echo ~

11 Monday Aug 2014

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling

Tags

becoming, connection, conscious consciousness, death, destiny, dreams, faith, family, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, love, memory, old maps, passion, reason, spirit, story, strength, truth, value, wandering, wisdom, wonder

what closed to my eyes
the certain return
of all I have given –
all I have known
is kept in this endless
cavern of heart
where night never fades
without promise of light
to shine on the writing
the carving of names
held into place
by speaking aloud
of those who are gone
but honor me still
as an echo of some
intangible proof
seasons and who needs
a reason to keep
what became of a story
written of me

. . .

every only time ~

04 Monday Aug 2014

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

becoming, breath, cherokee, conscious consciousness, death, destiny, dreams, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, passion, poetry, reason, restless, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, wandering, wisdom, wonder

sometimes
i can’t help wonder
when the night is pulled around
how much of me is missing –
lives in moments
you have kept
as verses from the message
lines deprived of rhyme
backward now
erasing me –
from every only time

were holding
all that mattered –
might i find you yet again
pressed into forever by the light
waiting as it seemed
for moments i was meant
favored by the universe
carried by the wind
miles from where we started
are places i belong
no different than curses
to the bark
day returns
a story to begin

a far off place
of none compared
remains of secrets traded there
echoes worn to silence
poetry and smoke
are memorized
and written down
as proof of something more
come for me
as once the night awoke
to fnd us gone
remembering
where stars are watching still
forsaken not the promise
never spoke

. . .

just the way ~

31 Thursday Jul 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

becoming, bone cave, breath, cedar grove, destiny, faith, family, fearless, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, old maps, passion, postmark, reason, southern, spirit, spirituality, touch, truth, understanding, value, wisdom

papa thought
the path was long
but didn’t mind the walking
was just the way
he told the story
mine

of skies
where only wing’eds sailed
heights too much
for man
lands beyond
a destiny
imagined us become

a house
and forty acres
was someone left
to grieve
hands were folded
doors unlatched
always

clean enough
for supper
sunday
as talk where silence lay
nestled in the arms
of everything

something there ~

28 Monday Jul 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

awakened, becoming, bliss, cherokee, connection, conscious consciousness, death, destiny, faith, family, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, love, memory, nature, passion, reason, spirit, spirituality, strength, truth, understanding, wandering, wisdom, wonder

was there ever
here before
some refrain of yesterday –
a flame
beyond the dark
to lure us home
a story left
for making sense
as want for one last time
a fate designed by more
than wishful thinking

a stand of pines
a bed of dreams –
between
beyond the river
is something there
reminding us
of ways by which we came
to find the truth
was bound to us
always

for reasons
I dare not explain
life implores the soul –
begin
fading tender graces
older scars
are weaved into the making
of all we’re come
to be

lines are crossed
into the light
again

. . .

starting over ~

28 Monday Jul 2014

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

becoming, bliss, breath, connection, conscious consciousness, dreams, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, home, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, nature, old maps, passion, resurrection, soul, spirit, truth, understanding, wandering, wisdom, wonder

the morning sun
is burned into these places
I am found
as fleeting was your memory
of when
and how it was
I knew of you –
the same as times before
from the start
of starting over
was a kiss
without a name

. . .

drifter ~

27 Sunday Jul 2014

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

becoming, bliss, cherokee, connection, conscious consciousness, destiny, dreams, fearless, grace, knowledge, life, love, old maps, passion, poetry, restless, resurrection, self, spirit, truth, understanding, wandering, wisdom, wonder

of this soul
how much is known
of loves beyond
remember

a diamond sky
and buried stones
exists of all
I am

I knew before
tho I can’t say
what of when
I wandered

of nights into you
falling
as the first

of ancient
lights
above the path
familiar unfamiliar

before the fathers
gave of breath
a name

. . .

a place I keep ~

21 Monday Jul 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Rambling

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

cherokee, connection, conscious consciousness, dreams, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, letting go, life, living, love, memory, old maps, passion, postmark, reason, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, value, wisdom

Many years ago, my Christmas holiday was interrupted by a ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ experience. On Christmas eve, I was called to assist with the birth of a calf. The mother was down, and the calf was breech. A cesarean was needed to save the life of both the calf and mother. Once an animal ‘gets down’, time is of the essence.

But this writing isn’t about time, or about calves. It is instead about something else I learned that night. I suppose I was naïve in thinking the human body is more like the board used when playing ‘Operation’ than it is a sack of potatoes. I expected everything to have its designated place, and that is true but only in a very general sense.

In order to get to the baby, we had to do a lot of moving of other things. Imagine a tub full of water balloons in various sizes, and you’ll understand what I mean. Anyone familiar with this would understand how a baby has room to grow; how a tumor has room to grow.

The body is an amazing thing in this way, and in some ways, the heart is the same. I’m not talking about the physical heart (the viscero) but rather the center, where our deepest feelings are stored. It is much like to the cigar box I had when I was young. It held my treasure, and I’m fairly certain that someone looking in that box could tell what mattered to me, could formulate some version of my story. The heart is just that, an accumulation of thoughts, emotion and feeling. And like the body, the heart is able to always make room for more.

As much as I love, I’m confident that I cannot ever be loved-up, to the point where I can’t love any more. It is my belief that the more you love, the more you love, such that the heart is forever growing larger.

But the heart can hold more than just love and pleasant memories. It can harbor bitterness, regret, resentment, and hate. In some ways, these things do to the heart what a tumor does to the body. They don’t really belong, but the heart makes room for them.

And the heart carries them. I imagine the lightness of love and kindness, and how much bitterness and regret must weigh in comparison. Forgiveness, when given, surely has almost no weight at all, but carried too long (held back), it becomes heavier and heavier, weighing us down. Like a tumor, it poisons everything we know, taking more and more of our joys, our happiness, our dreams.

Imagine my cigar box. If I insisted on keeping every rock thrown at me, in no time at all, there’d be no room for feathers.

of all I have
my joys to keep
the first to kiss
my last
a jar of jam
a house my father owned
make my bed
of feathers cast aside
by downy flight
draw my bath
from rivers
nearly gone

. . .

the good silver ~

17 Thursday Jul 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Rambling

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

bliss, closer now to heaven than the stars, conscious consciousness, faith, family, fearless, grace, gravel roads, home, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, old maps, passion, reason, relationship, southern, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, value, wealth, wisdom

Not long ago, I was talking to someone who was considering a move. Eventually the conversation circled to a subject I was trying to avoid – a wondering about ‘where are you going to put all your stuff?’ The person I was talking with is from a different generation, one accustomed to formal living and dining rooms (a piano nobody played). The thought of moving from a house to apartment was agonizing for her, but my gut can’t help but wonder, ‘if you aren’t using two of the rooms you have now, how much will it really hurt? Maybe someone will actually sit on that twenty year old sofa.’ 😉

But it got me to thinking (as I surely do) about the things we keep, and how tightly we wind ourselves with preconceived notions of what is right, wrong, or remotely acceptable.

Last year, a friend asked, ‘what color are your dishes?’ I think she was wanting to embroider some dishtowels for me, or something similar. My response likely caught her by surprise, ‘it depends on which one is on top’. Matching dishes seems as logical as ‘the good silver’ or ‘the guest towels’. If you need a towel, take whatever you’d like. My personal favorite is one I took from the Embassy Suites in Boston some fifteen years ago. What matters to me is that I like it. Coffee cups? I have a few that match (in case anyone who is into that type of stuff comes by), but generally, I have a shelf of my favorites. One of the things that makes them such is the fact that they don’t match.

One has been cracked and put back together almost as many times as I have.

I can’t believe we need that many rules to live. In fact, if we love, I’m convinced the rest somehow works itself out.

I sometimes drive with the windows down (even in winter), and I love pepper on cantaloupe. I don’t wear white sandals (before or after Easter), and can’t recall ever a time I bought shoes to match a dress. Barefoot seems to work with almost everything I love, and if it doesn’t, well, I have no problem figuring out which feels the most right.

In fact, I’m hoping to get rid of a few suits in my closet this weekend. It’s possible I might need them again, but I’m more concerned that some well-meaning soul will bury me in one someday.

My students worry over whether it’s best to have a two page or a three page resume. The answer isn’t so hard – whatever works. The same goes for our lives. I find it funny that most people gum up their lives with concern over what to serve for dinner, rather than an understanding that it is quite possibly the least important thing. To be honest, some of the best meals I’ve had were sitting on the back tailgate of a pick-up truck, or pulled from a wire coat hanger hung over a roaring fire. The rules for decorum and style were the absolute last thing considered.

The rich never had it so sweet.

As with all of my ‘best’ memories and moments, there’s one common theme – love. When love was/is the most important thing, I’m most comfortable, even if means trading fine linens for cheap paper towels. Maybe (for me), truth resides in something far deeper than pockets.

Along the same lines, I’ll readily admit that I’m a less than perfect housekeeper. But if someone is visiting to see my house, I’d prefer they be so offended they never return. If there are crumbs on the counter, I’ve found an amazing remedy – turn off the lights and go to the porch.

There’s always room for the stars.

. . .

of ways I’ve known
worn down by years –
and promises of time
to bring me home
the long way back –
don’t need a map to know

the cool of dirt
beneath my feet –
rains to wash me clean
night birds sing to silence
swells beneath
the bone

. . .

ragged edges ~

11 Friday Jul 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Rambling

≈ 31 Comments

Tags

acceptance, beauty, becoming, conscious consciousness, destiny, faith, family, fearless, forgiveness, grace, knowledge, life, living, love, memory, old maps, passion, reason, spirit, spirituality, strength, truth, understanding, wandering, wisdom

This past week, I was pulled into a conversation quite by accident. I was on my way to the break room by way of the conference area where others were having lunch – mostly women, mostly young. The conversation was on soul mates. Now, my thoughts on that are likely light years from the opinions being shared in that room, and my first instinct was to walk faster. It didn’t work…

Eventually, the conversation turned to something broader – the idea of perfection. Surely you see how the concept of soul mates, would imply for many, an ideal relationship of ideal persons. And yet, how can it be when we are imperfect in almost every way?

I don’t know about you, but I’m happy to be imperfect. Maybe it’s related to getting older, but there is nothing remotely attractive about perfection. I don’t want to be it, achieve it, advise on the process of achieving it, much less sleep with it. If we arrive at a notion that we are without flaw, then what purpose living? How can we hope to learn something new, to grow from the place where a scar used to be?

“The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.”

Maybe we would do good to focus more on the fact that we are perfect. No, I didn’t change channels on you. This – the beautiful paradox. Even though I have no desire to be perfect, another voice tells me that I am already for I am perfectly ‘me’. This combination of flaws, scars, mistakes, wrong turns, and near misses – it is the formula that got me here. Were it not for the way I came, could I be who I am? Every experience, every burden is for a reason – anticipation for a future beyond our ability to see.

We only have to begin. In my harshest seasons, I’ve returned from the colorless world of heartache by forcing myself to look hard, for a long time, at a single wondrous thing – the crimson umbrella of a weeping plum outside my bedroom window, family around a table holding hands (my hands), the ghost that haunts the surface of the moon.

I’ve become an expert at learning to be in love with my life again. Like a stroke survivor relearning to walk, I have taught myself joy, over and over again.

Soul mates? Aren’t we all – in some form or another? We are tied together by invisible thread, part of an amazing tapestry of other imperfect (perfect) beings. Our purpose, our joy is in allowing those we love to be perfectly (imperfectly) themselves, without the need to make them the same as we are. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love our reflection in them. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you don’t love someone because they’re perfect, but rather in spite of the fact that they’re not.

Anyone can love someone ‘because’. That’s as easy as folding down a page, or pushing a stray hair behind your ear. But to have love ‘despite’ – to know the flaws and love them as well. That is rare and pure and yeah, that’s perfect.

“We laugh and laugh, and nothing can ever be sad, no one can be lost, or dead, or far away: right now we are here, and nothing can mar our perfection, or steal the joy of this perfect moment.”

I am grateful to be always a work in progress.

. . .