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Category: Emotions

The Times They Are A’changin’

Sunrise Hope

First, I wish that you all will have a happy and prosperous New Year in 2020. The ball dropped. The old is past. Hope looks ahead.

Many of us look to this date as a resetting of the clock. We are full of optimism and hope for fresh changes in the twelve months that lie ahead. Resolutions for personal improvement and growth are made once the effects of last night wear off. (Hint: Hydrate, Hydrate, Hydrate!)
Then, by February the resolutions are largely forgotten and we get on with life as usual. In my entire life I only made one resolution that I successfully implemented. That was to never make a New Year’s resolution. I have kept that one.

I am not going to have the luxury of allowing life to simply carry on as usual this year. There are changes coming that will upend the routines that I’ve spent nearly 50 years building and reinforcing. They say that time waits for no one. This year is proof of that.

And, I have to admit to no small amount of fear and uncertainty. Any changes that come our way cause anxiety. Major life events, no matter how well prepared for, bring that anxiety on steroids.
I remember how my wife and I walked into marriage 43 years ago. Yeah, there was great joy and celebration. But, our lives were changed that day. We looked forward to our life together with optimism and fear. A strange emotional cocktail. We drank it, however, and for better or worse we have muddled our way through.

We looked forward with happy expectation as our children entered the world and joined us on this journey.
Again, though, worries and anxiety came to the party.
How would we be as parents?
Concerns about finances, health, housing, education, etc., etc., etc. clouded our minds every day.
Life as we knew it had changed forever.

We watched as our own parents aged and walked on from this life.
Our friends and siblings grew up and apart over the years.
People change.
That’s part of the journey, isn’t it?

And, still we trek on. Putting one foot in front of the other.
In the midst of, or perhaps, in spite of the anxiety.

The alternative is to stop walking.
The result of that is to wake up on the wrong side of the grass.

All of that to say, 2020 will be a year of profound change for us.
And, yes, I am afraid of what lies ahead.
It is an unknown.
If thar be beasties out there, then we’ll meet them together.

Perhaps, though, there is a new world awaiting us with new joys and gifts and promises.

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Monday Musing

Awakening, the dawn yet hours away.
Eyes closed, yet wide open as I search for You.
Ears alert to the sound of Your feet shuffling toward the veil.
Will You draw it back today?
Will I feel the warmth of Your Presence as You enter my world?

Only the slight sound of Wind against the windows.
Otherwise, silent.


Wait.
Patience.
Endure.
These are the creatures that inhabit the Cosmos!
I see them with my eyes and hear them with my ears
Every moment.
Every day.

When, my Friend?
Shall we walk together and speak of things long gone?
Perhaps, those yet to come.
Yes. That would be appropriate.
Where shall we go from here?

Here I am.

Walking in a cloud.

Unknowing.

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Lover!!!

God Loves Us!
We hear that.
We say that.

God Is Love.
Faith. Fullness.
Faith Mantra.

We speak of the Love that God has laser focused on us and the Cosmos.
Jesus, we say, pursues us as a Lover.
We are, in most of our imaginings, the object of God’s Love.
God is the Subject from Whom that Love flows.

” Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—
    for your love is more delightful than wine,” the Song says.

” How beautiful you are, my darling!
    Oh, how beautiful!
    Your eyes behind your veil are doves.
Your breasts are like two fawns,
    like twin fawns of a gazelle
    that browse among the lilies.
Until the day breaks
    and the shadows flee,
I will go to the mountain of myrrh
    and to the hill of incense.
You are altogether beautiful, my darling;
    there is no flaw in you.”

These are words that we imagine come from the heart and mouth of the Lover of our souls. Passionate! Lustful! Erotic!

We see this Love as originating and flowing from Heart of God primarily in one direction.
Yeah, we say that we love God.
Why?
Well, because God first loved us, of course.
Then we try to explain how much work we do for God because we love God.
Didn’t Jesus say that those who love Him would obey him?
Our expression of love devolves into doing stuff.

What if we were to actually love God AS God loves us?

What if we take the place of Lover with God as our Beloved?

Then would we not chase God? Consciously? Passionately?

We would say to God,

Awake, north wind,
    and come, south wind!
Blow on my garden,
    that its fragrance may spread everywhere.
Let my beloved come into his garden
    and taste its choice fruits.

Would we not be like the Beloved in the Song?

All night long on my bed
    I looked for the one my heart loves;
    I looked for him but did not find him.
I will get up now and go about the city,
    through its streets and squares;
I will search for the one my heart loves.

Could we even imagine saying to God,

Under the apple tree I roused you;
    there your mother conceived you…
His left arm is under my head
and his right arm embraces me…
My beloved thrust his hand through the latch-opening;
my heart began to pound for him…

This is the language of Love.
This is the language of Relationship.
Lustful?
Yes!
Erotic?
Absolutely!

Let us shed our prim and proper sensibilities.
We must not allow desire to be stuffed in a neat, little Victorian box where it lies stunted and impotent.

If God is indeed the Object of our Love,
Express it!
Live It!
Embrace it!

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Confession: I’ve A Way To Go

I don’t think that anyone really likes looking in mirrors.
Regardless of how much of a narcissist we may be, I think that we always find something lacking. There is some imperfection that our eyes immediately zoom in on. There’s that hair I missed while shaving this morning. And, damn! it’s right under my nose! Or, that zit that appeared in the last five minutes. Or, there’s a new wrinkle.

And, yet, we must look at ourselves in order to view these things. How can I get rid of that hair if I don’t see it? Yeah, riddle me that!

Oh, I suppose I could not look and wonder why when people look at me their eyes are drawn to that spot on my face that’s growing an oak tree sized hair. Of course, they would be too polite to say anything. The hair would remain until I could see it in a reflection of some sort, whether a mirror or Narcissus’ pool. Then, I could shave it off and all would be well again.

There are other kinds of reflections that we don’t like to see.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting with our parish priest and his husband as they opened their home to us. They provided food and good hospitality. Many from the parish stopped in to visit share our time and lives, however briefly, with one another.

As I sat, munching on some really good food, (thanx Rob!), I listened to various conversations. People talked about art and ballet, restaurants and theater. They shared about their kids and their homes. They laughed and joked about high prices and low values. It was a typical gathering of folks living in middle-class America.

And, I felt hopelessly out of place.

It’s not because I don’t live a privileged life. I do.
Nor do I begrudge these others their good fortune. I don’t.

However, there’s no way that I can relate to them.
I’m from a different era than most of these.
While my parents tried to keep up with the Joneses, I am a child of the 60s. We had an idealism that pretty much abandoned that whole race of the rodents. And, it seems 50 years on I still hold to some of that old idealism.
But, there is a part of me that would really, really like to be able to afford tickets to Broadway plays or to travel in order to see some exhibit of art or ballet.
The bottom line is, though, my wife and I simply can’t do those things.
Especially now that I’m looking at retirement. There are limits, some of them pretty constricting, to what we are able to do.

That leads me to my confession.

Envy.

Yep, that Green Eyed creature that lurks in the blackness of want and desire.
While I would really like to think of myself as above such material things that these other folks were talking about, I’m not. Don’t think ill of me. I’m just a guy who struggles with the whole being human thing.

So why is this an issue?

My envy belies something that is deeper than just desire.
It reveals a feeling of entitlement and superiority.
I am exposed as someone common and vulgar.
Envy shows me that I am still attached to stuff.
There are still gods and idols that my heart and mind bow to that are not worthy of my attention. Yet, they snatch and grab at me. My eyes become averted from the overwhelming blessings that I have received and focus on what I don’t.

That’s why it’s an issue.
I looked in the mirror and saw envy staring back at me.
Hopefully, now that I see it I can cut it off.

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It’s the Hap-Happiest Time of the Year! (Well, Maybe Not)

Here we are, folks!
The holiday season is upon us.
Turkeys will be roasting.
Families and friends will gather for Feasting, Fun, and Fellowship.
Soon, the holiday lights and Christmas trees will appear in lawns and windows.
Cookies will be baked. (Some might even last long enough to be decorated!)
Carols and hymns will be sung.
Gifts will be exchanged.

Yippee!

Did I ever happen to tell you that I really, really hate this time of the year?
And, no, Hate is not too strong of a word.
I, and many, many others like me struggle every year at this time.
Anxiety keeps me awake at night.
I have to watch that anger doesn’t leak out and splash on everyone.
My wife asked what I hoped to see happen this holiday season.
I told her that I would really like to go to sleep on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and wake up on January 2.
Of course, that was blown off with a “Bah humbug” response.

But, for a lot of us, this season isn’t something that can be easily blown off with light platitudes. The anxiety is real. Many of us also struggle with S.A.D. every year. That just adds to the mess that our hearts and minds become.

We do try to put on our holiday game face. “Joy to the World” and all of that. My desire to hibernate through the season hasn’t worked yet. So, I must play the part as best as I can. Keep the peace and all of that.

I’m sure that I’ll get through this year, just like I have every other year. January will come eventually and I can get my life back a little.

But, when you see me, or anyone else like me who struggles with this season, please don’t tell us to just get over it. Don’t mumble something like “Bah humbug” that only adds shame to our already full plate.

Give us space.
We’ll get through this with or without your help.
We always do.

In fact, we don’t want your advice.
We’ve heard it.
At least, I know that I’m taking steps to work through this time.
So, thanks, but no thanks to the ‘helpful hints.’

Just try to understand a little.

Please.

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A Prayer; A Confession

Yahweh,
Fear is niggling around the periphery of my consciousness.
It forebodes failure.
Anxious that I will be found false, I hurry to my corner where my blanket lies with the big, fluffy pillow that I wrap my arms around and hold tightly to my heart.

Lord,
I sometimes wish wistfully; waiting; wanting
That I could simply sit and share quietly among the multitudes who call on You.
It would be so much simpler to get lost among those who shine far brighter than I.
Then, perhaps, the dimness of my own light would be covered, drowned and no one would notice me cowering at the edge.

Yeshua,
When I read the stories of how you ran to hide away from the masses in the early hours of the morning, I see a kindred Spirit.
In solitude with Abba we can rest secure.
It is only when the crowds press us into action that the anxiety rises like a tide driven by hurricane force winds. A tidal surge that inundates and drowns.

God,
But, that’s not how I’m wired, is it?
No, for better or worse I have been blessed, (cursed?), with a mind that can see and understand things.
I am given words and music that overflow and must be channeled in order to irrigate and nourish others.

But, I feel so inadequate.

I feel so exposed.

I feel so false.

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A Prayer; A Lament

Jesus?

Are You there?

Because it seems as though You’re not, sometimes.

Maybe, it’s because we don’t know where to look.
The stories tell us that You are a king, a Messiah.
They tell us about how the ancient Israelites looked to their God for a deliverer.
A king and savior who could rescue them from their enemies and establish them in the Land of Promise.

But, we are not ancient Israelites.
In fact, we have no real connection to that ancient hope.

So, we have created our own crises and our own oppression.
Then, we call on You to Deliver us; Redeem us; Save us.
We have created as many Christs as are necessary to make us feel loved; safe; accepted.

In doing that, we have created You in our image.
Like the song says, “You are our own personal Jesus.
Now, I command that You save ME!”
Because, after all is said and done, isn’t that what a savior is supposed to do?

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Passionate Creativity, Or Hard Work?

I noticed something over the last few weeks.
While I’ve been emotionally on edge, I have also experienced a creative burst.
I have written poetry, blog posts, and journaled more pages than I have in ages.
Is there a direct correlation?
Maybe.

I stepped back a bit and viewed that last year as well as the recent weeks.
I noticed that since about this time last year there has been an uptick in the number of words that I’ve produced.
Last year I complete a first draft of a novel, over 50,000 word.
Journaling has increased. I’m currently half way through my third journal since Jan. 1.
Blogging hasn’t grown as much as other media, but the amount of content did increas over previous years.

So, why quibble over these things?

Well, for one, I’m a Creative and we kinda keep track of things like this. I mean, we need something to obsess over, right?

Another reason is so that I can track patterns. I take notice of periods of greater output and try to see if there’s something different that I can use to keep producing. Yeah, there it is, pure analytics. Sheesh! That hurts my brain.

What I noticed is that nothing keeps the creative juices flowing like simply putting in the time. For NaNo last years, I had to get over 1,600 words per day written in order to complete the challenge of 50,000+ words.
That requires showing up every day and leaking words onto a computer. It’s hard work. But, it’s good work.

However, passion and emotion play a very small part in that work. It’s nose to the grindstone stuff that keeps the process moving.

So, what about the recent spate of words that I link to raw emotions?

I think that while the work itself requires discipline to actually do something, passion like I’ve recently experienced can act like rocket fuel.
It super-charges the creative juices so that they start to boil and roil and toil with added intensity.
That’s all well and good. I think that any endeavor can use that kind of boost.
The problem, however, is that rocket fuel burns hot and fast.

And, it may burn you.

Badly.

I think that I got a bit singed here recently.
Its blisters are painful.

But, I can’t let that be an excuse to back away from the River of Creativity that runs through the Cosmos.
I still need to get my toes into the flow and do the work.

Who knows what kind of nuggets I can find in that river?
Hopefully, shiny ones.

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Security? I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Security!

Today’s Tuesday.
Yesterday, well, that was Monday.
And, I didn’t post anything.
Sorry if the 2 of you who actually visit here missed me.
But, I was unable to write.
Not because I was too busy with other tasks. That’s never really stopped me before. If I have something that needs to crawl out of my brain and onto the Internet, Well By Gawd, I’m gonna get it out there!
No, I had different impediments. Stuff that does, in fact, keep the crawly stuff locked up inside.
First, I haven’t been sleeping well. And, Sunday into Monday I was working on about 5 hours. That’s after weeks of maybe 6 hours on average. My mind simply said, “Nope. Not thinking today. And, there’s nothing you can do about. Nya Nya Nya.”
And, my mind was right. There was nothing gonna shake any words loose.
The other thing happening was that I was an emotional wreck. My mind said it was too tired to write, but, Hoo Boy, not too tired to race around like a squirrel on crack. I could not have put two cogent thoughts together if my life depended on it. Thankfully, it didn’t.

So, what’s going on?

I’ve shared a little bit about the journey that I’m presently walking. Emotions, Passions, Thoughts, you know, all that sensitive artist kind of crap. And, I have to tell you, this journey is fraught with all kinds of pits and obstacles and beasties and such.
But, it is a journey that I must undertake. Now. At this time in my life.

I’m finding that with all of the hope that I had earlier in life to embody Mr. Spock from Star Trek, I am too human. My emotions leak all over me like the oil pan of one of my old cars used to leak all over my driveway. And, these emotions can be just as much of a sticky mess and hard to clean up. Maybe, harder.

I’ve discovered that I am hyper-insecure. As I look back over my life and look deeply into my heart, I have always been like that. I fear rejection, for sure. More importantly, I think that I fear not being accepted.

So, I push for responses that might give me a glimmer of hope that you, (whoever that is), might give me that I’m not the waste of skin that I feel that I truly am.
I say and do things that we both will regret. Not because I’m a creep or some narcissistic boor. But, because I’m afloat in a sea of doubt surrounded by the dense fog of uncertainty.

Now, some shrink may look at me and say something about how I must have felt rejection when another child was brought into my childhood home. Mom and Dad had to set me aside so they could include the newly added soul.
Or, they might say that there is a hidden memory and wound from being given up by my birth mother for adoption. Lord knows I’ve heard that before.

Or, maybe, just maybe this is how I’m wired. Nothing broken. No wounds or hurts. It’s just part of my Melancholic personality type.

Honestly, I don’t know where the roots of insecurity lie. Don’t know if it’s even important to know. The fact is, this is where I am and I need to deal with it.

Deal with it?
What’s that mean?

Hell, I don’t know.
Fix it?
Heal it?

Learn to embrace it and live with it?
Maybe, someday be able to celebrate it?

I honestly don’t know.
And, I may, (re. Probably), never know.

I do know, however, that I am what I am and that’s all that I am.
So, the journey continues.

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Broken??? Nope.

Have you ever had one of those moments of clarity when suddenly, as if and epiphany, various and discordant seeming thoughts coalesce into a complete image?

No?

Nor have I.
But, this morning as I was quietly sitting in my office, dark except for the light of a few candles, I began to put some pieces together about who I am that I’ve only seen as disparate thoughts, now here; now gone.
I mentioned in some earlier posts that I’ve been doing some much needed introspection. It’s much needed because I think that over years and decades we become immune to the passions and voices that at one time helped to form us into the people that we now are. Some people refer to this as “adding baggage.”

So, I’ve been taking an inventory of sorts. I began to recall memories from as far back as I can. It seems that “helping” my dad build a fence when I was 4 yrs. old is one of the earliest.
Part of doing this kind of exercise is to look for patterns and triggers that may provide clues to why I am who I am today. It can be an interesting and fun endeavor, to be sure.

But, the overarching “Why?” for taking this path may be more problematic.

You see, it begins with the assumption that something Must Have Gone Wrong at some time. Because, I am obviously broken and in need of repair.
At least, that’s the impression that I’ve been given by people around me. Including, and especially, those closest to my heart.

So, the introspection became a forensic investigation. I was a sleuth looking for clues of a crime that I surely must have committed. Else, why am I like I am? If I had not done something wrong, taken a turn when I should have gone straight, then I would have turned out much differently. (re. ‘Better.’)

Well, I haven’t found anything that stands out.
I’m beginning to think that I never really did.

That fact has been the result of many different thoughts, feelings, and memories that I have sorted through. And, continue to sort.

I found that in this world that seems to be established as one where there are Round Holes and Square Holes, I’m a bit of a rhomboid.
I will obviously not fit into a Round Hole. I don’t care if it’s a circle, and egg, or an oval. My harsh, straight-line corners won’t allow that.
I won’t fit into a Square Hole, either. I don’t have the requisite right angled corners for that.
I am, what Lewis Black might say, “askeeeeewwwww.”

That’s all well and good.
It helps me reconcile myself to myself.”
“Hello, Mike? Meet Mike!”

Where the rub comes, though, is when others can’t seem to get past my Rhomboidishness. They think that in a world with only Round and Square Holes someone like me is an aberration. I MUST BE BROKEN!
So, they get out the saws and the sandpaper and go to work on fixing me.
They don’t realize that all they are doing is destroying who I truly am.

For most relationships, I can simply walk away. They don’t ‘get’ me, whatever that means. And, I really don’t have the time nor need to deal with them.

But, if you want to know me.
If you want to be with me.
If you want to Love me.
Well, be forewarned.

Because, if you think that you will ‘fix’ me, then we are headed for a relationship in which neither of us will be happy and both will be frustrated.

I wrote before that I must echo the wise words of the old sage, Popeye:
“I am what I am and that’s all that I am.”

I’m tired of trying to make everyone else happy at the expense of my own.
Selfish?
Ok, if that’s how you want to view it.

I, however, see it as Self-Preservation with a Hope to Flourish.

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