Human greatness does not lie in wealth or power, but in character and goodness, and all people have faults and shortcomings, but all of us are born with a basic goodness. – Anne Frank

Where Goodness Rests

There is a hunger deep inside of us. I believe this emptiness is the place where goodness rests. Like a cup, empty but for a drop or two, we are vessels with droplets of virtue, waiting to be joined by other droplets. We are a cup waiting to be filled.

I have been thinking about my absolute desire (and craving) to be near the altar, in church, for the many years I attended. I sang and I prayed. I knelt and I watched. I was offering myself and my unity to a deity, represented in bread and wine, while hoping for the quenching of my thirst and the satisfaction of my hunger. Did it ever come?

Every morning, I am so grateful for another day, to see the clarity of the blue or the overcast flannel of the gray. No matter the vision, morning comes to me like a stream rushing towards me, like a flood. Is this longing for the righteous what I seek each day? Though I am aware of this yearning, will it ever be satisfied?

The days, weeks, and years behind me have been laden with struggle, yet laced with joy. The world, as viewed and read, seems a dismal and disheartened place. Is it just that some have forgotten what this emptiness is?

Can joy be remembered? For some, or even most, have they ever tasted but a single drop of rejoicing?

I am blessed, some would say. But who really has divine favor? Is there such a thing?

The kindness of a friend fills the hollowness so willingly. Nourished by others, we do mature and grow. Is this what we need to do?

It is not in the longing or the emptiness, in the craving or desire, but in the giving and the transference of love that perhaps goodness can be found. Is it in this bestowing of friendliness that our cups will be filled?

The very last drops, resting at the bottom of the container of our beings. Those droplets must be drawn out and given. Is this true?

Years of experience and a senior position have placed me at a juncture. Here is when I question so deeply what is missing, though I do not really understand it all.

I am advantaged and immune. Should I be sorry for that? Can I really understand?

If good is real, and we are but a passage for empty space waiting to be filled. Then can we do this? Can we fill each other up?

If filling your cup with support fills mine too, then it only makes sense to do so.

In this world of social networking, why are we so empty? Why are we so weak?

Truth is missing. We are hungry and empty.

To find that place where goodness rests, I will look inside of you, or at least try to. Can you look inside of me, too, to find the place where the droplets can meet?

There is more power in unity than division.–Emanuel Cleaver

The American flag flies in front of my little house, waving bold colors for all to see.

Divided, though the stripes are, the lines drawn have beauty that can make the strongest among us weep in unity and love.

I fly it there because I feel pride, awe, and a sense of hope.

Today, as in November and January, I looked at my flag, and the stars seem muted, the colors faded, but this flag does not run away. The flag in front of my little yellow house flies bravely.

It represents boldness, strength, and completeness, not confusion or fear.

It does not have disappearing lines of understanding and acceptance; it is appointed with truth.

I will continue to fly this flag, as I refuse to let the ignorance of one speak words that could possibly represent more power than the multitudes that those clear white stars represent.

“I imagine that ‘yes’ is the only living thing.”— e.e. cummings

To be now.

At this time, I hear the sounds of practice and passion that I’ve listened to in the past. It is pouring out of the stranger playing the guitar before me. The voice singing sweetly in the room reminds me of that intensely awesome someone I once knew.

To be in this moment in life is to watch the sunset and see a photograph found in the kitchen drawer. The sun is fading beyond the horizon, and I’m putting the photo back in for storage. I’m thinking, it is beautiful, and if it’s in the drawer, maybe I’ll stumble upon it again.  If not found again, it is here, hidden and kept.

To be in this brevity is tasting hot food on my tongue, and it tastes like yesterday, melting years away with each bite. It is both good and sad. I have sensed it before at the table with my mother, as the breezes blew in through the open screen door, in that cluttered, tight dining room.  The taste is warm, pleasant, and distinct.

To be in this space is to be near loved ones and not caress their foreheads or brush their cheeks with gentle kisses. They are adults, not children, though I see in their eyes the mischievous blue-eyed angel and the green-eyed, smiling cherub longing to be touched.

To be in this period is to smell the ocean, as the wind brings it to me, and to inhale the memories of boardwalk stalls, lemonade, sunscreen, and seaweed. It is to breathe in the sunshine of summer and the sounds of the waves as they reach for my wading feet.

To be now is to be beyond the perceived midpoint of my life. What importance is that really?

To be now is to know, to remember, to reminisce.

To be now is to live.

How can I be now?

It is difficult to sit at this intersection of existence, with trouble remembered and grieving to come.

How do I want to be? Now, I sense wonder and pain.

I want to be.

Now, for me, “to be” is to express possibility.  Now is, as always, really.

There may still be more of that for me to be possible.

Now.

There is no greatness where there is no simplicity, goodness, and truth.- Leo Tolstoy

Red, Black, and Blue

Red, black, and blue.

Hurt, injured. Broken?

Oh, where is the grace that we asked God to shed on thee?

Red, black, and blue.

Wounded, are we still free? Can’t it be?

Although this impact is so strong, is there a way to mend the wrong?

Pride is falling; there is no satisfaction in a distortion of truth.

In the absence of hope, we are weeping.

Red, black, and blue.

Resist and be strong is what I hear and see.

Struggle against what?

Were we ever complete? Is there something we can stitch?

The divide is wide. Can we really stand side by side?

Home of the free, land of the brave.

You are . . .

red, black, and blue.

I believed in you.

Crushed, I am black and blue, too.

Defective and separate, are the boundaries too wide?

My home sweet home.

Wounded, are we still free?

Don’t want to know, don’t want to see, my home sweet home torn apart.

Yet, was this home ever whole?

Was it a delusion?

Was I blinded?

Have we been imagining this progress? Is truth deflected by our own liberal aspirations?

Stand beside her and guide her.

Can we?

We believe these truths to be self-evident. Do we?

Oh, light from above, how I wish I believed you did shine?

Red, black, and blue.

Oh, say can you see?

Fail me or be true?

• “As long as the world is turning and spinning, we’re gonna be dizzy and we’re gonna make mistakes.” – Mel Brooks

Hold on, Happy New Year

The world is turning. Some of us are smiling and some of us suffer as we ride the spin.

For me, there is confusion and fear, but I am warm and well-fed.

I will never really understand it all.  I am certain that it is due to my lack of awareness that I lack sympathy.

Yet, I want to become more acquainted with your distress.

I do not wear a grin, but I am so thankful that I am not suffering.

I wish there were better ways to connect with you, wherever you are, in your pain. You are in my thoughts, but I do not act because of you.

The quiet of this house, the tranquil state of this dwelling, makes it sometimes difficult to remember all of your troubles.

I will continue to keep you in mind.

If only I had the hope that leadership and the mighty ones, those with administrative power, could find a passage to your hearts.

If only I believed they would lead me (and our world) to inclusion and relationship.

If only I believed that this connection could be broadened to you and to the earth we share.

Yet, they are not seeking you.

They frighten me. He terrifies me.

Is he really careless and oblivious? How is that really possible? And those who chose him, are they unaware?

My oldest daughter tells me that concern arises when the stake is involved. I suppose there is no ownership in hardship when you have little or none. I am struggling, too, with this lack of sympathy.

And because I don’t perceive their motives and desires, I can’t really judge those who supported him. Their positions may be plotted in places I am unfamiliar with.

What I see as simply a dazed decision made by many in November, I will never really understand. This is a part of the whole that I will never fully grasp mentally.

All that being said, it is a new year.

I wish for a new year where the world turns in your favor. I hope for changes in position to be inspired by the calls of those who understand more than I.

I hope wisdom prevails and good judgment prevails.

Yet, as the Earth spins, we must grasp hold of each other and appreciate the goodness of the planet we are given. I’m sorry for being so directive, but I am scared stiff!

Please hold on!

I wish a Happy New Year to each and every one of them and especially to you.

 

What to say?

I can, of course, think what I want, just like everyone else. I simply have to refrain from saying everything I think.- Margrethe II of Denmark

So the gray day is slipping into a heavy and mournful night, and I am sitting here at my kitchen island, and my computer is beckoning me to write.

What do I say?

There were so many things already said today. All too soon, words of hope, promises of unity, speeches filled with apologies and encouragement, expressions of grief, texts filled with mockery, and lines of despair had been spoken, tweeted, posted, and editorialized.

What is left to tell you?

There is this. I am broken and lost, yet grateful that I have a voice and that I’m breathing.

From the margins of this country, especially those without a voice, many are quietly wincing in pain and confusion. They are feeling a great deal. Their suffering is real, the feeling of being on the outside and not mattering to any of you is powerful, and it is awful.

I know you can’t see them, because your own feeling of worthlessness brought you to think that our establishment didn’t see you. I know that you were just trying to wave a white flag to our nation in your vote. You wanted to say, “I’m here, I want to be heard, and I surrender!”

I am sorry that you felt that way. I can never say I truly understand because I never walked in your shoes.

Yet, now here we are. Some of us are afraid, some are grateful, some are energized, some are sad, some are filled with expectation, some want to run away, and perhaps all of us are surprised, just a little bit.

I just want to tell you that those on the margins, including my very own children, are hurting tonight.

My youngest, intelligent, and bright, a transgender woman, did her makeup so she’d look pretty (and she did) as she went to class.  She is going out to eat tonight with her partner to try to forget what happened today. My oldest (so bold and beautiful), also a LGBTQI community member, said she thought today would be the best day of her life, as she welcomed the first woman president to office, and now said it is the worst day ever. They are both very sad and feeling isolated. But they have their family and friends, and they have love.  They have a voice.

What about those who don’t belong to a family or those who do not know love?  What about those who are voiceless and alone?  Tonight, they sit in a state of complete hopelessness. I want you to know this, and I kindly request that you remain quiet and respectful. Please don’t hurt them anymore!

Policies will change that will impact my own children’s lives, for the remainder of their lives, but they will be loved.

My own precious children will possibly lose freedoms. They are already losing hope.

I will encourage them to raise their voices loud and clear, and they will be heard.  Will you hear them?

Those on the margins of our country need our gentle support and guidance, not our anger and condemnation. I just saw reports on the internet of eight transgender youth who’ve committed suicide since last night, and though I have no documentation of this as fact, it is for them (and those like them) that I fear.

People with disabilities, people who are gay, people who are transgender, people who are undocumented, people of color, people with mental illness, people who are homeless, they, and others, are all on the margins of this beautiful and incredible country. They need to be seen waving their white flags! They are here.

They want you to hear them, even if they are too weak to speak. They surrender to you. You won, for now.

What do I tell you?

Listen. Look. See.

Please be kind. Think before you speak, tweet, or post!

And, lastly, know that I have a voice and I am breathing. This will certainly not be the last time I have something to say.

“The voyage of a lifetime starts at the windowsill.”
― Khang Kijarro Nguyen

(Is the voyage halted there too?)

Give Me Blue Sky

Give me the blue sky, on a warm autumn day, to frame the fading green and give me a window, open halfway.

Let me bask in the stillness of this day and simply sit.

Why does evening have to come soon? This moment is just too lovely to part with. I want it to stay.

Give me my little dog, soft and sleepy, lying next to me, as I write these words, and don’t let her jump away or get hungry. I don’t want to move at all.

Why do I have to do and be?

I wonder about my movement through days and nights, not just now, as the fall breezes just touch the tree tops and slightly tousle their branches, but I wonder often. I ponder this all the time.

What have I done?

My position changes often, and it is changed by more than a gentle breeze. Activity is changed by occurrences that I have no control over, and that sometimes feels really sad.

Involvement, is it overrated? Is it undervalued?

Give me the sun as it shines with the final light of day, yellow and thinning. Give me its soft, mild illumination; the light seems sympathetic and lenient.

Let me sit and breathe. Give me breath.

“Summertime. It was a song. It was a season. I wondered if that season would ever live inside of me.”
― Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Last Night I Sang to the Monster

August Is Green

When the day is inviting and warm, yet full of both promise and reminiscence, it is unsettling to be on the edge of contentment.
In trees, birds chatter, crickets sing around me, and the winds blow so gently on my cheek.  This day beckons happiness, and it requests joy.

As the sun rises and the sky is pure blue, brushed with the cotton of clouds, it is so sweet and so touching.
Yet, am I grateful?
August green is everywhere, and life lavishes the eye with the color of late summer.
Abundant, rich layers of grass, leaf, and stem stretch up and out of the earth, as if they are guzzling down the sunlight before their last call.
I sit and observe quietly, and wish I had the same earnest conviction as the green. To know that it is worth the reach, that is the test.
Is there fulfillment in waiting for the eventuality?
Hollowness echoes questions that are not yearning for answers, yet they query.
The sun and the sky request my company as they cross.
I am, unfortunately, isolated from them. I am on the edge of their sweet serenity, peace, and passion.
For now, I will have another cup of coffee and wait.

“We’re all islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding.”
― Rudyard Kipling, The Light That Failed

It is a beautiful spring day today.

I see shadows of the wispy, waking trees on the side of the garage. I hear the vibrant conversations of feathered friends. I feel the cool breeze on my cheek beckoning warmth.

I am grateful.

Yet, I am sad.

I am puzzled as there seems to be no promise.

I am confused, as the impression is of a lack of understanding.

Straying from normal, though sometimes unwelcome to you, might be the only position another can hold.

Why doesn’t the beauty of what is right and inevitable bring the gratitude that this day brings?

The emerging woods, winged creatures, and resilient wind do not choose their arrival. They are accepted and even adored.

Her position is required. Her reality is essential. She is here.

I love and respect her.

I am grateful for her.

Let me ask you this,

Can I give you my sorrow?