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Posts Tagged ‘hope’

Dear Me

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on April 28, 2025| Leave a Comment »

“Once you choose hope, anything’s possible.” Christopher Reeve

Dear Me

Hey, let’s stop for a moment.

No need to hurry.
The wind isn’t blowing anywhere.
Except inside you.
Disorder magnifies chaos
when your memory revisits trauma.

One thought, one step at a time.
Savor the inside of your being.


Your coffee says it is perked and ready.
It wants to open your spirit.

Memories awaken whether you want
them to reappear or not.


No. You cannot roadblock fresh thoughts
because the subconscious can’t control itself
on the immediate level.
That comes with choice.

The next step.
We will get there.
It may take two Tylenol and
a few moments of rest.

Then again, it may take a moment away
with nature, art, or a close friend.
The next moment exists.

Look forward to it.

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Trickle Up, a poem

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 23, 2024| 1 Comment » 

Trickle Up

Anne Frank’s words:
“I don’t think of all the misery, 
but of all the beauty that still remains.”
Her voice was forever silenced. 
Yet, her heart rings true in this oh-so-similar era.

Hope. Insight. Peace. They grow inside seeds
that don’t recognize their worth when planted. 
Small, invisible in a world
where power and greed rule.
May buds of integrity bloom, then refuse to die.








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Hope in Small Doses

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , , on November 8, 2023| Leave a Comment » 













“I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refuse to be reduced by it.” 
 Maya Angelou

Hope in Small Doses

The day’s news. 
The details of a bloody shooting 
rise with the same tone of voice 
a stranger would use to give directions 
to a local parking lot. Then a commercial appears
advising a product to prevent hair loss.
Compassion and energy 
struggle to appear in human form.

Then a toddler grandchild
reaches out with a smile made of fresh energy.
A closer place of love emerges.
And while I can’t make the world kinder,
I can begin by planting hope into this moment.





					
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A Leaf-filled Heart, Nature’s Miracle

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , , ,  on July 24, 2021|
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leaves shaped like a heart


You can be a victim of cancer or a survivor of cancer. It’s a mindset. (Dave Pelzer)


Debby and nature know one another. She celebrates it and doesn’t take blue skies and artistically shaped branches for granted. I love Debby’s lack of pretense. It comes naturally. She grew up on a farm and recognizes the innate virtue of the living world.


As a child Debby had a pet skunk. Scent weaponry disengaged. At an early age she could accept the soft beauty of a maligned animal. Debby recognizes goodness in the light-and-shadow natural world. Therefore, when she developed cancer and needed a spiritual sign, nature provided the hope she needed.


Fear is a normal reaction. Pain. Severe post-treatment nausea. Then, came the result of any trauma—waking in the morning and knowing the previous day wasn’t a dream. It touches anyone who has walked through hell.


Therefore, nature knew what to do. It created art for her in a unique form, one she could see from her window. Dried leaves formed the shape of a heart on the roof of a neighbor’s house.  Dried and crumbled oak. Cracked brown maple. Unidentified stems. 


As new winds approached, the pattern remained. For weeks. Hope healed Debby’s spirit. Spirit filled her body, and the cancer did not stay.


Eventually, wind scattered nature’s artwork. It erased the leaf-heart. The message wasn’t needed anymore. Debby’s beating heart was going to be enough. She had purpose. She would survive. 


The original photograph of the neighbor’s roof isn’t much larger than a postage stamp. The enlarged version, like life, isn’t as clear as I would like it to be. However, a little sun color highlights the miracle celebration. The unspoken possibilities.


The story of Lazarus claims he was raised from the dead. However, the rising wasn’t permanent. It didn’t put him in front of anyone in line at a grocery store. Imagine how many lines in his face he could have by now! His second burial didn’t make much of a story. His life in between? That could be another matter, possibly not exciting enough for added scribbled pages. Most of the good we do isn’t dramatic. 


I am grateful for Debby. Her healing. Her presence in my tiny spiritual community. Her friendship.


Peace to all. May gratitude grab this moment, whether it be inside a place of struggle or a moment of triumph.


 





					
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Treading Water, Touching Wisdom

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , ,  on July 17, 2021|
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pool_LI


If you chase two rabbits, you will catch neither one. (Russian proverb)


Two loads of wash in the hall. A bathroom that needs cleaning. An over-scheduled week. My husband suggests we go to the Y. Relax. Maybe when I get back, I will actually do one thing at a time. 


Buoyed by eleven feet of water, I tread from one side of the deep end to the other. Heat may fill the air, but I am surrounded by coolness. And a vague sense something special is about to happen. I smile at a young gentleman swimming close by. He smiles back. 


Soon Randy and I engage in a long conversation. Well, he talks. I listen. “My heart stopped beating last March and my wife revived me with CPR.” My ears are open. 


He introduces me to his wife. I hear their stories. They include meditation, music, a recording studio, a computer enterprise. Enthusiasm. A bi-racial couple with an incredible story to tell. Whether the husband or wife carries more sun-protective melanin doesn’t matter.


The point of this story has less to do with outside features than internal qualities. I see no wrinkles on my companions but recognize plenty of experience. I wonder if the couple has hit 40 yet. 


I know I want to meet Randy and his wife again.  We met on a spiritual level. The ideal in any gathering. Buoyed by hope, I forget about a schedule that seemed impossible a few hours ago. One breath at a time. One slow kick after another keeps me moving in the water. Today. This moment. It doesn’t need to be perfect to be beautiful.     

					
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After the Stroke, a Poem

					

					Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , ,  on June 27, 2021|
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illustration After the Stroke blog




AFTER THE STROKE

You were right. The garage-sale couch 
I bought when we were in grad school
faded against our apartment wall
like sky into sky.

I never minded your razzing.
Your pokes led to embraces
on that bland divan. Its springs broke years ago.
Like the now-disconnected side of my body.

My words dissolve before they touch 
my tongue. But our past replays scenes 
as you rotate old photos
to feed my memory, although I forget

the ice water you set inches from my good side.
Lifting it proves my earth-presence.
At the soirée displayed in the center of a yellowed album
your eagle-proud mother told me, "Forget champagne.

A common large-beaked crow hides inside your 
black bargain dress. Perch on a lower shelf, dear."
As she lay dying, I wiped her chin and behind.
She never changed her mind about me.

I lift a freshened glass of water.
My arms could be made of paper straws.
Books cover one wall. We’ve read them all
I long for the ability to tell you to open

any book to the blank page in the back,
the space that announces words have ended.
Close the cover. Say good-bye.
Water dribbles down my numb chin.

I’m as hidden as our old blue sofa.
Lock your eyes into mine.
Let me see you as you were on that worn
linen eyesore. Enter a space that joins

everything it touches. Come.
Sit with me. Embrace your common crow.
One more time.
The chores will wait. This moment may not.  






The above poem is fiction. I am old enough to be aware of difficult possibilities. I am seeing a lot of them. For now, I celebrate this moment, and celebrate the quote I chose for today:


 








illustration made from public domain photo, pastel, colored pencil, and colored papers
					
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Peace, Prejudice, and Discerning Friends

					

					Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  on September 15, 2017|
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A certain amount of opposition is a great help to a man. Kites rise against, not with, the wind. (John Neal)


I meet every Tuesday morning with a spiritual group I joined when my older son was a toddler. The subject of hope keeps bouncing to the surface. I could use it.


Watch the news for more than five minutes, and the desire to remain on the couch indefinitely becomes tempting.


Deportation of innocent young people, hurricanes, earthquakes, the exploitation of personal tragedy, hate and greed take over the screen.  


As my friends and I talk about love that reaches deeper than the average Valentine card, I lift my socks-covered feet onto the coffee table. A deep purple bruise has taken over my right foot. 


I knocked a few books off the shelf and gravity won. The foot swelling will heal. In comparison to the grief I see around me, this pain is a pinprick. The difficulties we explore are stab wounds.


However, my friend gives me an icepack. Love wrapped in a maroon towel. A symbol of hope. My friends share both encouragement and experience. Not lofty, disjointed everything-will-be-okay platitudes. 


I share a short video. A Canadian politician is hassled by someone who confuses Sikhism for Islam. Clarification between the two groups is less important than the interruption centered in hate. Resolution comes through the leader’s call to peace. I hope the welcome greeting eventually touches the angry woman. Prejudice is heavy armor; it restricts movement and disables the heart. Hate armor takes time to build and time to remove. 


The video can be found at this link: Sikh Politician Gets Verbally Attacked and Handles Gracefully.


In our small Tuesday group, we pause to check our responses. What preconceived notions do we hold? What views are opinions, taught, not experienced? And not true.


Kites fly through gentle wind; their fabric fails during turbulence. I choose where to fly a metaphorical kite, and where to call for reinforcements. 


In the meantime, my foot loses some of its discomfort under the ice. I can decide to pass along kindness with the examples of my friends—or, I can add to the turbulence with discontent.


Peace. Upon all. Whether our political views coincide. Or not.


In the meantime, I will fly into Europe and meet other people. And see other ways of knowing life. Hopefully, I will come back with fresh perspective. And just a little more understanding.


photo-shopped public domain pic



					
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