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Posts Tagged ‘self-awareness’

The Pawn, a Poem

Posted in inspiration, tagged , , , , , , on January 8, 2022| Leave a Comment » 

Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves. (Carl Gustav Jung)

THE PAWN

A young man props open the door
to his screened-in porch
as a robin, wild, wings flapping, dives
into the wire mesh walls.
The man gestures toward the exit
and mutters about how creatures,
two-legged or flying,
refuse to be rescued.

He locks the door to his house
and leaves the screen door open, 
then crosses the street
to learn the tricks of chess
from an elderly neighbor.

The older man offers him a seat
at his kitchen table,
where a set of yellowed-white 
and chipped-black game pieces 
wait on a well-worn board.

The master’s game is sharp.
As he plays, he speaks
of his sons and daughters
and their plans for him
to move to a nursing home,
the place the old man 
calls incontinence hell.

He describes shirts with elbows bared,
gifts from his deceased wife,
removed without his permission,
She lives in those shreds. 

The young man tries to follow both
his teacher’s stories 
and his advice about the game
until the old man shakes his head.

Because you are learning I will let you
try that move again.
But the student sees 
only worn-black and dull-white wood,
 perfect squares with impenetrable borders.

Checkmate. 

The old man shows no sign of triumph.
He resets the board.
The young man nods, silent,
wondering if the robin
found passage—or not.  



pic made from public domain drawing, cut paper, and pastels

poem previously published in For a Better World 2014

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Cut: a Poem

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , on July 28, 2020| 3 Comments »

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. (E.E. Cummings)

 

On a 1950’s Thursday afternoon

a little girl stands

on her imaginary stage.

A flat maroon, living room carpet.

 

Her pleasant scene grows as

a popular song drifts into her play space

from the kitchen radio where Mommy

boils potatoes for dinner

 

and complains about how quickly

three kids get a life dirty.

The girl listens to the music and

mimics the trills, crescendos,

 

and joy in the melody.

The child’s gentle vibrato promises a

clear soprano voice one day.

She would have added gestures

 

for her make-believe audience

but Mommy appears at the doorway

wielding her wooden spoon.

So-who-do-you-think-you-are?

 

Mommy turns away without striking.

Yet, the girl recognizes the warning

and retreats into the dark, silent spaces

between the lace curtains and window.

 

The song will not disappear.

She hears it inside her head

and saves the sound

for a safer moment

 

when she will lead her future

children to follow dreams,

discover subtleties,

laugh, cry, and simply be.           

 

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A Family Secret: She is More Than Her Birth Story

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , on July 19, 2020| Leave a Comment »

We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. (Plato)

Sun slips through the trees on an ordinary Friday evening. It brings a light too intense for human eyes. In the shadows, while six friends meet, stories appear.

I listen to the story of a friend’s mother. Her early life. Her name was changed after she found a foster home. Her history remained hidden. She was told that she came from Italian ancestry. However, her parents had been Syrian. My friend’s mother was a paradoxical gift. After a rape. A beautiful child came to the world after a moment of horror, pain, and crime. In this Syrian country, the rapist was murdered. His murderer acquitted. As if the killing had been a service.

Shame is powerful. The event was hidden from everyone’s knowledge. A scar remained long after the child’s umbilical cord was severed. Long after fostered transitioned into adopted. Long after the girl became a mother with grown children.

I hear this long-ago child’s daughter speaks. I know her mom’s legacy. The gifts she passed on as my friend stands in front of the light passing through the trees. She, too, is light. One of the kindest, gentlest people I know.

The beauty of my friend’s tale comes like this sunset in the woods. Darkness meets with light. Pain and healing join one another. Both real. The light, stronger.

My friend’s mother died years ago. Yet, I allow my thoughts to waft into the evening breeze. Thanks, I tell her mom. Thanks for the continuing gifts that came from your life.

 

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A Word from Dad—Decades After His Death

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on February 28, 2020| 2 Comments »

I believe every human has a finite number of heartbeats. I don’t intend to waste any of mine. (Neil Armstrong)

 Sure, the word challenge has an encouraging, powerful ring to it. However, human experience adds a bite to it, the kind that draws blood, pain, or detours.

I was experiencing one of those Atlas-earth-carrying moments when I noticed an old homemade card on the floor by my bookcase. Huh? What is this? It looks familiar.

A birthday card from my father. He died more than ten years ago. He comments on the years since I was born, then mentions what a beautiful person I have become.

The how of the card’s appearance now, on a floor that was vacuumed yesterday, is curious. But the message is clear. I am worth the effort of any struggle.

I remember a night when I was sixteen. I hallucinated as the result of a dangerously high fever from a throat infection. As the fever rose I claimed the colors were wrong on my dresser drawers and stairs and needed to be rearranged. Now.

Both dresser and steps were an everyday, nondescript beige. Then I needed to take the number one million and convert it into a tangible object. Before morning. And take it to school. My arms churned as I counted. One-hundred-fifty, one-hundred-fifty-one.

My mother panicked as she hunted for aspirin, the fury of her feet on the floor amplifying my count. Somehow my parents managed to get me to swallow the small white tablet.

My dad told me he was good at math. He would do my assignment. Then, he would take care of the colored wood as I slept. After all, he knew a lot about paint. He carried me up the stairs to my room.

Somehow, that next morning I remembered most of the evening. The absurdity struck me as a nightmare, someone else’s nightmare. And yet, the loving response of my dad stayed with me.

I hold the long-ago card now. My father present in this moment even if he left the earth in a past decade during the last century.

“Thanks. I wouldn’t be here without you,” I whisper. My life is finite, too. May the heartbeats I have left, bring peace.

 

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Dubious Advice: A Poem

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , on October 1, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

Ah, how the seeds of cockiness blossom when soiled in ignorance. (Steve Alten)

DUBIOUS ADVICE

 

Take one opinion;

call it the whole.

Shout your words

with venom if necessary.

Cover your home,

your car, every space you touch

with bumper stickers, clever words,

succinct, biting,

so obvious, transparent,

you mimic a peacock flashing

your message across a zoo.

Then, well satisfied,

flick on the television,

curl up in your favorite chair,

or lie on a distant beach,

and revel in the comfort of your truth.

Relax, with food and wine within reach,

your part completed.

 

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One Mini-Flood and Many Mini-Changes

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on March 17, 2019| 1 Comment »

Soaked shoes on a warm register take the shape of a wild cloud on a gray day.

Little by little, one travels far. (J. R. R. Tolkien)

Day by day, the toddler grows into an adult. One word at a time the child learns self-worth, or not.

Little by little, backed-up storm water travels in wider circles from our driveway into our garage. I realize our problem is trivial. The clips of the flood damage in Nebraska provide enough evidence to prove our labor is minimal. We succeed. My husband and I discovered the ankle-deep water before it reached the basement or lawn mower. The car was outside, wheels untouched.

My shoes dry on a warm register inside. Muddied socks already swirl through suds in the wash machine—healing.

I don’t claim an immunity to tragedy. Nor did I miss near drowning, in a metaphorical sense. Many years ago, March 17 began one of the most difficult times of my life. Do I remember every detail? Not all, but more than I would like. All unnecessary to repeat. Each life’s purpose is to live in today. Eventually. Many people reading these words have their own memories to overcome. Ugly events arrive. They also pass, like the dark, dirty water my husband and I move toward an overwhelmed drain.

My husband and I work, together. I don’t believe any recovery happens alone.

Without friends.

Without help in some form.

Perhaps one struggling person will come to my mind today, someone who could use a call or a visit.

A thought. Perhaps now is the time to follow through on it.

Little by little…recovery happens. And one travels far.

 

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Spilling Hot Coffee onto a Brand-New Day

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on February 23, 2019| 2 Comments »

Be master of your petty annoyances and conserve your energies for the big, worthwhile things. It isn’t the mountain ahead that wears you out—it’s the grain of sand in your shoe. (Robert Service, writer)

I’m ready to start editing, eyes on the computer, coffee cup in my hand. And I set the cup on the pull-out board of my old desk—right smack on top of a pen. Gravity wins. Every thought I had falls out with the hot liquid, onto the floor and rug. Time to wash a load of caffeine-soaked rags.

An unplanned cleanup becomes the metaphorical grain of sand in my shoes, the shoes I’m not wearing yet. Sunrise is fresh and I’ve already drowned the day in spilled coffee. Far from an important event, but I can turn it into an omen. Easily.

Time to brainstorm some perspective. Random fun memories for starters. When the memory occurred doesn’t matter:

A granddaughter at play. She introduces herself as the teacher, Mrs. Tushman. Mrs. Man for short…

My grandson’s huge brown eyes and his turn as pilot. “We’re flying 20 miles and it will take 20 hours…”

Years ago, my parents gathered my siblings and me into the car. We were going somewhere. It could have been a trip to a park. It could have been a trip for ice cream.  The fun came with the surprise. The smell of popcorn! It’s a drive-in movie.

I smile. The splattered area is relatively dry.

I consider simple signs of love that have happened within the past 24 hours:

A thank-you note from my friend, Liz. We haven’t seen one another for years. Our friendship is rekindling.

My husband’s words, “Wait, I’ll do that!” as I carry dishes from the table to the sink.

Countless opportunities to give back. Someone could use a reach-out call from me right now.

I’d like to think that the next time I get in my own way I will be instantly forgiving. Probably not. Besides, the mountain ahead remains ahead.

Companions appear along the way. However, the climber needs to grasp each rock to succeed.

I didn’t really need another cup of jitters anyway.

 

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Naked Baby Dolls: A Poem

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 4, 2019| Leave a Comment »

 

Man is the only animal for whom his own existence is a problem which he has to solve.
(Erich Fromm)

Human animals think too much—without questioning the truth of their source. Unfortunately, we upright-moving creatures are born with ego and an overdose of certainty, based on experience in a tiny section of the world.

I wrote this poem more years ago than I recall. My granddaughter was a toddler. She is now in fifth grade. A ballerina. Grade-A student, She also happens to be significantly taller than I am.

These verses are based on an incident that occurred at the Museum Center in Cincinnati, Ohio. My beautiful girl may have grown up, but she chooses her friends based upon inner qualities, not incidental skin tone. I am proud of who she has grown to be.

Naked Baby Dolls

 

Child-proof dolls

with painted black hair

and eyes forever open

 

lie on the floor

of the toddler room.

Figures identical, except for

 

brown or peach plastic bodies,

the dolls are naked.

The children don’t care.

 

Bare babies and honesty

fit the simple ambience

of parallel play.

 

I watch as each doll

passes from child to floor,

and back again. The brown babies

 

get picked first.

My toddler granddaughter pouts

as another child grabs

 

the dark doll she had been cuddling.

I try to hand her the paler version.

Her frown deepens. On the rug

 

the dolls that wait

look anemic, pale.

I think about human skin shades

 

from ivory to licorice, and mentally

list a larger number of darker tones.

Nutmeg, cinnamon, chestnut, bronze

 

chocolate, mahogany, coffee, umber.

Strange that at this age

the little people choose the toy

 

with the richer complexion.

Yet only a few of the children

resemble darker hues. The toddlers’ choices

 

contradict the prejudiced

adult majority. Someday I pray

these children see beyond the exterior.

 

The dolls wear a paint layer

thin enough to be chipped off.

Their differences can be altered with a brush stroke.

 

People share diverse histories

and cultures, but living hearts beat

a common rhythm.

 

May we grow

together

as one human race.

 

(This poem has been published in the anthology, FOR A BETTER WORLD and in the online magazine PIKER PRESS.)

 

 

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Advice 101: Consider the Source

Posted in inspiration, positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on January 28, 2019| 1 Comment »

It gets really tricky giving advice. The older I get, the less advice I give. ( Anne Heche.)

My father taught me to consider the source. I find that easier now than I could as a teenager, before I knew who I was. Strange that I recall being berated because my eyebrows weren’t penciled dark enough. My hair was the color of spun gold, with eyebrows that disappeared into a fair, freckled face.

The advice-giver. Why are there so many of them? And why do they have voices that match the average street preacher?

And—does it need to bother me?

My brother-in-law has an MD. When he said I was losing weight too quickly after surgery and was risking metabolic damage, I listened. Advertisement come-ons could be another matter. An invitation to skydive because it jump starts adrenaline? Probably not.

What is the best and worst advice someone has ever given you? My dad’s fits somewhere at the top. Any advice that told me I shouldn’t try because I wasn’t good enough. Definitely. In the don’t-think-so category.

 

 

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Ice, Fire, and Light from Within

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 18, 2018| Leave a Comment »

People are like stained glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within. (Elisabeth Kübler-Ross)

In a large portion of the Midwest, ice didn’t wait for the autumn leaves to drop. My husband and I experience some time without power. No heat or electricity. Difficult, but nothing in comparison to the losses of folk in other parts of the country. Fires destroy California.

Hurricanes demolished everything in their path.

Heroes and heroines rarely make the news. They are too busy working, giving. Being who they are. No time to watch them for virtues. Better to emulate them with action. I can always give more to people around me.

Even in simple, everyday ways.

I watch my seven-year-old grandson as he fills can after can with fallen leaves. He wants to do more. To work, to help. I make mashed potatoes. He learns to lead the beaters through the hot taters and create a smooth dinner treat—not as a chore, as something new. He is a hero in training.

Dakota is a gift, the kind that blasts light from within. These days before Thanksgiving I celebrate the special times we share together.

I can’t melt the ice any sooner or smother the raging fires on the other side of the country. I can give what I have to reputable organizations. And deny hard-of-heart messages from entering my spirit.

At times darkness wins. However, when light remains within the good inside people, hope lives.

 

 

 

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