Though we all struggle with our own demons. There is no evil presence such as, complacency.
What a relieve to wallow in my own shit?
Well, no, not really. It does me and anyone I know, very little good if I do not get off the cross and take a walk around…gather in what small acts of kindness can do.
Occasionally, I will go down to visit some friends that I have made. Society calls them homeless. I call them too easily disposed by the powers that be.
I had been homeless once. And, though, the climate had been warm, I will never forget the ‘look’! The ‘lack’ of a good conversation. The way passersby turned their heads ever so slightly. Just enough to not acknowledge my presence.
Course, those days are over…for good? Only the Goddess knows and she ain’t telling.
With due course, refugee’s will be coming by the masses. Most likely, with struggle and condemnation. I do not disagree in holding out a helping hand to those who only want…what I take so, lightly. I do have a qualm with the continued lack of respect and acknowledgment that our society hands to it’s impoverished forgotten disposable beings…that most likely, just want the warmth of a good conversation.
“How can there be so much life and death intertwined? The bottomless depth of emotion’s cascading course! I walk with bloodied hands. Knowing I am no better. No stone cast forward from my shadow’s grace. No closed door within my house…that hadn’t been there without my force. True as the winds dimish and the sun wanes…my walking stick unwittingly becomes…judgment’s cane.”
“to stray off of something, to wander from a path, or to turn aside, etc.”.
As the smoke dissipated into the gray skies of New Hampshire, Thursday morn…I struggled with my steps. The two dogs accompanying me? Well, we all enjoy ‘quiet’ in different ways…
Recently, walking the old orphanage grounds…plots of land that have now become a new and improved shelter for those in hopes of finding recovery, my roots in sobriety have filled the earth.
Looking about, there is an ancient farm…still in running condition. Buildings of brick and mortar that laid out the histories of forgotten children…circa, 1900 or so. And, fresh faces of hope…Hope in kicking the horrible and nasty disease called addiction.
Even with the gods frowning down with rain and mist, I could not be persuaded from the mood I had found.
And, so…I digress…
Attempts at spirituality can be fleeting for anyone…if we were to be honest. I remember thinking chastising my dogs for being…you guessed it, dogs…
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could bottle moments of clarity?”
As I turned the corner, towards a river, oh so cold, a Canadian Goose, took flight. Really a sight to see. Even the dogs took in a moment of silence.
What have I been so frightened lately?
Had it been the powerful pain that continues to grow with every passing day. Aches and ailments from playing too many sports.
I played semi pro softball in North Carolina, took one hit too many, defending a strange plate by my feet.
I guess, that is neither here nor there. I wake in pain, I walk in pain, I live pain.
But this…I can walk through. But this…I will take and make my own.
The true dilemma?
Doubt! Buddhist will tell you…there is no room for doubt. So, okay, I will call it, I digress.
Of course, I need to digress. Truth of the matter? Recently, memories of past somewhat violent, homophobic events…have haunted me. Urging me to question, who am I voting for? Why is it so difficult for people to just love?
This really is not a political post. Though it does tie into current day issues.
So many people have only just begun to accept my kind. And, over the past week, I held them captive with the anger I had built over the past forty some odd years.
I texted a friend today, while watching the river flow, the birds scatter…
“Did you know lesbians of a certain age, do not always like gay men?”
When I had lived in North Carolina…I met a woman who told me she was a ‘separatist’! Not being certain of what she had meant…and certainly intrigued by her ‘physique’…I played the follower.
…separatist feminists do not believe that men can make positive contributions…
Awful to admit! But, indeed, for a very short period of time…I fell victim to conformity, prejudice and bias.
Today…the one political item? Hillary Clinton…seemingly, hadn’t come out, in my opinion, soon enough, voicing her need for equality for all.
I sat in judgment.
How dare she?
Who else can I choose?
What was I thinking…supporting her?
Towards the end of my time out in the woods, today, I asked my Higher Power for assistance with my current situation.
Not for the shooting pain in the spine, not the stabs of knife like aches in my knees, not anything that would be obvious with a gait of discomfort.
I asked, simply, please help me to be less judgmental…more mindful!
We all adjust our beliefs, our soul’s purpose…from time to time. It is called, doubt, it is called, self inventory, it is called whatever…I want it to be.
I didn’t dwell long in the ‘separatism’ crowd. Didn’t feel right. I had met so many gay men. People dying from A.I.D.S. And, those, helping to assist their friends to a dignified death.
It’s easy to fall victim to the ideas of others. To not give much thought…until faced with important personal decisions.
Who am I to judge, HIllary, for taking time for perspective, and coming out of the closet…with the right decision?
There are had been a new Zen master in the tiny town of Fateville. A Shaman to the likes none had ever seen before.
Every Monday afternoon, hundreds of followers encompassed the town’s square waiting to see the young man from a history of family wealth..Rumor had it that held a silver spoon to his mouth and silver virtue all about. Waiting and wondering what words of wisdom would be said for the week.
The little northern town had suffered so much with inner turmoil and outside land management…conflicts. That most citizen’s spent their time looking down instead of up!
Some would even say, Fateville had been in the middle of it’s own irrelevant little civil war…for about a generation or so.
Indeed, the young man cloaked with immaculate white linen and words of the way, mindfulness and enlightenment had been just what the town had ordered.
Peace seemed to have settled on the settlement as though a new light could be seen at the end of an endlessly wrought with misgivings…tunnel.
The only difficulty on the horizon had been the commencement of erecting a new chapel. A not so virgin plot of land in which those that wished to…could come and pray and seek the way had been set aside. Only issue at hand was the ancient farmer, John John. John’s family had farmed the land in and out of Fateville for centuries. But as luck would have it…the townspeople did not have time for old ways and wished to usher in new philosophies and new riches. John had been given an ultimatum to which he could not refuse.
‘Leave the land to the town…or, suffer being disowned and ridicule and shunned!’
It was shortly after the news of Fateville’s councilman’s promise to the farmer that the Zen Master began arriving late for his weekly service.
To add to the township’s dismay…the Shaman began to dress somewhat provocatively…considering his tenure with a Higher Power. The ends of his dress began to look frayed and in need of cleaning. Normally a clean cut and clean shaven man…the Master began to carry a five day shadow for a beard and his hair fall into a heavy dread locked style.
So as Fateville’s history proved time and time again, nothing good can stay in the northern town. Nothing, absolutely, nothing.
Upon the fourth Monday, the Shaman did not show up at all. The citizens were certain that he had learned of his ‘fate’, as it were! That the town council had again handed down the promise…
‘Speak Shaman of the way…as it were and as it will always be. No more shunning of the faith or you to will be disowned and cast out of the town as a fool!’
As the worshipers were reading themselves for the fall out…upon the sacred ground. A young woman named T ran to the alter and began sobbing as though she had seen a ghost.
‘What is it that makes you belittle the altar of good wishes…child?’
‘John-John the farmer, it’s the farmer, he has gone and hired himself help. And, the image has stirred me so…’
As mass groups of uninformed persons do…the town took itself as one down to the square in which the new marketplace was to be built and held it’s ignorant vigil there.
And, as the hot noon day sun approached it’s highest peak a shine was placed upon the tops of two bald men tending the fields. The crops were knee high with the promise of touching the sky. Such vegetables that had been difficult to find due to the drought…such vegetables as, corn, squash, lentil…were all in abundance.
Indeed, Fateville’s Higher Power had returned. Who had been this bald and able man helping the ancient farmer?
Upon approach it had been apparent to the citizens that the way of the Buddha and the way of enlightened had been finally felt by Fateville. For indeed, the young Shaman and the old Farmer had been the heroes of the field that day.
As the crowd began to gather around to touch the young man and the farmer. As the council men cleared their throats and readied their mouths to eat crow…the Shaman spoke.
‘It is easy to fall into the way of humanness. The judgment, the ridicule, the wanting for more. I, too, succumb, just as any of you do. But the luxury of convenience is a false illusion…We must always attend to the earth if wish for anything to grow!’
Or, so the story goes….
I met a young man with autism today…
I asked him,
John-John, why aren’t you at church with your parents?
I’m allowed to see my God as I want to see him. And, I like to do that at home!