Category Archives: Personal

Filly Ranch with Fleas

I'm a Seahorse

I’m a Seahorse

There are multitudes of angry words corralled behind her tongue

Waiting anxiously to stampede into the unwary ears of the unforgiven wrangler.

He doesn’t suspect that his lasso of rage would harness responsibility for his neglect.

She is unbridled in her disgust.

She halts without warning, veering suddenly towards the truth.

Although she relishes her saddle for its beautifully intricate design,

she bucks in furious battles against the reason it was placed on her back.

The cowboy remains oblivious to the pain of the branding iron

with which he sears her flesh with his signature as proof of his mortality.

The wrangler arrogantly believes he is bigger, better, stronger than she.

But her spirit hasn’t been broken. Her body is faster, smarter;

more adept at navigating the directional and environmental changes he affords.

She is her own shelter, her own stability, while he is self-oppressed at his hearth.

He is completely entranced and entrenched by his campfire of hatred.

It makes him unaware of her riding away at a full gallop into the sunrise of freedom.

Absence of Gram

On March 13th, 1996 at 1:13AM, Beverly Jordan passed from this world through the veil. This is to share and honor her because I have no children of my own to pass these stories down to and someone like her should never be forgotten.

Most people would start a story from the beginning, but I think her ending is by far one of the most incredible stories I’ve ever had the right to witness.

I had been up for a very long time sitting with the Martell’s at the hospital in Grand Haven (could have been Muskegon), Michigan. Gram’s beautiful brown eyes had been glazed with a sheath of white that took her vision from this world and shifted it to the next. Her mouth gaped open as if in astonishment but there were no surprises left. A machine honked and whispered breath to her reminding us all that time was an outlet away.

The newspaper my Grandpa Pat had brought in rested on the arm of the single chair that sat in the corner. I kept watch while the others went to make phone calls, rested, or grabbed some food. I picked up the paper which I read aloud. I listened to the whirs clicking moments away. I said softly after I finished a front page story that seems, even now, to be irrelevant, “Gram, you know I love you so very much. You told me the story of your heart surgery. Do you remember that?” I adjusted my seat. “You told me how you hovered above your body and you talked to God.”

“Gram, you told me that you said to him, “God, if it’s my time to go, that’s fine. I’m ready. But if you have things for me to do, let me get back to it already. I can’t do anything for my family if I’m not here any more. I’ll obey.” Do you remember telling me that story?” I stood up and laid the paper down. I walked over to her bedside and pulled her cold paper hand into my own.

“When I needed you a few months after that, you were there for me. You took me in and sheltered me. You treated me not as if I’d made a mistake but that I’d recover. You wouldn’t allow me to wallow. You gave me my life back. I got to see you in a way I never thought I would be able to because you gave yourself to me as my friend and mentor. I love you so much. But, Gram, if it is your time, it’s okay. We’ll take care of each other as we always do in our own way. Please don’t think that you have to stay if it’s time. It’s okay to let go and rest now.”

My Uncle Jake, never one for sentiment but always down for a cold beer and some good times, slipped into the room as if he’d been eavesdropping. “Ma. She’s right. You’ve done everything you could do. It’s okay. You can go if it’s your time.”

My cousin Neil, Jake’s second son, walked in just then. “Grandma, it’s okay. I won’t forget what you told me. Nobody will. You can go if you need to. You’ll be missed, but we all understand.”

We stood there silently together listening to the voice of the machines holding her spirit in her physical being. The nurse walked in to make adjustments. Jake grabbed her arm lightly and told her that he’d sign the papers to let her go. The nurse finished what she’d came in to do. Jake left with her. Neil started to cry but made no effort to hide nor wipe his tears. We joined together in our private grief not sharing what we both felt.

Everyone gathered together as the doctor came in and with very little ceremony, pulled the plug. The waiting began.

At about 9PM that night, the family dispersed with me drawing the straw to stay the night. With list of phone numbers tucked in my pocket, instructions to call if anything happened, a huge cup of coffee and a book, I sat in the chair while reading aloud. Her heart rate seemed to increase when I read as did her breathing so I continued. After several hours of another lost name, I needed to use the restroom and get a drink. I told her, kissed her cheek and left the room.

As I was returning, the nurse who had been so kind to my family told me that it wouldn’t be long, I should hurry.

As I entered the room alone, I witnessed a gray misty form fill the other side of the room. Being around my Gram, ghost stories were like talking about the weather, they were just accepted as fact. I saw this one. It was a shapeless mass about the size of a very large, although not tall, human. I could make out a head and arms, but nothing distinguishing. It knelt down and came up through my Gram’s body bearing a light that glowed like a shooting star. A sense of profound peace of mind coupled with a deep unending love filled my heart. I knew, at that moment, God existed. I also knew that she’d gone to the next realm. I kissed her forehead, holding my lips there, grasping her lifeless hand while tears fell warm against her cooling skin.

I whispered that I love her then after one more kiss on her forehead, I released my hold on her physical being to make the necessary calls. It was one of the most profound experiences of my life.

Below is a poem I wrote to honor this woman that brought me to a place of safety when I ran from deadly danger. She granted me safe haven from a toxic destructive marriage. She showed me how to rebuild into a bionic mess and how to start all over again no matter what. Although I don’t cry over her every day any more and I rarely go a day without thinking of her, she is always with me because if she weren’t, I couldn’t share this with you.

I'm not sure when this picture was taken of Gram Bev, but it's one of my very favorites.

I’m not sure when this picture was taken of Gram Bev, but it’s one of my very favorites.

My Grandmother, Beverly Jordan, is the one on the far left. She bred, trained and showed dogs for many years.

My Grandmother, Beverly Jordan, is the one on the far left. She bred, trained and showed dogs for many years.

Absence

There are no ballads written of the life she led.

There are no written records of the many things she said.

There are no monuments standing in Michigan’s icy cold.

There are no places left of hers but the marble growing old.

There are no public holidays where the banks close to honor her.

There are no dates filled with activities in her empty calendar; just blurs.

Still in my heart she sings to me of the lifetime that she led

Of the family lore she told to me at the night time tucked in bed

Her picture remains cherished on my dresser in the honorary place

While I dress into the nightgown she left to me while gazing on her face.

Each March 13th I cherish her, each moment with which I was blessed

All these years seems like eternity since I laid her ashes to rest.

I have failed to keep my promise, to take care of my kin and blood

Rejection by their fallacies have damned the emotional flood

With the strength of her character rising deep from my roots

She knows that our family tree bore much rotten fruit

The witness I bear to you is me giving to remember

So that ancestral love will never die, as she has, to an ember.

Winter Daisy

My dear friend Miss Sharon Crane gifted me with a little solar powered daisy that dances in the sunlight. I put it in the window that I stare out when I’m writing. All day long, each time the movement catches my eye, it’s made me smile. I wrote a short little poem about it.

Miss Sharon Crane's gift to me brightened my winter scenery.

Miss Sharon Crane’s gift to me brightened my winter scenery.

A short chess match

Destruction, Chaos, Change

Destruction, Chaos, Change

An imposter has landed

Call out the hounds

Pursue the deception

The betrayal of sounds

Call up the sentries

Alert all the guards

Let not the invader

skulk in our yard.

Silence the voice

their vows are all broken

revile the cursed breath

revere victory spoken

Walkers of the Sky

The Force was strong.

The Force was strong.

The pitch of cloudy moonless nights are harrowing

Despite the switch-back trail chosen to navigate

Maneuvering childish thoughts jagged and narrowing

You said, “Bring the child back home.”

The misty breathy wisdom cites a frightened wraith

With parental patient guidance blessed wisdom

Exhuming trust, from brittle bones, from a wild-haired waif

You said, “Return the child back home.”

With coward’s yellow pungent stench un-protecting

Winter’s breath of springing fallen truths disarming

The summer child sees comfort’s spirit connecting.

You whispered, “You’re safe. Come home.”

Chance of a Lifetime

Live in the now, man.

Live in the now, man.

2015 begins with shouts of “This year it will be different!” “This year I will lose weight!” “This year I will be a better person!” and I sit at my table shaking my head in disbelief. You already have the tools to skip to the good parts. You can already make every change. Right now. Today. Reading this. It’s a matter of putting yourself into uncharted personal territory.

One of my favorite pieces of advice given in a common language is, “Live right now.” It doesn’t take a year to figure out that you’re still going to a job you hate that pays a tolerable salary. It certainly doesn’t change anything when you buy a size larger than you thought you should because that weight has miraculously grown on your buttocks. It doesn’t bode well that you already believe yourself to be a bad person. Shake the dust off your boots and look to the horizon of possibilities that are just outside of the comforting circle you’ve established. This moment is your chance of a lifetime.

Imagine yourself resting in the middle of a circle that is made up like a protective wagon train hunkered down for the night on the Oregon Trail. As you sleep in the comfort of this circle near the campfire that keeps the darkness at bay, you’re surrounded by the security of friends, family, income, a home, food, reliable transportation, hobbies, and the knowledge that you know exactly (more-or-less) what will happen in the morning because every day starts out the same,  progresses the same (twists and turns happen but usually nothing major), and the day will end roughly the same. We feel in control and safe. It becomes, to some, a prison of mundane predictability with no opportunity for progress. The horses are staked, the homestead built, and yet many have not traveled more than twenty miles from their origins.

Outside of that circle of wagons is a vast prairie. The golden grasses of adventure wave with friendly light at the rise of a new breath, a new dawning. Away from that blazing campfire is the cold face of unfamiliar people, confusing ideas, opportunities to explore growth, languages we don’t understand, beliefs that have never been mentioned within our safety circle. There is nothing written in stone even on the distant mountain peaks. But there is much knowledge, many ideas, creative blossoms of ingenuity to be picked from the stems of the wildflowers, the winds of change tickling the skin of those who put up the sail on their wagon to find their own home.

The opportunities to change don’t come once a year. They are always available to you. It’s not weakness to have to keep trying again, it’s weakness to reject an idea without sincere effort. It isn’t easy to unhitch your wagon and move out into the darkened prairie where things get larger than life that seethe with intimidation. It’s instant change. But, just as the original circle brought comfort and safety, so does the place outside the circle if you can learn to trust yourself. If you learn and remember that you really do have the answers even if the outcome isn’t exactly as you’d expected.

You can choose to be anyone you wish to become simply by willing the change. Obviously, this isn’t going to work for every condition. It can’t raise the dead or take back something done/that happened/circumstances, but it can change the attitude with which we are using to deal with the emotional upheavals.

Take the chance by saying “Yes!” to Opportunity:

There are many things that I know how to do because I’ve tried a lot of different things. I can draw, write, paint, organize, create, visualize, produce, etc. But this comes from seeking new opportunities as often as possible. If I don’t change what I’m doing every day while expecting things to change, that’s just insanity according to the quote attributed to Albert Einstein.

Take the chance to say “No!”:

I see many unhappy people saying yes to things they don’t really want to do. They say yes out of some twisted sense of obligation. It can cause them to blow off the people who were depending on them, not completing the tasks they said they’d do, as well as driving away potential for further opportunities. Understand that if you don’t place and maintain your boundaries, you’re not going to find that happiness because resentment will build as fast as that half-hearted yes came out of your mouth. It’s okay to say no if you don’t want to, are already stretched too thin, or hate the idea of yet another meeting.

Take the chance but know that you’re not Atlas:

We are, as a whole, superhero wanna-be’s. We’re told we can have it all. The problem with that is, we’re not Atlas. We can’t balance the weight of the world, or rather our own personal worlds, on our shoulders as well as taking on everyone else’s. If you’re already juggling three balls and someone asks you to take a fourth you have the option to say, “No thanks, I have enough going on in my juggling as it is.” OR you can say, “You know, I think I will try it.” You really have a 50/50 chance of success which increases depending on your experience, knowledge, skill set, and time.

Say Yes to things about which you feel deep passion:

When I joined a church nearly a year ago, I was given the wisdom from one of the elders, “There will be many great things offered for you to do. Only choose those which speak the strongest to your heart and say yes to those. There are enough people to say yes to the rest that you don’t have to say yes to everything.” I realize this contradicts my previous statement about saying yes to opportunity, but it isn’t an opportunity if your heart isn’t willing and open to try it. You have to figure out what truly moves you to action.

Each breath you take is a new opportunity to make better choices. You have that opportunity every moment of every waking day. Be a member of the breathing life, not the stagnant life. No amount of good intentions will ever allow you to move forward if you don’t actively work towards being happy.

As far as the right now, I am not going to make any resolutions unless I can achieve them right now. I think of it as a bit of pocket change. If I can embrace it right this moment, what does tomorrow give me that right now doesn’t? Not a thing. Tomorrow isn’t promised, only this moment as you read this is and does. It’s all we have. Why worry about what we can’t change or dream about what we will do? Right now is the chance of a lifetime.

“Just Do It” –Tagline from Nike ads

“Follow your bliss and the Universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.”–Joseph Campbell, Author of The Power of Myth

“Live in the now, man.”–Garth Algar, Wayne’s World (Dana Carvey)

Release

I hope he never knows the pain he’s gifted me.
I pray that his life turns out better than any of my prayers could be.
My fervent wish from my bended knee
Is that his eyes be opened enough for him to recognize and see.
I hope he never understands an abused and neglected heart
I pray that his life is filled with every color of every art.
My fervent wish although we’re apart
Is that his grays fill in with rainbow light and from darkness he depart.

Falling of the Son

There is no tree bedecked with lights

to push away the coldest nights

There is no ornament in your name to hang

There are no bells, their music to clang

There will be no feast to honor the sun

There will be no hours of festive fun

There will be dust and ashes upon my hearth

With saddened heart absent, a disguise worn of mirth

As the tears refrain down memory lane

with whispers of the joy that remains

etched on the holiday with stains of your haint

re-purposing, recycling you into glorious saint.

I’ll stare out the window to witness the world sing

As I dread your fair haunting that this season brings.