The Dead Among Us

Nobody guards the living dead.

That wander around among us.

We can no longer smell their decay

Or witness their festering pus

The stories you’re told protect you

Against the sacred forever sleep.

Work harder than you need to

Pray your soul for them to keep

I hate mourning the living dead

That can’t remember the words

To the songs that living humans sing

To the tunes of the cawing birds

The crackling fear that reaps us clean

Of dastardly deeds and acts unseen

Retrieves us back from comfort one

At rising dawn or setting sun

I hate that the fear leaves things unsaid

That fear that the coffin will spring open

like a jack-in-the-box’s bouncing head

 scaring the life out of your heart

as it sucks you up in one whole part.

 Yes.

 Nobody guards the living dead.

Ancient Tomes

dustybooksThere is a mummified shroud

unraveling in our spirits
that are delivered with gusts

of gauzy breaths
revealing chapter, verse,

the context and content
of our lives lived
by the turning of our pages
to reveal
the chapters of our hearts
to one another
in labored, birthing, unity.

extend humanity outward
like a library of reciprocal knowledge
donate your gifts to fill your coffers
 
Teach from the trenches

Learn from the quarry
Bloom from the crap
Shine from the darkness

Believe from the silence

Joy from despair

Triumph from resistance

Freedom from oppression

Meaning from Understanding

Wino Confessions

After a bottle of wine I like to confess things to my husband.

I like to tell him of how I felt when I first laid eyes on his face;

how my heart raced, how my eyes teared up, how I forgot to breathe.

I like to tell him how I didn’t want to believe that he existed

because then it would mean I live surreal.

Even now, I feel shy putting this down from my fingertips.

The same fingertips that have traced every inch of his body.

The same fingertips that he’s kissed when I burn them on dinner.

The same fingertips that smooth out his blankets when I make the bed.

The same fingertips that boop his nose to see if it still works. (It does.)

I like to tell him how I’d follow or lead or walk beside him anywhere.

I like to tell him that he’s the funniest man I know,

that he leaves me breathless with laughter and breathless with love.

I like to tell him with great earnestness that he brought me to life

even though I thought I already was, but not in this way. Not in this time.

I would still be me without him, but not the same me I am now.

I’m a better human with him nearby. I’m able to freely explore the world.

After a bottle of wine, I like to confess to my husband; my always, truly.

Lost Sunday

Go away.
He sat in the back seat using his hands as a rosary
praying to holy mother Rosemary his sin not be discovered.
The violation of my air space undetected by his stealth
suddenly had air raid sirens blaring loudly,

“HOW DARE YOU?!” upon my radar screen
while I drove away and prayed the guards were adept.

The old sweater

A sweater should be warm and generous to snuggle safely into when it's chilly.

A sweater should be warm and generous to snuggle safely into when it’s chilly.

 

I loved that sweater.

I adored the warmth and the way it smelled like motherhood.

I loved the softness that it offered, the tenderness of triumphant love

I embraced the patterns, the textures, the shifting colors, the lengthening tide

It was my favorite that I brought out whenever I needed to put on my very best outfit

But I snagged it on a dream that stuck out         from the wall just a little too far, too far.

It kept getting caught every time I’d pass         through that doorway into the other room.

I kept meaning to fix that spot on the wall         but there never seemed to be enough time.

The picture of us at Christmas,

(I was wearing that sweater) hangs askew

with chipped glass over my face

That should be non-glaring, but the faces,

the fake happy faces, glare

back at me ungenerously.

I couldn’t see it then.

The sweater was covering my eyes with promises

of generational family traditions.

I wore the sweater f

a

ith

ful

ly

and wondered why

it kept getting smaller.

Why didn’t it fit any more?

As I look back,

I see the many tangles,

knots,

frays,

and trail offs

of disconnect-

-ed

yards

of

yarn.

I mourn for my favorite sweater.

I loved that sweater.

Everything Will Be Okay

“You are more than a human being, you are a human becoming.” – Ann Harris

I’m not quite certain what’s occurring in my life right now, but there is a major shift happening that I can feel. It’s seeping out of me like a sweaty wall of moisture. My eyes keep staining my cheeks with tears only I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel happy. I don’t feel angry. But yet I’m filled with the emotions that I’m walking through allowing them to be what they are. The shift is occurring. I’m just not sure yet of which direction the Universe is rearranging my path to walk, but I know I have to keep going.

August 17th, 2014 (Church service notes)

I’ve been a bit sad lately because a lot of things have been falling away from me. However, when I arrived this morning and was greeted by the attendees, I felt such a wave of love and peace fill me that I started to leak. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t sad. I was neutral in emotion, but my spirit kept leaking. A tender heart brought tissues to me so I wouldn’t have to use my skirt (we really should put tissues near the hymnals for leaky days), hugs from all my beautiful friends filled me further.

As the service progressed we were asked to close our eyes and lend a bit of spirit to someone making a difficult decision. We were asked to reach our spirits and shine a bit of light into a dark time. I closed my eyes, pushing out my spirit that I visualize like a white fluffy under-a-Christmas-tree skirt. Without warning, I could see.

Flowing out from me like an iridescent white misty cloud, I could see my spirit doing just what was asked of it to do. As each person lent their bit, I could see the colors dancing up like popcorn. Some with sky high flooding spikes of lovely exuberance, others with earthy warmth and compassion appeared in a menagerie that overflowed my spirit again. Not happy, not sad, neutral in emotion but satisfying.

Then the unfortunate story of a horrific attack and the response with love and compassion felt so real, my tears were like blood that wept for the suffering, but healed into tears of courage. It was, again, something I felt, acknowledged, and observed. It felt like picking up an item from a shelf, examining it carefully, feeling the weight of it in my hands and heart before replacing it where it belonged.

After the service, I was approached with the kindest words I needed to hear today. A beautiful, heartfelt thank you from a human woman that made me leak again. I felt, in response to her thoughtfulness, that my grateful heart understood why I am here on this earth. The love and acceptance from her at that moment reminded me that I will be okay. Just like another warm soul who sought me out to tell me that same thing. She said, “You will get through this and you will be okay.” Completely unsolicited and yet, so absolutely necessary for me to hear. I felt comfort. I felt at home. I felt like I belonged which, for someone like me, a rather rare occurrence is.

During the course of the conversation with yet another friend, I realized that life goes on and things happen. Some things we can control, others we can watch, and others are so far out there they seem like the Twilight Zone, but despite the situation, with a bit of hope and a lot of determination, we will get through it. We will be okay.

I’m at the halfway point in between services and I’m still feeling rather neutral in emotion. Sad a bit. Happy a bit. Not numb because I can still enjoy what is happening around me, not detached because I’m still engaged in my conversations, just…neutral.

As I started this article which, truthfully is part rehashed, I know that the same shift that directed me to attend this church in the first place is shifting me again. I’m being guided with a firm “hand.” I don’t feel fear or confusion, just uncertainty. I’ll heed the warnings and the omens I’m shown because my intuition has never once misguided me. I don’t need to understand the whole picture when my eyes are clouded with the mundane. I just need to put one foot in front of the other and believe that when I reach the next rest area (man do I need to go!) it will be as I’ve been told, okay.

Trusting yourself is not always easy, but it’s the best way I’ve learned to continue the path to being a human becoming. What a glorious phrase that is. Let’s just breathe and trust that we’re following the right path. If we feel afraid, that’s okay. If we feel sad, that’s okay too. Just do something. Breathe. Live. Act.