Speak to Me

Inspired by Jan L. Richardson’s Advent themed book, Night Visions, and my own frustrations, I blustered a rant/poem last night.  I am posting it now to share with you, that we may come together in misery and camaraderie in this sometimes difficult season.

 

Speak to me–

wherever you are,

whoever you are,

that I may hear.

 

May I hear me—

from long ago,

hear me—

from yesterday and tomorrow.

The timeless me

that knows

what is.

 

Call to me,

this Soul

who still lives

quietly in my

beating heart.

Raise your shriek

that I may hear.

 

Buried dreams?

Co-creating a

happy

family.

Two bright kids

in a hands-on world,

not on iPads and iPhones,

no…

wood and nails,

screws and springs,

creative fun,

with color,

suspense,

adventure,

joy.

 

No co-creator…

no norm—al.

Abinormal,

Frankenstein family,

jipped girl and boy,

crazed mom,

absent dad.

 

Buried dreams,

yes,

with wilted flowers,

browning on the grave top.

 

What wounds cry out?

For healing?

Healing, you say?

You’ve gotta believe

to even consider

healing.

I don’t believe.

I’ve lost belief.

Healing is behind

a blackened door.

Burned out.

Vacant.

Impossible.

 

My children

need healing.

My co-creators

are wounded.

They need healing

and I need

so much more.

Where to begin

in such a vast

deep

hole?

 

What longs to be born,

IN ME?

A flame

burning

flickering

warming

lighting.

Dis-covering

what puzzle

my piece

fits in.

Re-creating

a life

long subdued,

lived within the lines,

under the rules,

played safe.

The flame within,

wants restoring,

reigniting,

rebirthing,

in this season.

 

I dare not

yearn

for basic love,

reliable honesty,

unbounded creativity,

respectful partnering.

 

Humble praying

to the god within,

acknowledging

shortcomings,

letting go—

then believing

in support,

an invisible carpet

carrying me onward.

 

Speak to me

wherever you are,

whoever you are,

that I may hear,

 

and be—

lieve.

 

As an aside, this rant was in response to Richardson’s questions to the reader for the second week of Advent (p.20) which she themes “Desire.”  Of note, my dear writing friend who introduced me to this book some years back and continues an annual dialogue with me about it, informed me today that Jan’s husband and partner died from complications of a brain aneurysm just a few days ago.  I encourage you to support her work if you are so moved.

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