inversely stack shaped (take two)

An old one, but a favourite. And I’m feeling a little old today.

~

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I always thought
I could stack up my regrets
and one day

I’d dig out that really helpful ‘ten steps to freaking whatever’ instruction manual

and while holding it in one hand
kick the stack over

into the wind.

What a gorgeous day…
this self sufficiency shit really works.

But that’s my parallel universe.

I so love it there.

I ponder it
from the bottom of this deep hole my regrets
have dug…

 

music juxtapose me

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I woke through my undersleeping

with a melody I can’t contain

the notes are soaring above me

and I’m weeping for the refrain

it’s lilting and hilly and claws me

with a magic that can’t be borne

and it wants to hold hands and push me

but I’m trembling to be left unshorn

for it’s stripping and stabbing and writhing

so tenderly beneath/above my skin

a cauldron of un precious memories

and others that long to begin

in dermisly challenged confusion

I’m not sure what layer’s been breached

and if it’s from out or the inside

my armour’s diagonally streaked

from this bleeding of unsingable sweetness

its  bitter side completes my mind’s eye

I can’t help thinking

this state of the middle

should rhyme with a word like ____

I can’t help thinking…

 

 

 

 

 

a little hungover WordPress?

First day of the year.

Evaluating movement through life’s substance. (Or is it residue?)

Remember when you told me Vaseline was made from gasoline, and here, have some for the healing…

Remember how we wanted that clown for the party?

Me neither.

(I tried to publish this three times and WP didn’t save it for some reason. Hence the title 🙂 …I thought it was just me. Maybe it is…)

origamied

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The words of sages

supposedly wise supposedly.

Ancient repackaged as new.

The air choking with nuances amiss and/or askew,

complacencing my view.

The forest floor

thickening under my feet

as I run. (Is this running?

maybe walking. maybe crawling.

maybe breathlessly clawing.)

The impact

folding me in

until I’m sure I can’t be folded

any more.

Cutting in all those places

I don’t want to be cut.

Of course.

 

Living in hope

of being taken out of this drawer

and being in the understanding.

in the unfolding…

(self) juxtaposification

5

Rolled up in macabre
you loved/hated your web.

The self binding sinews
unknowingly degraded
by the light you exude.

You persevere…

ecstatically wallowing
frantically  swallowing,
but betrayed…

undarkness regurgitated.

Your blindness!
to the following of you
by heliotropic hearts…

 

Photo credit: Gilbert Hansen

hikikomori

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I had the most interesting conversation with a dear, elderly friend recently. Every time I do, it makes me lament even more how our culture doesn’t value the wisdom of the elderly. There are times when I truly grieve over stories lost forever…

we talked about the fear of man…

the fear of God…

the misunderstanding of the fear of God and how radically it is exacerbated by the growing fear of other humans, the context being, that we believe humans were created in God’s image…

the astonishing kindness of anonymous bloggers, their anonymity injecting poignancy straight into my veins.

I told him about the phenomenon of hikikomori which fascinated him, but he immediately responded with words straight from his mature, listening heart, ‘no wonder people are afraid of God. We are forever doomed to create him in our image…’ or something to that affect. Ugh, my awful memory does not do him justice.

and this post does not do this issue justice. but i want to get in the habit of writing more regularly so this will have to do for now.

(His beautiful wife then joined in our conversation. And when I say beautiful, she really was. And when I say was, I mean, she died suddenly a few days later. And when i say that i will always be grateful our last conversation was in person, and not by email…
for these people embody the anonymous beauty I have found in the blogging world.)

What does this c(h)ord do?

I didn’t even realise until my grandfather’s funeral. The first funeral of someone close to me. That so much of the time we just aren’t paying attention.

So we watched him being lowered into the ground.
It’s overwhelming isn’t it? That kind of grief.
And now you are hearing and seeing things you never heard before.
Right when you think the world should stop.

Now thanks to this artist I love, releasing this album at this time because of the loss of his child, I time travelled right back to that graveside. And all the other gravesides.

I have been to many funerals. My husband is a pastor. I have had the indescribable privilege of being at a few death beds. There is so much that I could write about. But there are already many words. And this trailer expresses some of it just perfectly.

 

Post Vocalic Stress Disorder

lake bonney

Disorders. We all have them. One of mine is that I am an Australian married to an American. I kid you not. The exact nature of this disorder is a conversation for another time.

So we met at the seminary he was attending a few (cough) 20+ years ago, and what ensued were years of discussing the ‘problem’ Australians have with pronouncing post vocalic ‘Rs’. To say we are still in pretty intense negotiations over this, well…

But it seems, the whole world is suffering from PTSD.
And yet, we continue discussing things that don’t matter quite as much… like PVSD. (Especially because we know I’m right about PVSD…)

So really, Basil, my blog instigator, is about balance. Or, at least, one of the things he is about.