Shell, Rebel, Love

In the shell stage, one does what one should do; in the rebel stage, what one should not do; and in the love stage, what one wants to do. Many times behavior in the love stage will be similar to behavior in the shell stage, but the motivation behind it is entirely different. Instead of trying to please someone else, the person is trying to please her- or himself. ~ Rebuilding – When Your Relationship Ends by Fisher and Alberti, page 157.

The good West Texas girl mastered "should"
though parents and sisters would often add,
like "You shouldn't wear stripes and prints,"
"You can do better than that," and "Are you going
to pick that up?" The rebel grew in her and she
mixed taboo colors, refused to "act like a lady"
or get "there" on time. And when shoulds
clashed with shrugs, guilt led to respite in food,
comfortable, accepting food. Food became clever
rebellion; she showed them. Finally, honesty wriggled
to surface, took hold with help from loving others
whose shoulds and shrugs reflected hers.
They loved her, modeled recovery, and loved away
the shoulds and shrugs, leaving understanding
with love.

Enough Dying Today

Just existing makes dying look easy.
But maybe tomorrow. I've done enough dying today. (The Gatlin Brothers)

I've died enough for a lifetime,
have hurt, agonized, cried.
I've murdered my self,
on a people-pleasing altar,
dived head-first from a cliff
for somebody nodded that way.

I've done enough dying today
ignoring the time I did have,
looking backward or forward
to phantom, illusive times,
living then, avoiding now.

Living scared me to inverse,
anything but feeling and love.
I'm ready to try something different,
to live in the moment today.
I'd like to experience emotion —
I've done enough dying today.

The Drum of the Humdrum

Some days we hear only the drum of the humdrum. ~ Karen Casey (Each Day a New Beginning, Aug. 28)

So what's wrong with extremes?
In Revelation the church at Laodicea
was chided for being neither hot nor cold.
The Big Book talks like it's a good
not to be in danger of excitement,
fear, anger, worry – why excitement?
It's lot's more fun than boring, normal.
Normal scares me. Normal dares me.
But then again, excitement can be tense,
and relaxed is good, sometimes.
But the drum of the humdrum —
catchy tune, it can be. So when I rest
in good hands, maybe excitement does
fit with fear.

Agnostic as to Application

And the entire concept is caught up in a chapter called "We Agnostics" which I never read because I'm not an agnostic, and why bother? It might as well have been "We Ethiopians" or some crap like that. Next. Next. ~ Clint H.

Theology and exegesis help not a twit
to get the whole idea of powerless,
of the need to be restored to sanity.
Analysis and interpretation get in the way
of the simple act of surrender,
of the sudden and profound awakening,
of spiritual experience.
Even if I own the church building
and wrote all the books,
unless I get it – that I'm not god,
that only the real thing can pull me up,
lift me out – I might as well be
agnostic.

Gaelic Gallop

This poem is from Barbara Rollins' unpublished children's book To Dingwall, Y'all set in Dingwall in the Scottish Highlands. The horses are named for historic battles in Scotland. 

Apart.
Alone.
New pony in the paddock.
Bannockburn grazes, gazes,
gauges access to the trough.
The old gelding, Stirling
kowtows to the gray mare, Carham.
Her gamey glance mocks
Bannockburn, apart.

A chequered skipper flutters,
skims his muzzle, flicks away.
Enough! Wrath raging,
Bannockburn vaults, teeth flailing,
snaring vacated molecules.
Carham rests galvanized as
Bannockburn gambols ’round Gael.
Lost youth resurges through aging veins.
Tentative steps stretch to a gallop as
bewildered Stirling lopes behind.
Gaelic ground shudders, shivers, settles
with winded horses gathered at the trough.
Bannockburn grazes, a part.

Icy Fire

Fear consumes
with icy fire,
tendril vapors
clutching souls
with absolute zero.
Glacial fear creeps,
a smoldering floe
encasing mummified
embers glowing dimmer
by half-lives.

On Demand

Who am I?
I'm ready for that
to be revealed.
Grand idea —
I'll drive, travel,
explore, learn,
come home imbued
with knowledge,
insight, discovery,
wisdom.
Who am I?
Not someone able
to direct God's timing
to grant my grand
demand.

Meditation

Meditate. 

Wait. I hesitate, 

I can vacillate, translate, inflate, 

celebrate, masticate, conjugate… 

But meditate? 

When I wake my mind skates 

straight to figure eights. I cannot sate 

the breakneck gait. 

Meditate? 

It’s some mistake. 

Wait. Intake breath, deflate. 

Thoughts abate, calm, sedate. 

God awaits. 

Relate. 

Mosquito Thoughts

Pesky ideas swarm,
though swatted away.
With netting of reading,
closed doors of planning,
mosquito thoughts are
kept at bay with days begun
lived and ended
in program.

We Call Ours Lakes

"We call ours lakes," he said,
a Texas boy now Michigander.
Eleven-hundred miles around,
but lake – fresh-water, even.

Lake Pauline where I grew up
once hosted a power plant
on Wanderer's Creek. Lake Fort
Phantom near my home dwarfs
Pauline – has 29-miles of shore.

Meager expectations limit vision,
predictions, hope. When I plan,
I base projections on past ideas.
When a higher power makes plans
lakes can stretch forever,
eleven hundred miles around.

An Open Heart

She enjoys rain for its wetness, winter for its cold, summer for its heat. She loves rainbows as much for fading as for their brilliance. It is easy for her, she opens her heart and accepts everything. — Morgan Llywelyn

Life moves with ebb and flow like tides,
and holding on destroys balance,
eviscerates what we would preserve.
The Odyssey ends,
not with stunning revelations,
insight into self,
but with peace, with knowledge,
with the words a wise man
spoke to me decades past.
I had dreaded telling him
I would leave, move on,
embrace the next big step.
He honored my contributions
but released me, saying keeping good staff
was hard, letting me know I'd be missed
but replaced. If I have known joy past
future joy awaits. Good people known
will be replaced with friendship's bonds,
new folks for new times, old ties renewed.
Life holds out her arms to me,
a welcome embrace when I accept it all.

The Search

When I was just a young man
and lived in Bethlehem 

I craved a setting bold, grand, 

alive – Jerusalem! 

I left the town of David; 

the city wasn’t far. 

I thought the Temple splendid, 

the town a grand bazaar. 

I thought “How true to my luck” 

that soon as I had gone 

from east there came a show such 

as few had come upon. 

And then King Herod’s army 

was marched into the town. 

They wrote a bloody history 

by cutting children down. 

It’s power, glory, mystery, 

to soar above the heights, 

to be a part of history 

that I’ve sought all my life. 

Jerusalem was central 

to those of Israel 

but life was uneventful, 

its glory old and pale.


Now boats and men from far lands 

sailed into Antioch. 

And those who walked in its sands 

would know what’s new, what’s hot. 

I left the Holy City 

one year at Pentecost 

with pilgrims hot and gritty, 

yet happier than most. 

They spoke of dead men rising, 

of ghosts that came on wind. 

I mused about my missing 

encountering their friend. 

It’s power, glory, mystery, 

to soar above the heights, 

to be a part of history 

that I’ve sought all my life. 

Well, Antioch was booming 

but not so much as Rome. 

I soon found myself fuming 

to make that city home. 

I left the sandy seashore 

and sailed for Seven Hills. 

This time I knew I was sure 

and Rome my thoughts did fill. 

Some on the boat were sailing 

to Cypress and to Crete. 

The tale that they were telling 

seemed strange, beyond belief. 

A ranting man from Tarsus 

spoke of a group of Jews, 

said one had come to reach us, 

no matter what our views. 

It’s power, glory, mystery, 

to soar above the heights, 

to be a part of history 

that I’ve sought all my life. 

And now I am an old man, 

a denizen of Rome, 

I earn what little I can 

but still my mind does roam. 

My work is guarding prisoners 

and one’s a man I’ve known. 

We once were fellow travelers, 

for Paul has come to Rome. 

The ranting now makes more sense, 

but maybe it’s just me. 

He speaks of love, repentance, 

of peace that makes men free. 

It seems that I was looking 

for what I failed to see, 

that miracles were breaking; 

that history called to me. 

It’s power, glory, mystery, 

to soar above the heights, 

that God’s brought into history. 

God’s sought me all my life.