Dusk ‘Til Dawn

Beauty of clouds on canvas climb
Reaching heights of pictured time

Wind sweeping o’er the moor
Heath and briar my bedtime floor

Among the blades, I find my rest
Pillows made from flowers pressed

Comforting sighs of water’s move
Birds sing of what night will prove

Promise of peace, darkness comes
Laid out like a beautiful line of crumbs

Finding your way doesn’t mean your lost
Flowing rivers are meant to be crossed

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Born Naked

Born naked
And die alone
Those two things
Done all on your own

No hand to  hold
No face to trust
Simply do and die
Two things we must

So if we’re assured
Of only two things
Bloody birth
And a pair of angel’s wings

Why not try
In every single way
To pull down dreams
And author our play

Why live in fear
Be brave, hold fast
If you leave it for tomorrow
Today won’t last

Being born and dying
Are already done
What comes between
Is the race to run

Keep running.

Grow

If you want to change the world
You have to open your eyes
Take a good, long look in the mirror
And start with those well-told lies

If Life isn’t what you hoped it would be
Simply start again
Cut down the dark, jumbled jungle of Past
And let rain remove the pain

To see new sprouting bits of promise
It may take a moment to flourish
Don’t lose heart or faith
In time, your garden will astonish

Keep your soil watered and clear
The dawn is coming soon
Just wait for the sun to rise
And witness all your flowers in bloom

Uncharted Sea

2 Timothy 1:7

For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love and self-discipline.

Find what it is, or where it is, that you should be and live with fervor for God Almighty. There’s no time to do less than that.


If God is the wave
And we are the ocean
Let Him move us along
With faithful devotion

Water is deep and still until
It is acted upon by wind
It doesn’t fear, but simply responds
And that’s where living begins

You may be carried far
Be brave and take the blows
Hold on for the ride of your life
Allow the highs and lows

If you can’t raise your anchor and sails
If you can’t submit to Force
You can’t gain new ground
Without trusting the course

If you have faith in God
Look to the stars for hope and relief
You’ll be amazed at the treasures you’ll find
In sailing beyond the reef.

 

Christ=Love

Philippians 1:9-10 NIV

And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, 10 so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ,


So our love may abound.

That’s not a selfish love for ourselves. That is love for our neighbor. Fellow man, global partner, friend, boss, co-worker, passerby, merchant, customer, homeless man on the street.

Do u think if you knew why a person was a jerk that you could love them more? If you knew why a man was homeless could you hold his hand? Offer him food? Wash his feet? If you heard his story, could you see his heart?

Our depth of insight is shallow. We don’t care why someone takes advantage of us, we just know that we have to fight for our rights! That is the American way. We were founded on this principle.

The knowledge Christ gives us of human relationship is deep and unending. And Christ asks us to overlook our rights to reach the heart of man. He forfeited his rights on the cross to reach us. Right?


I saw a man on the street holding a sign this week as I made my way to the hospital to drop off my collected labs.

AMERICA NEEDS JESUS CHRIST

We surely do. We need Christ. Christ=Love. Love=Unconditional care. Amen, Brother.

December 11th, 1992

The day I lost my dad.


I am kneeling beside my father. He’s dead.

I look at him for a long time. I’ve never seen a dead body before.

I want to memorize his face and hands before he is in the ground.

His mouth is open. His eyes are fixed and wide. He is frozen with a look of surprise. I reach out to touch the back of his neck. My fingers barely land when I feel the prickle of shorn hair and cold, firm flesh.

I immediately withdraw my hand.

I am devastated that he’s gone. I never thought I would feel bad on this day.

My face is numb and tight from the departed tears that I didn’t bother to stop, catch or dry.

His hair is stiff and sharp. It’s cut so close and damaged from the radiation. It’s seems almost burnt.

His nose is pronounced and pointed. When he was healthy, it was round and red, but he’s lost so much weight. It’s chiseled bare.

His cheeks are waxy melting mounds. Smooth and brown.

His hands are large; dangerous. They are still, yet frightening. The monster strength is gone, but they summon the fear of what was possible, what was done.

He is a mechanic. But he has the cleanest, longest nails I’ve ever seen on a man. The palms are soft and tender, amazingly so.

My hands are close to his. The backs of my hands are rough, pale and dry. White with flakes. My nails are short and torn. Red and sore like my eyes.

I can sense that whatever lights the eye and warms the blood is gone from him. There is no recognition, not even a grimace.

His spirit has sighed away and what is left is just a heap of tumors, bones and bile. He will never talk, kiss, threaten, smoke, curse, drink, hit, hate, love, work, sacrifice, shame or wrestle on this earth again. He can’t hurt any more, but he also can’t fix a thing.

I have lost him. I. Am. Lost.

Rag Wreath

So I posted a pic a coupla weeks ago of my rag wreath. But here’s the wreath with accents!

wreath.jpgWe finally made some flowers for it! I love it. My daughter did the transparent white dahlia. I think she nailed it. Beautiful! Then I hung a pretty butterfly pendant necklace in the middle.

We used things we already had to embellish. A hair bow, old silk flower, brown paper dahlia that I made, some mismatch buttons/beads and some fabric I gathered into a flower. Done!

Love! Very fall-like to me. 🙂 Very shabby chic.

So Fracking Philosophical at 8 AM EST–Sorry

Christian or not, until we submit to the Power that created us, Universe or God (as long as we struggle against the nature of things?) we will only know strife and pain. If we submit to the higher power of God/Nature, we will become one with the everlasting.

Experience true peace and happiness.

To try and control that which we do not understand will bring inconsolable sadness and eternal, unquenchable desire.

It is futile to rail against the inevitable in pursuit of the inconsequential.

To misinterpret is human. To understand is divine.

We must embrace the overwhelming power of Creator and become Creature. It’s the difference between Heaven and Hell. And the difference between Languidness and Transcendence.

Radio(active) Disney

First, I’m sorry. I’m about to attack Disney and I understand–for some? That’s like burning the flag.

But what’s the deal with Disney cranking out prostitutes at their whore factory?

Britney Spears. Christina Aguilera. Selena Gomez. Bella Thorne. Miley Cyrus. Lindsay Lohan. Ryan Gosling! (JK)

I shouldn’t say prostitutes. That sounds judgmental. But why, in Walt’s name, do all (or alot) of ex-Disney princesses go from Snow White to Toxic Tinkerbell?

This has bothered me for some time. What happens to these preteen pop stars? Too much pressure? Backlash from some secret Disney purity pact? An attempt to tarnish their goody-two-shoes act? What in the wide world of Disney is happening???

Disney,
Whatever you’re doing, stop! Please. For the sake of Disney and all that is holy, stop.

If you doubt me, all you have to do is Google any of the above names and you’ll see the very un-Disney images that pop up.

Am I too old to understand?

I don’t mean to blaspheme the Mouse, but I just wish Disney was what I thought Walt wanted it to be. We’re both Kansas Citians and we both went bankrupt. I live in Florida now. I grew up on Disney. I thought he was a kind, decent man, always telling a story of hope, purity, nobility and modesty. And I just wonder what he would think about his pop princesses these days.

This is just my opinion!

Go With the Flow

My dad was dying. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was would be gone within two months. He had end-stage lung cancer and could no longer drive. So I had to cart him around. Which he hated. So did I.

He’d lost all autonomy and that was hard for him. A fiercely independent, strongly opinionated man. He couldn’t even decide to go home from the hospital at his leisure. He wanted to die in his own bed. He finally got his wish.

One day, we were taking the interstate home and I was dutifully going the speed limit. I was afraid if I went over the limit, Dad would say something. Criticize me. He did anyway.

“You need to speed up. Move with the traffic.”

At the time, I was extremely annoyed, but all I could mumble was, “Sorry.” And I put the pedal to the floor.

There, Old Man.

“Why do you have to find fault with me in everything I do?” I wondered.

Too fast, too slow. Too lazy. Too everything you think I shouldn’t be. But your sick. So I’ll just keep quiet and take it.

But today, when I remembered his nudge (I still think about and remember these things, ugh), I thought, “Thanks, Dad. Good advice.”

I drive for a living now. All I have is time in the car to think about things, past and present. Too much time, perhaps. It’s like all the thoughts you ever have when you’re working out and in the zone.

I’m a very good driver. I pay attention and know a thing or two about cars, thanks to my father. He was a mechanic by trade. He taught me how to take care of a vehicle, inside and out, and how to drive one.

I know why I was so sensitive at the time. Any opportunity my parents had to correct me was unwelcome and resented. They behaved in ways that grownups shouldn’t: fighting, engaging in unfair behavior, inconsistency, neglect. They were normal parents from the 80s.

Who are you to tell me anything??

And I held them accountable with my teenage indignation. Except, it didn’t help and I was just as wrong. Even if I was totally justified in rebuking their correction, they were still my parents. And they were, on the whole, usually right. Or steering me in the right direction.

I’m 44 now and much more confident about who I am and how well I drive. I’m well-adjusted and have worked through most of my past. I take criticism, for the most part, in stride now (thanks to mandatory art school critiques). 😉

Today I’ll just say, “Thanks, Dad. You were right.”

I miss my dad. I mourn all the years I lost to his mental and physical illness. But I also mourn all the years I lost growing up without him or knowing him as an adult.

He never saw my daughter. I know he would have been proud of the job I did/am doing with her. I wish he could have held her, heard her, helped her. But it was enough that he ever did that with me. I can only remember a handful of times, but it was enough.

I forgive you and I’m sorry, Dad.