One can roll with punches, but…

Elixir? A lot of folks think one can (or has) come out of Washington, D.C.  I gave up on that remedy for anything shortly after reading Hiroshima.

The Native American thing was well hidden with tales about “savages;” and who didn’t like cowboys –the good guys? As for slavery, it was over with, according to history books. I was snowed about it all for many more years.  However, little children incinerated, others with flesh sloughing off…? Well, my paler white young self finally did some thinking (and reviewing):  The bogeyman is real, and not even parents can protect one from it. Rather, we are all expected to swear allegiance to it.

There’s a book in sacred Scripture that scares me almost as much. It has everything to do with Babylon, of whom America is a lady-in-waiting or perhaps even, one day soon, a vital organ, receiving what it has dealt out in offenses to God and God’s mankind. What is it going to look like on that day/those days/years, if not atomic/nuclear devastation? I can indeed imagine crying out, along with the high and mighty, for mountains and hills to cover us, more and more.

It is one reason we should’ve stopped voting Repuglican or Demicrat decades ago — should’ve tried something real. I honestly fear that, one way or another, we won’t have another chance to do so.  Say something, impeachment vehicle, I’m giving up on you.


.

Good vibrations

We think about who we were, what we wanted, where we were headed, and now.. sometimes we just think of getting the house cleaned up and sorted better for eventual erasure of our collections of private treasures by the next of kin (and maybe going out to dinner now and then if there’s not too many of us to treat).

Until, that is, we get to the ocean.

The salty spray knows one’s own salt and deliberately blows that morgue odor off of one, threatening to take the whole scalp with it. There on the big rock (pick one — they’re all yours), you can be as wild and crazy as that frigid water that exists for your and my very life. Lie down on a boulder or in some hollow, who’s going to care — the seagulls? No one cares. Bring a pillow.  Dream, again. Not hunkering down, not hiding.  Owning!  Own your crazy ocean, rock, and life. Go. (We do have some sand, but the sand do have some wetness and fleas! Plus, I like being where the rogue waves and I can call each other “Stinker”!)

When I leave for work, I keep the car radio off until I’ve said some abbreviated hour of Mercy prayers (a half hour and sometimes 4 or 5 decades late!), while wolfing down a half of a peanut butter-and-anything sandwich. (Hand-held energy.) When I’m done praying for a heart-furnace to grow quite south of Jesus, and for the Church and for the popes’ intentions (via Mary), for the family and all loved ones, for the children of the world and the (other, public) victims of the day, I turn on the radio. Unless I am deep in cow/horse/turkey country. “Out in the country” only lasts approximately two minutes at 35 mph! I had to go a different way today, though, since some City someones just had to play with tree-limbers on my time, so I heard this from Supertramp. What a great song! It, too, puts my first paragraph into perspective.

To question everything under Heaven is a timeless, ageless good idea. Don’t lose yourself.


.

Birds, foxes..

I wondered for a while, why, when I was trying so hard to walk with Him, to truly do His will for myself and two children in that housing project, He allowed me to linger in a cesspool of loose women once of Rock-old faith who, among other insults to all humanity went after Him, too, who with a narrowing of eyes, wondered aloud if He ever acted on His temptations. I answered whatever I could and I prayed for them, but it cut me straight across something vital. I bled. I wish I could’ve gotten angry instead. At someone. Anyone. That sort of angerless bleeding hurts.

I wondered, as I lived each day in mostly human loss and withstood each night in human fear, too alone, and too poor to break us out for years, why. He was not revengeful, so perhaps it was the right penance that I certainly wouldn’t have chosen to make. It was knocking my legs out from under me in every sphere. Dear God, everything of my human life — anything that I might’ve done or wanted to do or needed to do, even for my children — had become so minimal.

I wondered as I pored over Scripture and Jesuits each knock-fearing night for so long, if maybe that Spanish Teresa had been right — if this was how He treated His friends, no wonder He had so few. I wondered also why, in the midst of it all so seemingly endless, I felt a hope like having overheard a Conversation about me, of love, which allowed me to wait. As if something good was coming from all this — very, very surely that. As if something wonderful was being prepared.  I laid my head against the wall that bore the Vilnius-like portrait, and breathed in, and out, hanging on. Sometimes wordlessly. What was there to say?

And years after He set me with a good man whom I had not sought (my future had entirely been given up to Him, whether it be the career which would stem from this sudden college..and perhaps being alone through life, or be it life with some good man, good enough for kids), in a lovely public wedding after the dispensation had come through, and with a better domain — one of our own — and with other children, a pool, a dog with papers, every sort of opportunity of schooling and arts and social arts for all four kids, all securities for all these decades (the length of His human life!), I realized what my (now) little trials had been about.

The Man of Sorrows Who’d had nowhere to lay His head, had let me taste His camp, His loneliness, His fear, His nausea, His desire to redeem.. to ransom the captive. Despite the good care He’d received for 30 years, He’d never really had anywhere to lay His head in this world. He would not have that until He redeemed all the resting places, on earth and under the earth.  Until then, He had submerged Himself in this often cesspool with cesspool fruits, because of Love, and He had let me spend the briefest evening with His inner agonies of the ruination of His Father’s beloved people. Love hurts? Love can annihilate!  Love consumes all but the seeds. Yet, it wins, in the end. It drags us up, in the end, that we will have Somewhere to lay our heads — and even now, should we find little or no purchase here.

To pay it forward as best we can is the first and last requirement of love.


.

 

Windows, and more

Seeking reality in the eyes is the one thing we share with the lesser thinking creatures like apes and dogs (and, okay, cats). A direct glance is so serious for felines and canines, though, they have to pretend to (or in courageous actuality) look away if a confrontational wind is discerned in the slightest.  Humans don’t do that (often enough). I think it’s because we’ve seen too much else there in eyes that was good, and this might be, too..

At any rate, I’ve realized that when I’m talking face-to-face with someone, I’ll be looking into their eyes the whole time they’re speaking.  Whenever I speak, though, I somehow shade my eyes until I’m done spitting out that bunch of utter but somehow crucial nonsense. I either look at the floor (pretending to hone exactly what I want to say), or at least turn my eyes to the right.  If I really have to think hard (to add more), I turn my gaze to the left, “Ummm… hmmm…”

There’s a young friend who has seen more than her share of familial and then institutional woe, who, when she must address something potentially uncomfortable, doesn’t break eye contact, but crosses her eyes.  I almost understand that. She has to withstand, somehow — has to endure, somehow — and that is how she does so, at least now that she knows love will soon fill up some of the spaces.  If not, or if the love seems too minimal (mere kindness), she can later tell herself, “I didn’t really see that.”

I don’t know why any of us do anything, really — it’s mostly all guessing — but there’ve been two people in my life who suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, will look above my eyes or my whole head and address the rest of what they’re saying there.  The first few hundred times it happened, I shrieked, “It’s right behind me, isn’t it??” and turned around fast!  Nah, I didn’t, because I was raised to not be rude or offensive.  EVER. Truly, I could smell a water buffalo behind me, but my eyes won’t leave yours.  You’ll never know that I was 100% aware of it, until it knocks me into the next rice paddy.

Why do you think folks look above the eyes or the head like that?  I once thought, “My gosh, I must have a pretty decent-looking aura after all!”  I thought that once, yes, for about 3 seconds.  Then I thought of how one might not smell a water buffalo, you know?  It’s a little unnerving!


.