Repeat Performance

Early morning hours
filled my head with dreams...
This time
I recognized many of
"impressors" that had occurred
through the week...
little moments
where clues
to who I really am
surface
and say
"Here I am!"

The fat man with the goatee
mocked me...
and flattered me.
He was the proprietor
of the beautiful place
I had come to live.
(that place I visited
in my dreams
only a few nights before
Bob died)
This time
I came with a woman
who would be my roommate
(because this place was
SO expensive!)
I showed her the beauty of the place,
the rooms
filled with windows
looking out into a a lush green landscape...
she seems pleased
and there
in an unfinished room
was a music box.

It stood on long legs,
like a piano,
but only contained
one octave of keys...
"What good it this?"
I thought.
What good is only one octave?"
But the fat man with the goatee
came in the room.
The music box was kind of ugly
compared to the beauty of
everything else.
One of us wanted to throw it away,
but I don't remember who...
But I looked at the old box,
wanting to save its life
and I began to play
a melody...
with just that one octave...
and I surprised myself,
for the song was
beautiful.

My woman friend
seemed pleased
and the fat man
suddenly recognized
the value of
the music box...
and I was pleased,
and raised my hand
dramatically
from the keys...

And the music box
seemed to fly apart
break into the pieces
from which it was made
and flew off into the beautiful
green landscape that was
just outside
the window...

The fat man looked in horror at me
For something that was
not valuable
had become valuable
by my playing it...
and my playing it...
caused it to be destroyed...

"I will find it,"
I told the fat man.
"I will find it and fix it.
I promise." 
But he was still angry.
I thought hard,
for I had fallen in love
with the music box, too.
"I will pay for it
to be fixed...if I can't fix it."

And then I woke
to the memory
of that strange
wooden box
that looked like
nothing special...
and I played it
and it became special...
at last
at least
to me.

Love,
Cindy

Arms Open Wide

Bike riding at dawn
I put on my "comfortable" clothes
and lift the garage door
It creaks like my back
And from the dark confined space
And the creaking of back and of door
I let the light in...
And prepare my heart for the ride

Water bottle...check
Phone...check
Tires properly inflated...check
Did I close the door to the house?...check

I roll my bike out
reach up
and pull the garage door down
(so much easier to close than to open!)
I survey the driveway
Listen for cars
Flip my leg over the bar and down I go...
down
down
down...

to the park below.
I pass a car or two...
on their way to work
perhaps
I taking a child
to a swimming lesson...
but I am on my bike
and though my hair is a bit gray
and I am rounder than I might like to be
On my bike
I don't care

On my bike,
it is if time is just a construct
for everyone else
but not me
because on my bike
time means nothing
the past doesn't exist
and the future doesn't matter
yet

Every time I ride my bike
I am a little girl
escaping exhausting parents
or chores
or people who want to beat me up

I am riding my Luck Dragon
And it's just me
and the wheels and the wind...
and the earth...at dawn.

I pass other dawn people
We know that real living begins
In a prayer to God
Creator of the earth
and all its contents...
We get up
and step out and say
Thank you
for this day
Thank you
that I am still here
and that I can go outside
and hear the first birds
and the wind
and see the clouds
before coffee
before eggs
before someone has the chance
to tell me what to do
I go out on the trail
On by bicycle

And I see the people
old and young
alone or together
with dogs
(but never cats)
The robins and the rabbits
The sunflowers waking up,
faces toward the sun
the dandelions
the primrose
the weeds
the birdhouse on my left
the creek below me
and the trees that bring welcomed shade
even at dawn...

I look at the hill ahead
And I climb it
counting each rounding of the wheel
telling myself I can do ten more
and then ten more after that...

and going home
I feel more alive
than I have in ten years...
I get the speed up

I've done it before
I can do it now
Right?
Of course I can!

And I let go of the handle bars
and fling my arms open wide
staying the course...
and remembering...

I arise today

Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,

Through a belief in the Threeness,

Through confession of the Oneness

Of the Creator of creation.

Love,
Cindy

The Snake

My mother always made fun of my optimism. I suppose in my writings, it might be difficult to believe that I am an optimist, for here, I tend to explain things ad nauseum.  I grew that little habit from living with people who seemed to never understand anything about me. I can't remember any of the conversations, I simply remember that they were long, and I always walked away sad.
I was made fun of for hoping for the best. 
Silly me.
The world sucks.
I forgot.

I suppose I am very naïve. I want to think that I am not a suspicious person...at least I know that I am not overtly suspicious, which might be a mark in my favor...
But yesterday, I encountered someone I had not seen in ten years. This person has caused me great harm over the last 15 years, but she is very clever and good at what she does. (No, I am not writing about my ex-husband's widow...although there may be similarities, I do not know her well enough to understand her intent in her behaviors...and I have deliberately decided to not get to know her. It will serve no good for anyone, at least for now). But this person is/was instrumental in why I left the Methodist Church.  She is not a bad person, let me be clear. She is simply a negative person. To me, she always seems to focus on the idea that the world is not a good place, that people are wanting to take her share of the pie, and to keep herself above water, she takes great pains to put other people down.  In other words, she is exactly like the mother that raised me.
So were my buttons pushed yesterday? Yes...but not during the encounter. Only in reflection. I am kind of a fool that way. I meet the moment as it arrives. I could write about the irony of the details that surrounded the encounter, but I am not yet ready...other than, someone asked me why I chose to not do a certain kind of ministry, I explained why I would not do it...and lo, there was sitting next to me, her back to me, the one who created the situation to make me never want to work in a church again.
It was only later, because that table was so loud, that we moved away to be able to hear each other...and she saw me first, and drew me in...all smiles and kindness flowing...but as I observed later, her cadre of friends offered glances to me that told me she was still angry about the choice I made to quit...and I was sad.
And very glad. Because I was no longer under that sad power that would have required me to live in fear of what she might do next, to continue to "get even."  At least, I must confess, that is my perspective. My instincts tell me she is not a happy person, even with all her smiles. I could be completely wrong. But...in my chaplain training, I know she reminds me of my mother...and that brings still too much emotion. I am glad to be out of her circle, which really wasn't a circle at all.

Lesson to be learned: I have still not forgiven my mother. Damn. So much for independence. I am more free than I once was. I cannot fix everything. In fact, I can probably not fix anything. But God can fix all things. Make rocky paths smooth. Make crooked roads straight. 
But only I can forgive my mother.

Do you follow?  God forgives. True. But listen to the prayer:
Forgive us our trespasses AS WE FORGIVE those who trespass against us. 
We are not forgiven unless we forgive FIRST.
That's how is works.

The woman I encountered is really irrelevant. She is a symbol for...what I have not forgiven. Maybe she is the metaphor for the snake...prompting me into unforgiveness...altho the Jews see Satan as something not really evil, but rather an adversary. The snake is an adversary...designed to remind me that I always have free will to choose what I want to do.  Is the snake bad because he reminds me that the world is not a warm friendly place?  Or that people, when given the chance, will use and abuse me for their own benefit? Or that I will be exploited if I allow it?  Or that fear can have as much power as love? 
No. The snake is always there to remind me of what can happen if I lose my focus. The snake is a part of creation, living its life as it understands life...but I don't have to buy into its soteriology...or its dogmas.  I can choose love.
In fact, I have to choose love
every moment of every day.

Does that make me a fool? Perhaps.

But as I thought about this woman, who tried to keep me under her thumb, using fear as her weapon...I recalled the voice mail I got yesterday, from the daughter of a woman who died...
"I can't put into words what you mean to me, what you meant to my mother..." and then silence...and then a disconnect...
Yeah...I screw up a lot.  But I do good things too. Sometimes I am ugly, but sometimes I am beautiful.
God loves all of me. Not just the pretty parts...

That's the message.
Damn...I misses Mass again...

Love, Cindy

Independence Day

Just finished reading book 2 of Hunger Games.  Opted for finishing that instead of Mass. I am concerned a bit, that my prayer life is changing again.  I am still praying rigorously, on many levels, but that "die-hard" Catholicism than once held me is not so strong anymore.
I suppose there is a certain reality to the connection between the student and the teacher. I have no teacher anymore. Perhaps I have learned what I was supposed to learn, or God would have provided one, and instilled in me a desire to seek that one out...but now, there is a kind of nothingness that is only mildly sad.
I had hoped that the Catholic Church might provide for me some existential answers to my existence, my survival...but that hope is gone. That trust, that innocence...will never return. Perhaps it was just a shadow anyway.  I tried to submit, or bend, myself to the will of an outsider; but again, God shows me that what God and I have...is not defined by any church, no matter how beautiful it may be. The institution of the Church is still a finite, man-made, man-run kind of thing. Beautiful, yes. Practical, yes. But God is so much more than that.
I write that because, in my current state of affairs, I now recognize the patterns of the classic interpretations of "Church."  I understand the functions better. Last Sunday, I observed a charismatic young priest say his goodbyes to a congregation that obviously loved him.  He's being sent off to hell now...the perimeters of a military base where the challenges will be less romantic or sentimental. He will now be confronted with life and death issues that are far more in need of a holy man than us lucky ones who live in pleasant, although challenging surroundings. It is one thing to deal with cancer or the death of a loved one. It is another thing to deal with people who have been told to kill for their country, to leave their families behind, to deal with the unceasing stress of the great contradictions between God and Country. I shall pray without ceasing for him.
But I finally realize that the priest, in all his pretty clothes, cannot provide for me the great consolation I seek.  These are a different kind of warrior, perhaps given a bit too much power...but desperately needed in the dark times our world is facing.
I looked to them for inspiration, for the courage to continue...but I find little inspiration there now, finally realizing that, although I tried to believe it, not one of them has my back. I suppose God knew I had learned what I needed for now...and most importantly, I needed to know what I read in the psalms each month: trust no man. 
But that does not mean that we are not part of some team, some confederation, assembled together to fight for the good, to protect the weak, to ensure the respect for human, creature and planet.   Given to our own ways, we are quite selfish creatures. We often desire for ourselves and others only what we think is true and good and correct... but we are blinded by our own humanity, and quest for power. And that includes the so-called timid woman, who will do anything to keep her man happy...this is just a backdoor approach to power.  It is who we are as human beings.  OK, it is who I am.  I strive to be Mother Teresa in my actions, but my humanness makes that hard to do.
So I didn't go to Mass today. Deliberately. On July 4th. Feels a bit like a sin.  But I know the drive is long and the homily will be uninspiring...at least, that is how it feels right now. I suppose I am grieving in a way.  This country is disappointing. Not just by the selfish hungers of our congress, or the power-seekers in Austin...but the everyday machinations that I encounter on FB and in my little community.  It is so easy to give up and let evil win. 
I'm pissed because I don't have a "fearless leader" to reach out to...I want my fairy tale to continue, I want my happy ending.
Then it dawns on me. If you want good, do good. If you want peace, be peace. If you want forgiveness, forgive.  If you are hungry, feed others. If you are lonely, be a friend. If you are poor, then open your damn arms and let them take the rest of you. If you want a leader, then be one.

And then...when you've given what you think is all you have away...
you will understand
that independence
is not about
telling the world to go to hell
or letting the world go to hell
but independence
sort of means
in dependence...
in dependence of God, of neighbor, of self.
In dependence of God, because it is through God that we have life at all
In dependence of neighbor, because I cannot be free unless my brother/sister is free
In dependence of self, by acknowledging that who I am and what I do matters...

Love, Cindy