't at home, our parents knew we were at the other house. Our second home.
We were like sisters.
Spending every summer's day together, and every afternoon hour during school days, we were that.
We even gave ourselves our own last name. Because we were family.
Then we parted. It was like tearing a piece of fabric down the center. College. Marriage. Life took hold of us and sent us in different directions.
Now it's phone calls, cards, birthday and Christmas gifts. Two or so daytime visits every year.
Someday we like to think we'll live next to each other again. Like we did way back when. Someday we'll be neighbors and grow old together. We'll watch our children grow and take off in their own lives. Then we'll sit on the porch together and things will be how they used to be.
Joined at the hip. Two peas in a pod. Inseparable. A second home.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Mother's Love
A mother's love
Will keep her child
Safe from harms around
She protects the small piece
Of herself
In warm embrace, no sound
The peace of moments
Held so still
Forever kept within
Her heart speaks words
So wise and pure
For every life's begin
Through flames of sorrow
She holds true
The baby in her arms
For all her life
She dreamt of this
Sweet child full of charms
A mother's love
Surpasses all
Even her own life
For within the child
He holds dear
Her love, as he'll face strife
Will keep her child
Safe from harms around
She protects the small piece
Of herself
In warm embrace, no sound
The peace of moments
Held so still
Forever kept within
Her heart speaks words
So wise and pure
For every life's begin
Through flames of sorrow
She holds true
The baby in her arms
For all her life
She dreamt of this
Sweet child full of charms
A mother's love
Surpasses all
Even her own life
For within the child
He holds dear
Her love, as he'll face strife
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Beginning of the Rest of Her Life
Her heart was excited today, and she fought off her body's exhilaration. She didn't want to be sweating too much. This was the day her life would begin.
She sat in front of the mirror, the women around her fussing away with her hair and make-up. She never fussed so much over herself. She wouldn't have aloud so much fussing except for today. Today she accepted with open arms. Because today was special. It made her mom feel better anyway to fuss.
The others busily were putting in earrings, applying mascara and lipstick, rouge. But she felt like she didn't need rouge. She felt like her heart's glow would give her face enough color. A small smile played on her lips and her hands shook as she looked down at her nails, which another woman was polishing in a lovely french manicure.
"Relax, Amber. Your fingers are so jittery! I really don't want to mess this up!" This was her best friend, Jen.
Jen had been there for her entire life. It felt like a bittersweet time between them. A matter of saying goodbye in a way...parting ways on how they had done every other thing in life together. In this, Amber was going on alone.
Jen met with Amber's gaze then for a moment. In an instant they communicated in perfect understanding. Although life was going on in different directions, they would always remain the best of friends. Amber fought back the tears now. They wouldn't help with her jitters.
The time seemed to fly by before she knew it. Suddenly she was standing in front of the screen door, looking out toward the car that would take her to the church. Her heart started to pound more now. Outside waited her destiny.
The others, in their pink dresses, helped her cross the threshold. They held the door open, lifted her white train, and held her sleek veil.
And she stepped through, on her way to meet it. Her destiny.
She sat in front of the mirror, the women around her fussing away with her hair and make-up. She never fussed so much over herself. She wouldn't have aloud so much fussing except for today. Today she accepted with open arms. Because today was special. It made her mom feel better anyway to fuss.
The others busily were putting in earrings, applying mascara and lipstick, rouge. But she felt like she didn't need rouge. She felt like her heart's glow would give her face enough color. A small smile played on her lips and her hands shook as she looked down at her nails, which another woman was polishing in a lovely french manicure.
"Relax, Amber. Your fingers are so jittery! I really don't want to mess this up!" This was her best friend, Jen.
Jen had been there for her entire life. It felt like a bittersweet time between them. A matter of saying goodbye in a way...parting ways on how they had done every other thing in life together. In this, Amber was going on alone.
Jen met with Amber's gaze then for a moment. In an instant they communicated in perfect understanding. Although life was going on in different directions, they would always remain the best of friends. Amber fought back the tears now. They wouldn't help with her jitters.
The time seemed to fly by before she knew it. Suddenly she was standing in front of the screen door, looking out toward the car that would take her to the church. Her heart started to pound more now. Outside waited her destiny.
The others, in their pink dresses, helped her cross the threshold. They held the door open, lifted her white train, and held her sleek veil.
And she stepped through, on her way to meet it. Her destiny.
Friday, June 12, 2009
The Old Photograph
I look at that face, frozen in time. How I miss that face. The one with the plump smooth cheeks. The lips curved up. The eyes so innocent and pure. The happiness in the simple things. The pleasure from nature's gifts. Just enjoying the art of living.
Sometimes I find it hard to believe he was me.
I look at my hands, scarred and worked through much toils. My skin is rough now, toughened and weathered. My eyes have seen sorrows. They still sparkle but in watery tears of having seen the troubles of the world.
I look at that face, frozen in time. How I miss that face. It once was mine.
Sometimes I find it hard to believe he was me.
I look at my hands, scarred and worked through much toils. My skin is rough now, toughened and weathered. My eyes have seen sorrows. They still sparkle but in watery tears of having seen the troubles of the world.
I look at that face, frozen in time. How I miss that face. It once was mine.
Breaking Sky
She was rushing today. Her heart pounding with anticipation. For it was Friday, and this was the day she would receiver her weekly letter from Bob. He was so far away, fighting a fight worth everything. She felt too many would not fight it, and that left people like Bob.
She was gathering her purse...her keys...where were her keys?
Rushing through the house her thoughts again turned to the moment he told her he was going. The moment she knew her fears of him leaving were coming true and she wasn't going to stop him. She didn't even make an effort to stop him. She knew he wanted to do it. That he would to stand for what was right...to be noble. Because that is who he is. They promised to write every week. He wouldn't miss one. And he hadn't.
She found her keys in her purse after all.
Rushing out the door, she had her baby on her hip and towed her 3 year old son behind her. Other thoughts ran through her mind, groceries that were needed...she had to stop at the bank...but her mind quickly turned again to the post office. First and foremost.
The sky was growing dark above them as she buckled her children in the car. Though she hardly noticed. Her mind was already going over the way it would feel to hold the crisp paper in her hands and her eyes stroking over the familiar curves of his handwriting. Somehow the curves had become their intimacy. The way to be close to him from so far away.
Finally, after struggling to get her car through the traffic...that annoying vehicle that was going the speed limit! She was at the post office. Leaving the car running with her children inside, she rushed to the PO Box and quickly opened it to find her letter.
It was empty.
As she returned to her vehicle, she tried to put it out of her mind. The clouds were gathering and the sky was darker than before. She looked up to it for a moment. It was hanging low. Waiting to break.
She drove to the grocery store. Her kids were such angels there. She watched while other small kids screamed about what they wanted but couldn't have while her little boy sat patiently in the cart playing with his little jet airplane and snacking once in a while on a cracker. How blessed she was. She couldn't imagine life any differently. But the missing letter still weighed in the back of her mind.
She went through the bank drive-through and then home. Life had slowed. She was just doing what she had to. She unloaded the children and headed to the door.
Then she saw it.
A notice. Red. Stuck to her front door and waving in the wind.
And as her heart broke, the thunder broke too. Finally the heavy clouds, like her heart, broke and it cried. It cried right along with her.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Golden Bridge
Firelight
Glowing in the distance
Dances across the water
On a man-made beacon
Drawing me in
To cross
And find you
Glowing in the distance
Dances across the water
On a man-made beacon
Drawing me in
To cross
And find you
Losing Control to Find It
It was in this moment that he realized this is the way he always wanted to go. Suddenly, all the fear left him and he stopped fighting it and sat back to take in the moment. The equipment beneath him stuttered and spun and he simply smiled.
He'd lived his life the way he had always hoped he would. He had learned to fly. The dream he had had as a child was fulfilled and even magnified beyond what he ever imagined. As a stunt flier, he had wowed the crowd. He had managed to do things in mid air that he never could have dreamed possible back when he first saw a plane fly above his head at the age of 7 years. Back then, he only imagined soaring through the clouds someday. He never dreamed he would do that and so much more.
The plane beneath him had been his friend, his comfort through every trial, his get-away from every difficulty. This was the friend he had spent so much of his life with, and this was the friend he would end it all with. Its spinning had now subsided and it was diving toward the earth.
He closed his eyes and felt that now he was truly flying. Inside and out.
He'd lived his life the way he had always hoped he would. He had learned to fly. The dream he had had as a child was fulfilled and even magnified beyond what he ever imagined. As a stunt flier, he had wowed the crowd. He had managed to do things in mid air that he never could have dreamed possible back when he first saw a plane fly above his head at the age of 7 years. Back then, he only imagined soaring through the clouds someday. He never dreamed he would do that and so much more.
The plane beneath him had been his friend, his comfort through every trial, his get-away from every difficulty. This was the friend he had spent so much of his life with, and this was the friend he would end it all with. Its spinning had now subsided and it was diving toward the earth.
He closed his eyes and felt that now he was truly flying. Inside and out.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Light a Candle
Each soul shines bright, like a candle
Some brighter than others
But we can all share the light
Each soul gives off heat, like a candle
Some warmer than others
But we can all share in the warmth
Standing together
We share our light with each other
We shine the brightest in prayer
Come closer to
Those empty souls
The ones whose light grows faint
Strengthen them and bring them home
To share in our bright
Shimmering prayers
Some brighter than others
But we can all share the light
Each soul gives off heat, like a candle
Some warmer than others
But we can all share in the warmth
Standing together
We share our light with each other
We shine the brightest in prayer
Come closer to
Those empty souls
The ones whose light grows faint
Strengthen them and bring them home
To share in our bright
Shimmering prayers
Sunday, May 31, 2009
It Was His Religion
I didn't understand him. My father would go out to that river every Sunday and would fish. My mother didn't allow anyone else to go with him. We would all go to service. What gave him the right to skip out of it? He called it his religion. I only remember my mother mentioning church to him once and I'll never forget his reply.
"I learn more out there at the water than I ever will from that man's preaching."
I wondered what he meant by that. What could he possibly learn from the river water? All I learned from the river was how to get my shoes dirty and my mother mad. Or perhaps how to catch a frog without his expecting anything.
But still, my father went out every Sunday.
Finally one Sunday I didn't bother asking my mother again. I asked him instead.
"Dad, can I go with you today?"
He didn't look up from the fly he was tying. He didn't look up to see the disapproving look in my mother's eyes. All he did was nod once and say, "Yes, I guess it's about time you try my religion."
My mother didn't have anything to say to that. She just pursed her lips and went back to getting my little sister's ribbon tied in her hair. I knew she was upset, but I didn't care. I didn't want to go to church today. I didn't want to sit in the pew and hear the same man talk about the same things again. I wanted to understand my father.
I helped my dad carry his equipment to the truck. It made me feel important in a way. I also felt a little out of place. I was so used to wearing my uncomfortable Sunday best on this day of the week. It felt a bit odd to be dressed in my play clothes.
It wasn't long and we were standing at the river together. He hadn't said a word. Once in a while he would whistle through his teeth as he tied a fly to his line. I sat on a rock next to him as he waved the pole over his head and into the water.
It was so still. There was not even a breeze in the air. The water was crystal-like and showed the reflection of the trees like glass. The only motion was my father and his line, and the slight ripple it made in the water. It was quiet. It continued to be this way for some time. Once in a while there would be a slight jerk to his line and he'd reel in a fish just like that. It looked easy enough to me. I could have fallen asleep if the rock I sat upon was more comfortable.
Then after what felt like an hour or so, he turned to me. "Come over here and try this out."
I took a hold of the rod and he showed me how to work it. It seemed easy enough.
Then I felt a little tug and my father told me to start reeling. So I did.
All at once the tension was gone and the line came in quickly.
I'd broken the line.
He told me to be more gentle. He told me that the big fish that bite are going to put up a fight, that I have to be patient and they will get tired before me.
Then he took back the pole.
And I resumed by position on the rock.
What happened next I will never forget. I will forever remember the way it was. There was a tug on his line and away he went. He was in the water! He kept a hold of his pole and started splashing through the water. I didn't understand it. What was he doing? Doesn't that scare the fish away? But there was still tension on his line. He headed down the river and I followed along the bank watching until he came up with a fish the size of his whole arm.
I didn't understand it then, but I never forgot it. Now I understand what made it a religion.
We may fight with things to the point of breaking, but if we have the patience to hold on, if we are gentle and submissive, we will come off conquerer. He had waited for the fish to get tired. He had kept his line from breaking. And he had won.
I didn't go with my father on Sunday again after that. I went back to church as Mother said. But I never forgot the experience and I never will.
"I learn more out there at the water than I ever will from that man's preaching."
I wondered what he meant by that. What could he possibly learn from the river water? All I learned from the river was how to get my shoes dirty and my mother mad. Or perhaps how to catch a frog without his expecting anything.
But still, my father went out every Sunday.
Finally one Sunday I didn't bother asking my mother again. I asked him instead.
"Dad, can I go with you today?"
He didn't look up from the fly he was tying. He didn't look up to see the disapproving look in my mother's eyes. All he did was nod once and say, "Yes, I guess it's about time you try my religion."
My mother didn't have anything to say to that. She just pursed her lips and went back to getting my little sister's ribbon tied in her hair. I knew she was upset, but I didn't care. I didn't want to go to church today. I didn't want to sit in the pew and hear the same man talk about the same things again. I wanted to understand my father.
I helped my dad carry his equipment to the truck. It made me feel important in a way. I also felt a little out of place. I was so used to wearing my uncomfortable Sunday best on this day of the week. It felt a bit odd to be dressed in my play clothes.
It wasn't long and we were standing at the river together. He hadn't said a word. Once in a while he would whistle through his teeth as he tied a fly to his line. I sat on a rock next to him as he waved the pole over his head and into the water.
It was so still. There was not even a breeze in the air. The water was crystal-like and showed the reflection of the trees like glass. The only motion was my father and his line, and the slight ripple it made in the water. It was quiet. It continued to be this way for some time. Once in a while there would be a slight jerk to his line and he'd reel in a fish just like that. It looked easy enough to me. I could have fallen asleep if the rock I sat upon was more comfortable.
Then after what felt like an hour or so, he turned to me. "Come over here and try this out."
I took a hold of the rod and he showed me how to work it. It seemed easy enough.
Then I felt a little tug and my father told me to start reeling. So I did.
All at once the tension was gone and the line came in quickly.
I'd broken the line.
He told me to be more gentle. He told me that the big fish that bite are going to put up a fight, that I have to be patient and they will get tired before me.
Then he took back the pole.
And I resumed by position on the rock.
What happened next I will never forget. I will forever remember the way it was. There was a tug on his line and away he went. He was in the water! He kept a hold of his pole and started splashing through the water. I didn't understand it. What was he doing? Doesn't that scare the fish away? But there was still tension on his line. He headed down the river and I followed along the bank watching until he came up with a fish the size of his whole arm.
I didn't understand it then, but I never forgot it. Now I understand what made it a religion.
We may fight with things to the point of breaking, but if we have the patience to hold on, if we are gentle and submissive, we will come off conquerer. He had waited for the fish to get tired. He had kept his line from breaking. And he had won.
I didn't go with my father on Sunday again after that. I went back to church as Mother said. But I never forgot the experience and I never will.
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