When I was in High School, I had a friend who wrote poems. I liked them, and wished I could put my thoughts and feelings into words like that. I think I am a very slow-maturing person, in the sense that all of these thought-oriented things take a while for me. I am responsible, caring, and stay on the right side of the lines (mostly), so that is not what I mean. I'm not childish or rebellious, I'm talking about development. It took me quite a while to really learn math, although I was a "gifted student", whatever that meant. I've only found any of my real gifts recently. I guess it means that everyone knew I could do better, whereas someone who is already doing well and doing their best is not gifted? This is a stupid way of looking at things.
So I started to do a lot of writing, and eventually started writing poems, which is kind-of a meaningless word, because it's anything except straight prose. Some books are one long poem. Shakespeare's plays are like multi-person poetry expositions, as far as I am concerned. So, we have "that strange and wonderful wound which bleeds, well, poetry." I don't claim to have any ability, and my "thoughts" might still not be what anyone considers mature - I like to listen to Ke$ha and Lady Gaga - but the thoughts are now in words for you. Putting feelings in to words is even more mysterious. Here they are.
(Tues 16 Aug 2011 - 4 pm)
What is this sudden strange feeling that everything will be okay?
Is it something hurtful, trying to lead me astray?
I don't think so. I feel like I'll be able to escape.
Like someone's looking out for me. That I'll be awake,
not caught in the housefire in the middle of the night.
Something alive is looking from behind my eyes.
I know all the comforting voices, saying: keep going today.
I believe them, yet they are not me.
I'm going to keep my own counsel.
When someone says they are here to help, I'll wait,
before believing them.
Even the best-intentioned friend I have, is still
not paddling in the same direction.
Can we keep going together, agree? Or must we go apart alone
into the wilderness?
Must everyone cross the lonesome valley, by themself?
Leave all behind, walking only with God, through the furnace?
What comes out the other side? Will it be me?
Anything I can recognize?
If not, who cares?
If so, why worry?
This is the crossroad of the soul:
The question - do all roads lead to the same end?
Do I really have a choice?
May I not be free then to choose my own path?
Yes. "Gonna be okay."
(Tue 20 Sept 2011 - 4 pm)
Sometimes I know myself well,
And I don't fear.
I know that what I need and
am good at doing
is possible, even if not now,
not in a future I can see.
What is it? Self-confidence?
Confidence means to tell someone a secret,
and know they will keep it.
So I whisper to myself:
I am a good person.
I am strong, even if I
cry, or feel sorry for myself a lot.
I have divine gifts,
even if I can only think of
them as prostitution -
selling myself for others' good.
It doesn't make sense, in words.
But the person I sometimes see
in the mirror, or in my awareness
as I walk, dancing, swaying a bit,
that person knows. They understand me.
So I trust them. I tell the secret
that I keep from everyone else,
and I know she has confidence in me.
Then I feel better about myself,
and I dance more,
and I know that someday,
other people will know and respect me, too.
(Dec 19 2011)
The Big Game
Gotterfunken, I see a tiny piece
of a universe exploding
in the corner of your mouth
when you smile. Yes, there,
you got it with the napkin.
Child of God, what do we grow towards?
Why do we agree to play this silly game?
Are we not more than the sun,
that we see diminished with clouds
in the eastern sky this morning?
Are we not wider than the sky itself?
And yet here we are, playing
hide and seek with our Parent -
when we can get His attention -
and with each other, hidden in
careers, cars, houses...
Watching the skinny models with
sequined wings when we have
wings of our own?
Some day you'll have to explain
this game to me. I can't make sense
of the rules, and the goal is
We had a retreatant, and when he arrived, he had glasses on, and looked small and humble, although he is about my height (tall) and bigger. He reminded me of Clark Kent. The next day, wandering outside, glasses off, he looked like Superman. Then, the last day at breakfast, it was back to Clark Kent. So funny. Why do we do this?
As a child, I couldn't understand the games girls played with dolls, and babies and tea - who teaches them that? - and the boys made no sense to me either! Rough, heedless, blunt, playing with trucks - who cares? - and military things... Where do children get this? Then they grow up to be adults, still doing mysterious things.
I was reading the words to Schillers Ode to Joy, quoted in Beethoven's 9th symphony. Gotterfunken means God-Spark.
(Dec 18 2011)
I wish I had a tail.
The squirrel's head is motionless,
but he rearranges all his feet at once.
The tail ripples like a Conductor's baton.
What imaginary music is he dancing to?
The cat's tail expresses
and question marks reversed -
answers herself? -
as she crunches kibble.
What transcendental principles
is she pondering?
If I was a woman,
I would have a tail,
and men would chase me,
as if I had answers for them.
Now I'm chasing around in a circle,
but my tail has fallen off somewhere.
Somebody pin it back on!