I want to understand.

I want to see what you see, feel what you feel, know what you know, hear what you hear - then maybe I can understand.

So often I'm flying blind.

I listen but I can't hear the unspoken words. I don't know all the faces - I miss the crowd - I'm in the City but where are the masses. I cannot loose myself in the group - there is no back row to sit in and observe, study - decipher and think. I'm too close and not close enough. To far and yet not far enough.

Trying to find that spot where life comes into focus and sound is sweet.

Desafinado reigns.

I need to change - I need to stop - I need to listen to them.

Learning to hear the heart is hard.

Loving is harder.

I am pursued by a love that I have betrayed, denied, forgotten, used, cheated, berated, been ashamed of, lied to, short changed, and ignored.

A love that I have not pursued, have not honored, or rejoiced in.

A love that I have not - cannot lose. AND what offends so many is that I would treat such a love this way. Indeed when I sit and think on my behavior I become still and ashamed - still and sorry. I am so inadequate in the presence of such a love.

My lady...

I am not your lady!...
I am not any kind of a lady!

I was spawned in a ditch
By a mother who left me there,
Naked and cold and too hungry to cry;
I never blamed her.
I`m sure she left hoping
That I`d have the good sense to die!

Then, of course, there's my father...
I'm told that young ladies
Can point to their fathers
With maidenly pride;
Mine was some regiment
Here for an hour,
I can`t even tell you which side!

So of course I became,
As befitted my delicate birth,
The most casual bride
Of the murdering scum of the earth!

And still thou art my lady.

And still he torments me!
How should I be a lady?

For a lady has modest and maidenly airs,
And a virtue I somehow suspect that I lack;
It's hard to remember these maidenly airs
In a stable laid flat on your back!

Won't you look at me, look at me,
God, won't you look at me!
Look at the kitchen slut reeking with sweat!
Born on a dung heap to die on a dung heap,
A strumpet men use and forget!

If you feel that you see me
Not quite at my virginal best,
Cross my palm with a coin,
And I'll willingly show you the rest!

Never deny thou art Dulcinea!

Take the clouds from your eyes
and see me as I really am!

You have shown me the sky,
But what good is the sky
To a creature who'll never
Do better than crawl?

Of all the cruel bastards
Who've badgered and battered me,
You are the cruelest of all!

Can't you see what your gentle
Insanities do to me?
Rob me of anger and give me despair! Blows and abuse
I can take and give back again,
Tenderness I cannot bear!

So please torture me now
With your "Sweet Dulcineas" no more!
I am no one! I`m nothing!
I'm only Aldonza the whore!

Now and forever thou art my lady Dulcinea!

The dogged pursuit of a love that will not let me go, and yet unlike Don Quixote's in a very important way - in a way even more powerful, deeper, stronger and truer - indeed a love that does as Aldonza demands, a love that takes the clouds from it's eyes and see us as we really are.

It loves not who we can become, but who we are. It knows the kitchen slut reeking with sweat - and it loves still.

It shames me - such a love - nothing I can do and nothing I have done merits it - it is too great - it forgives without memory, it seeks me out even when I run and hide in shame.

I can only accept it. I can only let the Lord's love do it's redemptive work. How is love redemptive? I won't pretend to fully understand - all I know is that all I want to do is love like I am loved. It seems like the only possible way to honor it - incapable of earning it, I can only share it. I can only point the way to the source.

A personal relationship with a loving God, with Jesus.

He understands . . .


Learning Life Lessons in Line

Swung past Ross today, trying to find a cheap pair of sandals. Checking out at Ross can be problematic at times, you try to gage which line will move. Is that little old lady going to double check the recipient or worse try to write a check? Is this guy buying or returning?? Well today I guessed correctly, I was in the trickle lane, not the stagnant dead lane. So I waited, tapping my feet and taking little half steps as necessary. And as I waited, I looked out upon the growing sea of humanity and spied a bored older gentleman, wandering near the door. Every now and then he would glance at the other lane, the stagnant still and inert lane, every now and then he'd glance, and smile and sigh. Soon he is looking at shoes, or leaning against the racks of luggage lining the wall, while scratching the back of his bald head against the suitcases behind him. Seeing no one behind me he heads my way and gets in line. He has nothing to buy.

I take a small half step, and realizing that he is attached to the older lady in stagnant line comment on his holding pattern. "Yes", he says with a smile and a wink "and to think I could have stayed in the car"

We move forward, him and I. He says something about the joys of waiting for Her, and says it just that right measure of irksome joy, and I can see it's something he gets to do rather than something he has to do.

Laughing I take another half step, saying that I hoped to someday fully understand all that he means

He turns and looks at me ~

~ looks me in the eyes

inhales slowly thru his nose, sizes me up and with a small nod - "Amen"

It's my turn to buy now and as I approach the register, I hear him call to his wife, I can hear his smile "Dearest - I am yours, if you need me"

Smart old man - getting in another line, doubling their chances
I'll have to remember that one



I striped my pants off, the large dark stains were starting to stiffen. As I stepped into the shower I could smell his blood still under my finger nails - would have to scrub those. The EMT said peroxide or color safe bleach would be best for the clothes, and not to worry about the blood - as long as I had no cuts myself.

Did not see the accident, did not see Chris hit the divider - he must have been just seconds ahead of Nicole and I.

His car was smoking. He was screaming.

Blood - lots of blood.

He was hurt. Bad.

Really bad.

Blood in his eyes, holes in his face, screaming, giving his name, his rank, his serial number.

Fading in and out, coming to with a scream.

I am close - helping people stop the bleeding - his chin has red stubble on it. He is just a kid in the national guard. 20. and . . . Stay with me CHRIS - TALK TO ME CHRIS!


He still has a pulse.

I'm holding him, he has a little booger that sticks out of his nose which quivers when he breathes. His eyelashes are full of sticky blood and he is screaming.

Help is coming, Stay with me Chris?


Hang in there Chris.

Chris they're here - they're here Chris.

Out of state plates -

I hope there is someone he knows with him when he wakes up.

I wash his blood of my knees and watch it run down the drain - wondering.


The disconected ramblings of an unhinged mind


I am older than I was. I learn so much and so little each day. I am in love. I am tired and worn out. I am happy and exhausted and weary and built up. I am confused and dim witted. I am a beast. I am a poet. I think and I feel and I ponder. I listen to music and muse on life and the future. I think much these days, these dark long days. These bright short days. I would not trade their lessons for the world. Coffee is good and sleep is better. Time is well spent is invaluable. Rest for the weary is pure joy. Remember the smells of yesterday. Distance is not the same as apart. Striving is hard work, abiding is hard work, resting can be hard too. The sun will rise again. Jello and baby food is a pain to stock - toilet paper and kinds of soup are easy. Listen, rest, pray. Work is a blessing and a privilege, not a right. Drink lots of water. Learn to connect. Learn to listen for secret hurts, pains, and agony's. Learn to let yourself be loved. Learn to laugh at your laughable state. Keep your friends close. Don't be to harsh on those who say stupid things. Check the fluids in your car. Develop "presence". Everything you have is a gift. EVERYTHING. Even now is just a season, and this too shall pass. Don't sacrifice the future for the present. Listen to Nina Simone. Read Luke. Marvel at the story that is your life. Listen to the counsel of father's and friends. What man has done man can do. Tomorrow is coming. It's ok to not be ok - but it's not ok to stay there.


Prisoner of the Night

I wandered these fields once before.

The world was a very diffrent place then.

Thank goodness they hold a different comfort for me now.



. . . . . . . . 25

What doe's it mean when your asked how old you are and you have to stop and think - do the math - and answer wrong?

That's what I did yesterday - when turning in a job application.

"How old are you"

". . . . . . . 25"

Or when you wake up with a bloody nose, and you've tossed all your blankets and pillows on the floor.

Or when you can't sleep because your brain won't stop crunching life.

Ugh . . . . . . . .

Nothing like looking for jobs at 4 am, unless it's looking for jobs at 10 pm.

And there is nothing to do but keep at it.

Nothing else to do . . .

Wait . . . work . . . strive . . . hold the corse . . . stay on target . . . sounds so easy . . .



The horizon is always there - walk day and night and you never reach it. It wavers, it changes, it dips and rises, but never does it meet you. Wander in a dark room or a thick fog- you move and yet nothing changes. Search the haystack for a needle that may not be there.

Work is not a right.

Do you see that?

Do you understand?

Despair get's it's power from a truth and it's endurance from a lie.



Busy days . . . long still empty days. Days cluttered with hopes and dreams. Months come and go. And still tomorrow waits. Still it is there, just out of reach.

What does it bring, what does it hold. The possibility's are maddening - the unsure footing that is the hope of tomorrow. It can consume you if you let it.

~ persevere ~