Eternal

There was never only one,
there were always two worlds, collided,
a world of eternal beauty,
a world of eternal hurt,
merged in one place, of beautiful pain.


Prompt from Nean: There was never only one...

Prayer for Healing

Dear God,

Be with her in her pain,

help her know she is not alone,

grant her the wisdom to see,

more pain of another sort

is not the solution.

Wrap your arms around her,

hold her close,

when physical distance,

prevents a hug from a friend

Be with her when I can't,

when I don't know what to say,

or she pushes me away,

or I'm just not the person she needs.

Help the world to see,

her pain is not her making,

that the scars she gives herself,

are not the reason she hurts.

Surround her with the patience,

of listening ears,

and grant them the understanding,

to know talking about pain,

is better than ignoring it,

that shushing away,

her honest words of hurt,

only leads to scars,

that run far deeper,

than the marks we wince at.

The prayer prompt from this weeks Praying Through My Pen is: Read Numbers 12:13 and "write a prayer for healing for someone specific." Rather than write about a specific person I found myself writing about a specific need for healing which many people I've talked to or heard stories of have faced (and "her" can just as much be "his").

Ash

I hate,
how fast,
my mood,
can crash,
like snips of paper,
consumed by flames,
shadows of joy,
whither away,
leaving me empty,
dust drifting aimlessly.

Succumbing

Old habits,
die hard.
I've tried to forget,
and never return.

Just one night,
stay away,
a wiser friend pleas.

He knows how I'm hurting,
it's for my own good.
One night and one more,
now repeat that again.

I've been a good girl,
stayed out of trouble,
but the lonely night taunts me.

Just this once...
Just so your not alone...
Just for a friend,
since no ones around.

I nearly succumb,
I think I want to,
until I find,
a better friend,
in just my pen.

Giving in,
and giving up,
relinquishing control.

Unclenching fists,
to take a hand,
offered in love,
with words of wisdom.

Surrender not ending,
internal conflict,
help myself,
or fight for control?

Heart racing in fear,
have I done the right thing,
fought the right battle,
given in where I should?

I nervously swallow,
ironically fearing,
the very thing said to help,
chase away worry.

The Night Won't Save You

Crisp air blows,
stirring the darkness,
bright moon glows,
a beckoning call,
crickets chirp,
their incessant song,
promising not,
to leave you alone,
if only you'll follow,
into the night,
escape from the light,
but the night won't save you,
illusion of company,
in a lonely world,
promising safety,
but offering only,
a melancholy home,
for a broken heart,
the night won't save anyone.


Writing prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: "The night won't save anyone."

Untitled

warm and fuzzy,
bold red sweatshirt,
looking cheerful,
bright and happy,
to hide the pain,
tied up inside.

Cold

Cold and hollow,
left untied,
falling,
apart.
Am I,
really,
all alone,
stuck inside,
this hollow empty,
broken space?
My heart,
forgets,
how to,
be loved,
Wanting to,
remember how,
to love myself
broken and,
fragile as
I am.
Blindly,
reaching,
for escape,
from self-made,
traps and walls,
confining
weights,
hold,
my,
heart.

What language are your tears?*

If a picture's worth,
a thousand words,
a tear drop must be,
worth a thousand feelings,
a thousand stories,
of pain and joy.

If a tear drop tells,
a thousand stories,
it must be in,
the language of love,
love for the broken,
love for the living,
love for the hurting,
love for the celebrating,
love for the one,
who forgets that they're loved,
and love for the one,
who's wrapped tight in love.


*Title and inspiration came from the song "Is Love Enough?" by Michael Franti

One Year Later: Claiming a Rainbow Umbrella

Nearly a year ago I wrote this blog post about attending the local Pridefest. It was the first Pridefest in my town and the first Pride event I attended. The festival itself wasn't all that different from any other festival, but, watching the scene at the gate, I was both appalled by the need for, and fascinated by the work of the Silent Witnesses, who were providing a human barrier against the verbal attacks being made by protesters. Listening to the festival goers, and Silent Witnesses, being verbally attacked, I promised myself that next year I would be there holding a rainbow umbrella (one of the identifying marks of a Silent Witness).

As I wrote about that day, I promised my readers I would work as a Silent Witness this year. Friends and strangers alike expressed encouragement and gratitude on my post, and told me how much they appreciated what I wrote. I had been afraid I would get negative feedback when I posted it, but the overwhelming positive response made me all the more determined to follow through with my promise.

After waiting all year to be a Silent Witness for the local Pridefest, I attended their training session. During the training their nonviolent, non confrontational, philosophy of peacekeeping was explained. They talked about what roles they need people to fill during events, and the importance of NOT visibly reacting to the protesters. Though any form of communication with the protesters is strictly off limits, the trainers explained that it's ok, and even encouraged, to talk to anyone else. I remembered many of the things they talked about from watching the Silent Witnesses at last years event.

Since the training I attended was only a few days before the local Pridefest, it included some discussion of what to expect at this specific event. When they showed a map of the park it was in, they pointed out the main gate and the secondary gate, explaining that the protesters didn't discover the back gate until late afternoon last year, but now that they knew about it they would likely be there earlier this year. As they pointed out the back gate I felt year-old negative emotions boiling up in me. I remembered walking to the back gate with the first Silent Witness assigned there after the protesters found it last year, and wondered if I could really do this.

The morning of the Pridefest I listened to my favorite politically minded music, and tried to prepare myself for the work I was about to do. Listening to the Michael Franti lyrics “They say you got to choose your side and when it's done, nobody right, nobody wrong.... ...tryin' to make a point or have the last word, but most the time people just tryin' to be heard....” I thought about the fact that as Silent Witnesses we're NOT to try to stop or silence the protesters. It's not our job to keep them quiet, it's our job to keep the peace, and protect everyone's rights, including the rights of the protesters, as distasteful as we might find the way they choose to use their right to free speech.

Though I was slightly nervous, I was mostly pumped up and excited to help. When I arrived at the check in station I proudly claimed my rainbow umbrella, and put on the bright orange safety vest with Silent Witness logos that would be my uniform as I worked. The rain in the morning had done more to scare away the protesters than it did to scare away the vendors, so things were quiet at the gate when I first went on duty. The Silent Witnesses stationed themselves around the gate, welcoming everyone with their colorful umbrellas and friendly greetings. When protesters began showing up we continued our job as welcomer, carefully positioning ourselves between the protesters and the path to the festival gates.

Before I knew it, I had been on duty for an hour and a half. I took a break to explore the festival, and when I returned there were a few protesters preaching to anyone in ear shot, and even more Silent Witnesses stationed around the entrance. I took up my umbrella and found a corner without as many Silent Witnesses to stand at. Word was casually being passed around that the rain would strike in about fifteen minutes, but we were already prepared with our umbrellas. For the next couple of hours I stood, umbrella in hand, with the other Silent Witnesses. We chuckled to ourselves over the illogical arguments made by the protesters, and grinned as the sudden downpours drowned out the protesters words, and made us glad to have our umbrellas.

As I stood there I felt hurt for the people being insulted by the protesters, but even more so I felt sad for the protesters. I believe God and Love are two forces that cannot be limited, and yet the protesters were trying to limit both, and truly believed what they were saying. Hearing the protesters ranting I couldn't help but wonder what version of the bible they read that says it's ok to judge, but the more frustrating thing was wishing I could convince them of how much bigger than their narrow definition God's love is, and knowing they wouldn't, perhaps couldn't even, believe it if I told them.


This entry is also posted on my political/social justice blog.

Shattered

for my sis, in memory of Lohti

Lives shattered,
broken,
torn,
punching holes,
in the cloth,
of humanity.

A mind destroyed,
by war and gore,
plucks away hearts,
with life left to live.

Death spreads,
it's gloomy cloud,
smeared by love,
across earthly bounds.

Like a spider,
sensing it's pray,
on distant threads,
I feel the ripples,
of painful tearing,
as another thread,
in this human web,
is pulled,
too hard.