birth and then the process of growing older dying is in the future as the
lifecycle travels quickly and then the final chapter written. There are no exceptions, only an age and date
separates all living beings. My strength
lies in the middle developing a sense of self…we bloom or we lay in waste with
the fading of seasonal growth. Deep
within there is a remembrance and emotion deeply hidden in the heart,
quiet. You may be a ghost of what you
once were…but you are still a living being and the world applauds the reason
for your birth.
My world is like a grain of sand upon then shores of time, changing, ever changing, and then, flowing out into the
sea of life.
Infinity is in my soul, eternity floats upon the
clouds of heavenly moments. My hours
caged, my spirit angered at the thoughts of those who have walked away from my
My feet have left their mark upon the sands of time,
waves of tears have splashed upon the rocky cliff that bares scars of what I
have lost, and my mind wanders the caverns of the past. Words of doubt have poisoned my faith.
The subject of grief is not
entirely emotional. Grief is expressed physically, emotionally, socially, and
spiritually. Emotional expressions of grief include feelings of sadness and
I am told that you can shift the focus away
from sadness. Distract yourself, find delight in beautiful
days. Reclaim the idea of what you have
lost, spend time with good people.
Although these instructions and information I believe to be true, they did not work on me.Why? Because I have yet to grieve. I walked out of the hospital with dry eyes, the lump in my throat has lodged itself, the time…almost 10 years.
I cannot grieve, I cannot let go, my silence is only broken by the books I write, the stories and poetry I create. When you are grieving there is no distraction, you cannot find delight in beautiful days, reclaim What? Reclaim the idea of what you have lost will I get it back? Spend time with good people, they are few and far between.
The homeless cannot sleep on cold nights, they gather around a burning barrel, men, women and children, forgotten, shattered and despised. In the distance, a baby cries. Begging for food, living on the streets, no jobs, family no longer sound. The spirit freezes, fruit of labors rot, life squeezes and struggles to persist. Bad luck smothering heart and soul, hope ceases to exist. Shifting winds turn into storms, will the world grow wiser or beaten back into servility? Trust departed, a cardboard box in the streets is where the homeless make their beds, hope disappears and the future appears dead.
Homelessness represents both a policy problem and a political
dilemma in the United States. In the wealthiest economy in the world, the fact
that individuals and families lack housing and must live on the streets, in
their cars, or in congregate shelters calls into question the basic functioning
of the social safety net and suggests that something is deeply wrong with the
political and economic priorities of the country. Yet the dominant discourse in
the United States proposes that at least some percentage of homeless people are
at fault for their situations; their dysfunctional behavior, aberrant choices,
and lack of a work ethic explain their homelessness more than economic
inequalities or policy priorities. As
the analysis of policy approaches below suggests, political and policy choices
may explain, at least in part, the growing numbers of children who are
Social system dislocations—an increasing rate of poverty, a deteriorating social “safety net,” the steady loss of low-skill employment and low-income housing, and others—have created a situation … where some people are essentially destined to become homeless. In so many words, we now have more poor and otherwise marginalized people than we have affordable housing in which to accommodate them.
Memories emerge from the darkness of the night becoming one with my soul like the rivers that flow into the sea. These hours before dawn are like a cold rain pounding into my heart. Grief lifts for a moment, then returns to consume my spirit, assaulting my senses. With the depths of my courage wounded, I am rising and falling in a sea of sorrow. my life filled with more grief than most can bear. I search of a miracle, hope merges with despair, is my destiny to lose all that I have ever loved. It is the hard cold hour I want to depart this misery.
know all too well that within the soul emotions flourish, both fear and truths
stored out of sight behind invisible doors, within the mind. Filtering the mind is the only way; it may
stop the possibility of getting lost in the fog of yesterday. Clear the mind and soul of unneeded clutter,
congestion and conflict; free it. Keeping
such thoughts will create an existence into which one will be doomed. Knowing self-value is the first step for the
soul to hear freedoms call; living in the “moment” is the only way to tear
down internal prison walls.
How often have you rushed out the door and into your day without even thinking about how you would like things to go? Before you know it, something or someone has rubbed you the wrong way, and you have reacted automatically with frustration and impatience. On waking, sit on your bed or a chair relax. Take three long, deep, nourishing breaths—breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. Then let your breath settle into its own rhythm, as you simply follow it in and out, noticing the rise and fall of your chest and belly as you breathe. Ask yourself, “What is my intention for today?”
I am writing to ask your forgiveness on not posting each day. As many of you know I spent seven days in the hospital two weeks ago. It appears my immune system is “shot”, and I have not been able to sit or stand more than ten minutes at any given time. I am home, but tiredness interrupts my thought process, and rest I must in order to get to the next ten minutes. My post my be short, but I will try to get at least one per day off to you. My appreciation for you is unlimited.
My parents passed away years ago, my father 41 years and my mother
22 years; I want to say that I forgive my parents treatment from my birth
through adulthood, I say that but I am not sure I have or can. I see my father in my sons and my mother in
my daughter; my children have been taught to love and they do. I have felt rejected by both parents and have
remain in that state of mind since I can remember, say 3 years old, to today.
I have read almost everything on the subject of rejection, I have
forgiven both of them, I cannot forget.
I do not believe this is immature; it is like a cancer that continues to
grow. I have been told that I cannot
find happiness until I do both, forgive and forget. I tried; I do understand the concept of
forever the child, the victim, left out in the area of love.
Strange as it may seem, a grudge is a kind of clinging, a way of
not separating, and when we hold a grudge against a parent, we are clinging not
just to the parent, but also more specifically to the bad part of the parent. It
is as if we do not want to live our lives until we have this resolved and feel
the security of their unconditional love; the love that will never come to us.
We do so for good reasons psychologically. Nevertheless, the result is just the
opposite: We stay locked into the badness and we do not grow up. The treatment from a parent is the most
difficult to forgive. I held out hope
until both passed away, the way I was treated, the need for validation. I wanted to be held in their arms, to be told
that they loved me, to treat me as they did my sister; my only sibling.
I know that no one is perfect, that I need to move past childhood
wounds, I do not know if they ever loved me.
I know that I should forgive but not disregard their actions, learn from
their mistakes. I had no emotional
security, my mother was a selfish individual who rejected me many times, her
meanness, and I wanted most of all to stop being a victim. I understand the hard journey both had in
life, their own dreams crushed, the circumstances of their lives and the
drawbacks they had to face.
However, to get to a forgiving place is a long complicated journey for me. I have held anger inside and I do at times
wonder if their actions are worthy my forgiveness. I saw in my parents anger and sadness, they
spoke few words to each other, I felt like I was in a vacuum never seen. My sister left home at 14 years of age,
married to an older man, one of my mother’s choosing. I tried to run away once, at 14 years of
age. I was a child, I returned home
before the sun set. My life took a
downhill spiral after that time, I should have kept walking.
Three years before my mother, got the courage to tell me to never come back, I did not. I guess she wanted a few years without me. I knew it was time to let both of them go, I am still trying today. I know that no one is perfect. My mother’s last act of cruelty was to not allow me to see her before she died. She had me ban from the hospital. How can one forgive? I had thought I might ask the question why do you hate me so much, that would never happen.
I stood next to a mound of red dirt to say my good-byes after her
death. I had always tried to have a
relationship with my parents, neither would ever change. My father did what my mother told him to do,
and she thought that she was always right.
The time was gone to build trust, to build love and I would always ask
why; why could they not care for and love me.
I still do not forget what they were, if they had the capacity to love
two children why not love all three. It
hurts and I have to stop judging, but when?
I have to forgive them for all that they did and accept them for who
My older sister is like a reptile called the Black Racer, they run
when you run, stop when you stop. She
walked the fence line, agreeing and disagreeing with my mother when it served
her. She was only a small part of my
upbringing, by the time, I was old enough to see her as a sibling, and she was
root ball of my family tree has many branches, some younger branches give with
the wind, and our mother would never bend.
My sister knew that she held some power, and then our mother threw her
to the wolves on many occasions. Of
course, in many ways she was just like our mother, thus the reason she did not
get along with her. I always felt apart
and different, my life developed differently too. For some reason, I didn’t get that trait, the
power. I always felt that my life evolved quite differently, too. While it was upsetting for years, I have come
to observe the purpose this situation serves in my life. I am not perfect but I believe myself to be
more openhearted. Forgiveness, I loved
my sister, as I loved my parents. Like
my sister, I married the man of my mother’s choosing!
I work every day to feel
compassion for them and I work hard at trying to forget…I do forgive my parents
and my sister, again my problem is the “forgetting”. I have written many books of poetry, each
filled with the conflict that I have face throughout the years; it is a form of
therapy for me. It was hard work because
it was work on myself, which is always harder than wishing and hoping others
will change. Reflection and self-examination has been a constant part of
my life, from childhood to adulthood, with no clear end to it all. My view is very different now, after decades
of reflection and willingness to work on myself.
I divorced my husband after 36 years of marriage; forgiveness means you
release your spouse from his abusive treatment of you. Forgiveness is not dependent
on how you feel about your spouse. It is a choice to forgive your spouse for an
offense. Bitterness and unforgiveness ran deep for years. The stalking, the
mental abuse after the divorce has been forgiven. He took his own life three years afterwards;
why, because I had made a life for myself and he wanted his whipping post back!
This posting is also a tool of healing, my parents,
my sister, my husband, all gone, the pain both mental and physical are no
longer here in reality. They remain in
my mind, they keep me from forgetting. I
make a new agreement with myself every day, to put aside the past, but it keeps
embedding itself deep within my senses.
I turn my pain over to God, but I take them back with me after each
prayer. If I forget, I will not be able
to justify allowing myself to be mistreated for so many years, to exist in
I want to end the power that controls me from the grave. I toss it away, it returns with a greater power over me.
Ravens are coming together at my gate; I hear voices calling to me. Turmoil lingers within my soul, imaginary walls rise around me. Imaginary chains wrapped around Iron gates. Is this God’s will? Under the ground, the body turns to dust. A black sky hovers, blazing clouds drink from the moon, life is short, and death is too soon. Bewildered, deceive by family and friends, born in exile, caressed by evil winds. Desert, ocean and the sky, God has forsaken me, sealing my heart, soul and eyes. It may come from Heaven or Hell, no one will ever know. Repent…repent…its hell. Repent…Repent…Repent….
Death particularly the death of humans has commonly been considered a sad or unpleasant occasion, due to the affection for the being that has died and the termination of social and familial bonds with the deceased. Other concerns include fear of death, anxiety, sorrow, grief, emotional pain, depression, sympathy, compassion, solitude. Many cultures and religions have the idea of an afterlife, and also hold the idea of reward or judgments and punishment for past sin. birth, life, and eventual death. My poem is dark in nature…Black Ravens gathering, the recognition of voices and imaginary chains. Questioning God’s will. Everything dark, all bewildered, evil approaches. All functions lost, eyes, soul, heart. Will I be forsaken? Must we repent? Ah…the imagination of the poet never stops.
The mandolin played softly from the room beneath my bed, the melody matched the moonlight dancing on the prisms hanging in my window. The lady plays repeatedly, thrumming aimlessly, as the night breeze takes the harmony over the cliff falling gently into the sea. In her room cascading long tawny silk, lying upon sheets white as milk. her skin glistening, motionless, her eyes like a cobalt sky. I go sit down beside her I can vision her pouring Brandywine. I lay in a sea of love, saffron scents, my hunger spent, and then she slowly begin her aimlessly thrumming once more.
Some of us live in a bubble of pride, immense loneliness, and at times both burdens to bear; somewhere along the way, many of us find that, there is not a reason to care. From the nursery floor to walking upright, the goal is to soar like a bird in the tallest tree. Many of us will forever stand alone, and alone we will fall from the darkest valley to the highest hill. Somewhere in the night a shot rang out in the darkness, did anyone hear, does anyone care. The only blood spilled was mine
Note: My “bucket list”, I have written a
simple line. “Write a Mystery”! I am not
under any spell that this is possible, yet I have the desire to try. Next to that line is the paragraph above…it
speaks of pride, loneliness and burdens.
Of wanting to soar like a bird…to get away from it all, it all covers
the abuse, the threat of being killed,
and the final act of being killed. A
paragraph to build into a story. Sometimes
mystery books are nonfictional. “Mystery fiction” can be stories in which the emphasis is on the puzzle
or suspense element and its logical solution such as a whodunit. The title “Free” and its contents is based on
fact and fiction.