We can take a journey together to a place made for you and me.

If you just take my hand to walk along, I’ll show you where we’re free.

I will show you lilly white rapids dancing within the giggling stream.

I will show you cotton candy pink grasses in the fields of my dream.

We can traipse along the path that’s as peaceful as it is still.

We can sit and stare for hours from our cushioned window sill.

Let us parade through oceans of happiness, gleaming under the moon,

while our skin becomes a canvas painted by a singer’s croon.

Let us rush to embrace the love that is found within us all

Come and take my hand, let us heed the worthy call.

Take my hand! Take my hand! Let us go together to the promised land!

When did I become your enemy?

How did I become your foe?

Why is all the violence the next big show?

We used to call each other neighbor,

helped when things got tough,

but now we’re aiming at one another

with angry words all rough.

Haven’t we done this too often?

Blaming everyone else for their sins?

As if we had the straightline to go

judging them  again.

But as I recall, a homeless jewish man

gave only two things to do

Love God above all others

and love others like you do you.

When did that message get lost?

How did we dig so deep into despair?

When we all bleed red like our sisters do

Are we too far gone to repair?

It’s time to dust off the LOVE

that’s been hidden in the wood

Allow holiness from above

to return our hearts to good.

I’ve been experiencing significant losses in my life recently. But with limited friends near where I live, I have no idea how to find new ones when all I have to talk about is my best friend that died in my house or my cancer ridden little dog who is about to cross the rainbow bridge. It’s not all I think about, but it is the most prominent feature of my vocabulary because the losses are quite recent.

What I find most disturbing is that I feel like I should be “over” my best friend dying. I knew her for 37 years. We lived together for about 27 of those. She knew me better than anyone else on the planet. She knew my secrets and kept them to her dying day. She was my memory because when I suffered so much trauma as a kid, I didn’t remember much. She kept track of my life. I loved her truly and deeply. And although not my blood, my sister, died at 50.

My 95 year old friend, Miss Marge said that “Grief is just love with nowhere to go.” A random chaplain I saw at the hospital while waiting for Bean’s sister to arrive said, “Maybe you were the face of God she needed to see before she could find peace.” My mom said, “Grieve because you love so deeply.” All comforting words that help me feel a bit better.

Last year I lost so many people I thought it was somehow a cosmic joke. Like the Universe was declaring war on me but kept missing. Side note: I told my former pastor that he helped me not be mad at God anymore, but now I’m pretty pissed off again. This year has been deeply profound losses. So much so that I have pondered whether it’s even worth it to keep trying.

As a society we’re not allowed to take our time and grieve. On the day my friend died I still went to work. I didn’t take time off. I can’t afford to. I told anyone I talked to about her death. I just wanted people to know that an extraordinary person in my life was gone. That a light had gone out in this world and I couldn’t see hope. 

I’ve been given the platitudes and every one makes me feel like hurting the concerned person. I know they mean well. I know they aren’t trying to belittle my suffering, but for now, and for a while, just let me grieve. I don’t need to be fixed. I’m not broken. I’m human. I’ve lost someones I loved dearly. 

I try to shuffle what I feel under the rug because I don’t want to be a burden to anyone. I don’t want them to worry if I don’t get out of bed for days (I’m not counting the 18 hours). I don’t want to feel the rejection of my feelings as they talk about their lives and what they’re dealing with. I’m barely hanging on here. 

I cry when I eat dinner. I cry when I lay in bed. I cry when I look at my little dog and know I have to let her go. I cry when I shower. I cry at the news. I cry because for the first time in a long time, when she moved in, I felt happy. I felt like I had a piece of my heart back. I felt like I was on top of the world. And now…all I do is cry because I miss her so much.

I’m sorry this is so morose, but it is a conglomeration of my grief, my attempts to deal with it, the experience of my loss. It feels like I’m missing a large chunk of who I was because I lost my memory. I lost my secret keeper. I lost my childhood connection to hope.

I went to a meeting today. The meeting was filled with women from 29 to over 60. There was one man in attendance. We sat in a crowded room filled with false hopes and diminishing resources trying to find the solution for funding the programs that help the impoverished in our neighborhoods and communities and the county at large.

While I sat there listening to the stories of unnamed clients going without it saddened my heart that so many people in my community, where I live showed a reflection of poverty to me. With a funding cut of over $13,000 that could be used to lift our people, my people, up in this world, there seemed to be an air of discouraged hope, but hope nonetheless.

But hearing that my neighbors were going without, made me think that if the weight of their care lay in the communities where we lived, we could do so much more. And even with that realization that we’ve become so disconnected from one another, so caught up in our own daily lives that we no longer take that time to breathe life into the very neighborhoods in which we come home to.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I hated that I felt out of place in wanting my people, your people, their people, our people to feel the love of community. The feeling of unity left in the gravel roads of unkempt, overgrown, weeded horrors that grow the mold of fruitless living inspired by poverty to excuse our dismissal of their humanity. The refusal to understand that the human life we live, they live, I live is not transcendent in the sense that when that next meal becomes a harboring of resentment against full refrigerators, cupboards, and pantry’s and the only thing to eat in the house is Ramen noodles, hot dogs, or macaroni and cheese again because that’s all there is. Why?

Understanding the problem is not the issue. Believing that a change can be made is not the issue. It’s the hands that we have as a people that are the issue. The hands that turn away our brothers and sisters from their basic needs being met. It’s the hands that raise up against social programs that benefit our communities by raising children who don’t have to worry if they can eat more than subsidized school lunches while surviving the summers with hopes that someone will see their condition but praying against all hope they don’t.

I believe in Love Thy Neighbor. I believe that love brings a meal over to the ailing neighbor. I believe that love brings resources into the places where we live and blooms them into a sense of hope and belonging. I believe that loving thy neighbor is more than just a Bible verse, but the very act of using our hands to bring goodwill, food, clothing, and hope to everyone.

Who am I to call someone else lazy? Who am I to look down my nose because you lost your job and can’t support your family right now? Who am I to cast that first stone against your situation when my own cupboards barely keep my family fed. I am nobody to judge anybody for their situation. I don’t have nor would I want that power. Instead, I propose a radical change with our hands.

Use those hands to feed the hungry. Use your hands to help an elderly neighbor do their yard work. Use those hands to comfort a new mother who is overwhelmed with the responsibility. Use those hands to drive a neighbor to the store when they need it. Use those hands to call in reinforcements when the battles get to long and hard and your people, your neighbors, our communities are falling to violence. Use those hands to reach out to one another in kindness and compassion.

Their story doesn’t have to match your experience. Their beliefs don’t have to match yours. Their choices are not a reflection of you, but they are the faces of the people you live among. They are your geographical tribe by need, necessity, or choice. Every one of these people, in all their humanity, with all of their faults and triumphs is a reflection of yourself. Reach out to your people with those hands who have held them with disdain and judgment. Remove the faulty assumptions and listen to the words they speak for they may teach you compassion, kindness, or the sincerest of needs and desires that you may have the gifts to fulfill.

Love Thy Neighbor. That’s what I believe in without question.

#theanjananetwork, #goddesswisdom