Tag Archives: inspiration

What is Sin?

My mind is aswirl

spinning out of control

what is Sin?

Yes, yes, of course,

murder, mayhem

lying, cheating,

everybody knows that –

but more insidious are

misdemeanors of the soul

Was Paul right

in his definitions?

Was he overstepping,

casting aspersions

on incalcitrant congregations?

What were Jesus’ words?

The God of Love and Forgiveness.

On adultery,  sexuality, prostitution,

go and sin no more

but more often critical of women

letting men off the hook

the female prostitute told

to go and sin no more

but what of the men

lined up at her door?

Sin weaves its way

into the fabric of one’s being

but if all Sin is created equal,

all needing absolution,

what is the bottom line?

We are told to forgive ourselves

and to treat others

as we would ourselves,

then why are people on Death Row?

Why is their Sin unforgivable

when Christ forgave them?

Why is homosexuality

considered a sin in the Church?

Two people loving each other,

treating each other with

kindness, acceptance,

purity of the spirit

holds true no matter

where love lies.

So what is Sin?

And if it is all Forgiven

if one just asks

who are we to condemn?

Casting About

Are you listening?

I haven’t heard

your still, soft voice

within for some time.

Aching for answers

I look for justice, peace, meaning,

casting about,  not knowing

where to turn

where do I go from here?

I know you are there.

I just can not hear you

or feel your presence

nestled in my heart.

Calling for you,

yet knowing it is me

who lacks the ability

to comprehend.

I refute the big decisions

they grate on my nerves,

I can not believe

you would support them.

When is it time to give up?

To accept the inevitable

and draw near to new beginnings,

to give up the fight?

Call to me again.

I will try harder to hear.

Your words are

my salvation.

 

 

 

 

Broken Body

Father, I cry, use this broken body

weighed down by the encumbrances

of living- its use remains vital

though careworn and shabby

no thought was given

to the making of these battle scars

my impudence in years of abuse

harvested my ill-gotten gains

still and always I worship you

and keeping you close to my heart

yearn to make meaningful

the years I have left

to do your will and rejoice,

make meaningful the way

clear the path to fruitful gains

according to your desires

and my humble interpretation

take this broken body

and make it your instrument

for the greater good

 

A query to viewers

There is no science in determining what to write and how to write it.  There are some topics I’ve noticed people are drawn to more but I can’t write about them exclusively.  It is also true that I don’t want to write about the same topics over and again. Even if they draw viewers.  It wouldn’t be authentic or real.  I’d simply be pandering to the largest numbers.

On the other hand, I don’t want to waste viewers’ time by posting things that don’t appeal to them.  I just wish I knew what the magic formula is.

I have to admit, some of my greatest views have been poems written 20 or 40 years ago.  (Yes, I am an old relic.)  It is disheartening as I’d like to think I have grown as a writer in the years since.

But I can see my style has definitely changed over the years.  I don’t waste time on melodrama now.  Flowery prose doesn’t excite me.  I’m more to the point.  I cut to the chase with what I have to say.

Some of the pieces I’m proudest of don’t attract any views, like “The Ravages of a Man”, a short story I’ve written over a number of years.  Meanwhile, love poems seem to find an audience.  Trouble is, I’m not in love and haven’t been in many years.  And my rants, those I’d be better off not writing, no one wants to hear about them.

I would welcome feedback about what you like and what interests you.  Not just in my writing but on the world’s stage.  I need new ideas to percolate on.  I want to contribute meaningful work.  I know my book has meaning but I don’t print it here.  That you might enjoy.

So please, take a moment to let me know your thoughts. I need to stretch my wings a bit and the interchange between you and I would be welcome.

Finding sources

Writing a book is a frustrating but exciting experience.  Non-fiction is so very different from fiction.  I love fiction, it is what I choose to read when I’m not researching for the book.  But I don’t think I could write it.  Dialogue is tricky and the infinite care needed on descriptions and plot is intense.  I respect anyone who has the creativity to imagine another world and portray it with color and finesse.

I wish I were more like that but I’m not.  I’m serious-minded, analytical, fact-based. But writing non-fiction can be a beautiful thing.  “Radium Girls” was a very creative work; it read like fiction.

Exploring these women with their people focused gifts is a treasure trove of fascinating people.  There are so many women who have achieved great things, there just aren’t as many who have gone through extremely traumatic experiences and because of those experiences are achieving great things. I have researched many women so far and finding the right women is like searching for a needle in a haystack.

When I come across a woman who meets the parameters I am seeking it is like unwrapping a present.  The things she is doing to benefit the world draw me to her. Her story evokes sympathy and a certain admiration that what she has achieved has affected many people. I want to know more and I believe others will feel the same way when they read the book.

But, getting the manuscript written correctly and in a timely manner is, of course, key.  Do I have a thumbprint on something others will be drawn to or am I only seeking my own desires?  That still remains to be seen.

Finding the Truth

I have had a lazy mind, I admit it.  It is humbling but the reality is that while I know I am a smart woman, I am woefully inadequate to face the awesome wealth of knowledge and information in this world.

I know I have issues.  Math is a dismal reality of failure in my life.  When I was married, my husband wanted me to get an MBA.  Not that I wanted one…an MFA or a Master’s in Psychology were more suited to my interests and abilities.  However, there I was, with a full force Migraine, driving through dense Fog to a college an hour and a half away to take my GMATs.

When the Math sections came, my Migraine lit with a force beyond reckoning. During Verbal sections, it abated somewhat.  Bottom line, I scored a 5% in Math and a 93% in Verbal.  It’s not a one-shot deal, I vividly remember my Father and I both crying as he tried to help me with Math homework, clutching “The Parent’s Guide to Modern Math”. I wasn’t going to be good at Math as they weren’t.  My parents told me I wasn’t going to be good at Math as they weren’t.  I believed them.

The Internet has awoken my mind to the complexities of the World and its inherent knowledge.  TV hasn’t done that to such a large extent.  Most of what is on it is garbage.  Blogging and its huge sphere of influence have acquainted me with the world in a new and awesome way.  So has research on my book.  I am learning more in my 50s and 60s than I did in the subsequent years of child raising and employment not conducive to learning beyond its boundaries.

I Love Learning.  Exploring the larger world, not just that which stares me in the face, it fascinating.  I can feel my brain prying open, trying to digest and make sense of that which I read.  And I haven’t really moved into the sphere of YouTube yet beyond research.

Perhaps when I reach the ripe old age of 80, I will know the world on a much deeper and richer level.  I wonder what my purpose is in life and whether I will know when I have achieved it.  Looking at all the people who have done so much more than I could ever dream, is daunting.  I will never reach those levels of grandure.  I didn’t start early enough and I’ve hid from so many issues over the years.  For too many years I lived in the shadow world of my bubble.  Depression and trauma transfiguring my world into one of smallness and darkness.  I am no longer trapped in that shell.  What a glorious feeling.

Now, at my age, I have little use for how others see me.  I am comfortable in my skin.  I might have more pain and physical issues, but my brain has reawakened to a vividness I don’t remember having before, or at least since college.  Because of my not caring how others think of me, I feel free to explore the world on my own terms.  I don’t feel silly knowing more than my living conditions would seem to project.

If I had the money, I would go on Missions to countries that need helping hands. I would go for an MFA.  Archeological digs and traveling would become a much desired reality. I saw on Facebook a story about a woman who uses cruise ships as her retirement plan.  Instead of paying out the money for an Assisted Living facility or a Nursing Home, she travels on water, having all her needs met at a senior and a frequent traveler discount.  What I wouldn’t give to make that a reality!  But even with that, cruise ships don’t go to the places in the world that need the most help. And they don’t do much to open the mind.  That is where I am most needed.

Should I give up, knowing the money isn’t going to be coming from my account?  Hell no.  If it is my purpose in life, the money will come.  In the meantime, there is so much left to learn.  I remain open to the possibilities.

 

 

Women – what a wonderful mix

There are no limits on the number of fabulous women in the world.  In doing the research on my book, I am coming across so many women I wish I could focus more completely on but who don’t fit the parameters in my subject area . . . women who have gone through, traumatic, tragic experiences have become great and are doing great things as a result.

It has three parts. A tragic event occurs.  The person overcomes it or moves through it.  And because of the event (s), achieves greatness and helps others in the process. The thing I am experiencing is there are so many fabulous women in this world, doing remarkable things to help others.  Many are enabled by their status in the world to help whether they be celebrities who can attach their name to bring focus on a situation, or are from privileged or “normal” families and have not experienced the trauma of the magnitude I am looking for. To those, I have much admiration and gratitude for their services.

But I am finding these women who have been subjected to tragedies that would flatten most of us and went ahead to achieve brilliance.  Normal people faced with extraordinary experiences.  Women who have started out with hard lives faced more trauma, and gave their lives to making a better world for women or humankind.  I am humbled.

I look at these women and think of my own life, wishing I could have that extra something to do the things I always wanted to accomplish and never had the where with all or courage to reach out and work toward attainment.  But I am one of the millions who strive to do their best through their days, having ups and downs but walking onward.  Having little accomplishments that build upon each other.

Reading and writing about these women energizes me, fuels me.  Each time I find a new one I am like a parched and weary traveler who has found an oasis.  I drink of their accomplishments, of the terrors they have faced, of their energy and ability to sustain where others can only marvel.

Not to take away from men, but women desperately need leaders of their own sex to spur them onward, give them hope.  There are still too few true female leaders out there for us to latch on. They have to be world-renowned.  They can be becoming.  They can be carving out that nitch that needs exposing.  We can have History books devoted to what Women have achieved – about how History has been changed or impacted by the actions of Women.  Or, dare I say it, History books that equally represent the actions of women and men.

Take, for instance, Shirley Johnson in Tallahassee, Florida.  She began being raped when she was eight years old. At ten she became pregnant. At seventeen, she was the mother of six, married in name only.  By the time she was 27, she had 9 children with two husbands.  The first husband was the church deacon who was one of those raping her, whom she was forced to marry at age eleven.  She had to drop out of school when baby number six came along.  She was shamed and ridiculed within her church, the pastor of which was one of her rapists.  Her mother publicly accused her of lying about her attackers.

At age 56, she has found her voice.  She is fighting hard to make Florida become the first state in the Union to pass a law outlawing marriage, for any reason, before the age of eighteen. She is a caregiver, something she knows well how to do.  Nothing of privilege, she is only now receiving support in her endeavors from organizations for bringing the bill forward through the legislature.  To me, she is great.

It doesn’t take much to make a stand in this world.  You need only have a voice and be willing to use it.  You can be a ripple in the pond, sending other ripples outward.  Or be the butterfly’s wings in the Sahara that creates a hurricane in the Americas.  You can be like Mairead Maguire, who stepped out of her house to join a protest passing by and became a Nobel Peace Prize recipient for her work bringing peace first to Ireland and then to other countries.

It only takes a step . . . .

Sibilant Murmurs

In the still, soft calm of silence,
the soul speaks its sibilant murmur
so hard to hear in the clangor
and clash of daily life –
in the quiet of night,
when the only sound
is the fountain of water
my fish play in –
I listen . . . for in those brief
moments, so precious and rare,
does the ring of truth sound
clearest – finding its way
past jangled nerves
and knotted, choked synapses
bringing the wisdom I seek,
the strength which I draw
from a wellspring of heart,
coming through to renew
my sense of vision
and lend credence to my reflections,
softly, gently guiding down
my troubled path of life

Who are you?

Who are you –
the child I have
never known?
I hear your laughter
sparkling and fanciful tones
rich and vibrant
or your anger
tempetuous, lightening
flashes of a summer storm.

I gaze with rapt amazement
at your studied countenance
taking every detail
into account as you
memorize each facet
of your existence.
A pack-rat, stuffing
incidentals into corners
for future use.

I listen to your
flamboyant giety
both mocking and
relishing the life
you call your own.
Sizzling in the excitement
of the moment.

You are . . .
a treasured gift
never allowed to bloom
until playing dress-up
was no longer a game
. . . you are
part of me.
Rarely acknowledged,
always sought.

 

Vast Reaches

The time has come
to search beyond fears
and trepidations of
long instilled torments
and reach for pinnacles,
scary but alluring,
rather than remaining
sequestered behind walls
built to protect,
to put the soldier,
always holding the fort,
maintaining structure
and security to rest
to experience peaks and valleys,
of knowledge and understanding,
loving and letting in,
sharing and fighting . . .

It is a time
for new beginnings,
an exploration of the sense,
questing for gratification,
in opening oneself up
to the frailties and strengths
never before explored.

The time has come
to love, to like, to play
… to be and be with,
to be at home
within the vast reaches
inside myself