Distraction


Tis the season for jing a ling and tra la la. Lots of shopping and running around. Too much Christmas music, tinsel and glitter or gathering for Hanukkah gelt and food of all kinds. Or whatever your holiday is, this is the time of year for…well, distraction.

Many of us may find much of this holiday season annoying: too much traffic, too many crowds, too much stuff and just plain too much consumerism. The holidays seem to have gotten away (in most cases) from what they were really supposed to mean and what all the symbols are meant to represent. I bet in many cases folks don’t know anymore. It’s just become: buy, buy, buy and rush, rush, rush and what’s on sale. They may know the basics, but unless you are deeply entrenched within your religious community, it’s all just Hallmark nonsense.

It’s exhausting and sad and often stressful.

But this was the first year I had an insight to it all.  Because the world has become such a harsh place and each year it only seems to get worse, maybe we all need this nonsense. Between the natural disasters and man-made horrors of the world, I truly believe we all suffer, on some deep level, from a global/connected/deep-seeded depression. Most of the time when we tune into what ever we tune into (our preferred media source), it’s some new calamity bombarding us. All year-long we must endure hearing about our fellow humans suffer, or our planet dying or animals being exterminated. It’s a wonder any of us get out of bed at all.

And then, along comes the holidays. Time for our own little fantasy world of tinsel and glitter, pretty lights and toys. And even magic and a crazy man, elves and reindeer bringing happiness to the whole world. And even if you don’t celebrate Christmas, you may still have your own holiday celebration within your own religious belief; one that brings your family together, one where you can remember better times and get time off from work.

All these holidays have one thing in common: they help us remember our past, not only our personal one when we were young and things were simpler and maybe happier; but our human past. That’s why they were celebrated in the first place; to acknowledge an important event in history.

And the days when many of us are celebrating our respective holidays on those special days specifically set aside for these historic days from our past, we are not thinking about all the terrible things going on presently that usually occupy our minds. This may be the most important gift of all.

For those precious moments at least, we can let our hearts and souls fill instead with the sounds of our families, children and homes (after the rush and stress have died down). The smells of cooking, the visits from those we haven’t seen, the familiar decorations all give a sense of well-being and safety. These feelings may be rare for us these days. So we lap it up in the swell of the holiday tide. This is the part we take for granted, the feelings, but this is the part of life we are missing every day in this painful world. This is what the holiday season gives us.  Positive feelings.

So, for the first time in many years, I say: go ahead and enjoy. Play the incessant Christmas music. I get all the lights and sparkly stuff.  Sure, I would still rather people not buy so much ‘stuff’ because it’s not good for the world, but I do understand better why they do…it’s for the feelings they produce. But mostly, I just understand the whole ‘thing’ of the holidays more this year: instead of global depression, it’s global jublilation.

Maybe that’s why they call it a magical time of year.

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Poem: To Those I Know By Heart


People are songs

melodic magicians

who orchestrate the chorus

of our hymnal life

Some drift out

in random times

where their notes are left

to dissipate

within the holy air

Others repeat over and over

stuck in the groove

the turning wheel

of fate

which plays endlessly

on and on

And there are those that

blast

loudly around our bones

only to shake us down

to listen for them

alone

quietly in the descending night

But

the ones that hum within us

and weave gently around our key

are easy familiar tunes

we will always

know by heart

Poem Art: The Sentry


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Years of giving

torn from the skinned Birch

to carry others

across rushing waters

while naked the Tree remains

rooted

watching

as the world walks away

Not listening

to the endless clawing on Jesus arms

the sucking tendrils

that have grown up

twisting themselves around

the age-old rings of Her heart

Move on! Move on!

whispering through the thousand hands

waving goodbyes to those

that left her standing

still

and siphoning life from

dirty earth thrown down

around Her

Immobile

a sentry seasoned with sight

the beacon to set others

on their way

But forever bound and grounded

in the place she chose

to be born

 

 

 

Hidey Hole


We are all looking for our own paradise:

  • Heaven
  • Money
  • Love
  • Success 
  • Beauty 
  • Fame
  • Security 
  • Happiness 

    Maybe though, it’s really just hidden away in some hidey hole within us. 

    Maybe paradise is very small and very quiet. 

    Maybe we’ve been carrying it the whole time.

    And maybe it’s time to whisper hello to it so it can creep out and whisper back. 

    Just Right


    “In the right place, under the right conditions, you can finally stretch out into what you are supposed to be. ” — Lab Girl by Hope Jahren

     

    How long do we wait for the right place and the right conditions? It may seem to some of us that we take a long time to stretch out; that we spend much of our lives contorted and bursting apart just to come together again. I have.

    The right conditions seem to involve some sort of special magic; a particular brew that mixes together to concoct the spell where the microcosm in which we move feels easy and the skin that we wear no longer needs tailoring.

    Some folks that we meet seem to have been born with this magic as they whirl around with the twinkling Universe hovering nearby. But most of us aren’t so lucky. Some of us seek it, but I see now this maybe isn’t how it works. It may be more like how a seed turns into a tree. It’s just dumb luck. It just waits encased in its shell until all the conditions are perfect and then bursts forth into the world.

    But most don’t get this far.

    Maybe I’ve just tried too hard to make everything happen. Can I be more like that seed? Just quietly sitting on the forest floor gathering the magic conditions to crack me open. Will I be one of the lucky ones?

    And once I am that wonderful entity, crawling with life and fluttering with each breath of wind, my roots firmly reaching in all directions: then I will know I am who I am supposed to be.

    Poem: So Real


    Walking imagined 

    in paradise lands

    of well dreamed corridors 

    where truths are revealed 

    and grandiose bed fellows 

    are ready to woo

    with long wished word songs 

    given as tender 

    Where do they lead

    these grasped at beauties

    created and carved 

    from the stone cold wanting 

    The touch of their colors 

    and scent through the soul

    is so real

    so real 

    Living in drifts 

    floating beyond 

    It is Paradise 

    Paradise 

    and it is so real

    Duck Rap


    There are days where it seems obvious when the universe is speaking directly to us. There may be crazy things like a bird flying into our head,  which happened twice to my friend recently when a crow dive bombed him. Or maybe a group of ducks just walks right up as though you are a member of the family. No fear, just friendly carousing. 

    Maybe it’s the fact, try as I might to apply for jobs, nothing is happening. 

    I’d like to believe that instead of it being for the wrong reasons, there might be a more important one. And that these odd occurrences have significance beyond nature having fun. 

    It could be a wake-up call to pay attention to things we’ve ignored. A rap on the head as a reminder or the group surrounding you if only you take the time to stop.

    The universe provides plenty of advice, it’s simply up to us to listen.