Fridays are Meant for Poetry

Our Lady of Perpetual Help

The burnt church up the street yawns to the sky,
its empty windows edged in soot, its portals
boarded up and slathered with graffiti,
oily layers, urgent but illegible.
All that can be plundered has been, all
but the carapace - the hollow bell tower,
the fieldstone box that once served as nave.
The tidy row of homes that line this block
have tended lawns and scalloped bathtub shrines.
Each front porch holds a chair where no one sits.
Those who live here triple lock their doors
day and night. Some mornings they step out
to find a smoking car stripped to its skeleton
abandoned at the curb. Most afternoons
the street is still but for a mourning dove
and gangs of pigeons picking through the grass.
Our Lady of Perpetual Help is gray,
a dead incisor in a wary smile.
A crevice in her wall allows a glimpse
into the chancel, where a sodden mattress
and dirty blanket indicate that someone
finds this place a sanctuary still,
takes his rest here, held and held apart
from passers-by, their cruelties and their kindnesses,
watched over by the night's blind congregation,
by the blank eyes of a concrete saint.

Copyright 2010 April Lindner . . Able Muse Anthology. . St. Petersburg Times

Looking for Light

Just a quick note for some spirit boosters :)

Being Thankful . . we used to call them "affirmations" . . oh my god, you can tell how old I am with that one :) However, when I'm feeling like I wanna sit in my own pity pool . .I have got to think about all those things I am grateful for . . and it's amazing that once I start this list it could go on and on . . and it always starts with . . dear god, thank you for my children . . .and their health and their spirits and their smiles . . and their children . . and their genuine love . . and thank you for letting me see their beautiful faces and share in their lives . . and well . . you can begin to see that this could take up my whole page . . so go ahead and begin to list your own . . .
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Keep Moving . . I always hate this one because I always feel like going in and lying on the sofa and taking a nap . .thinking I'll feel better (which I never do) . . and then I groan and squirm as I put on my tennis shoes or my swimming suit and head outside and put one foot in front of the other until . . .believe it or not, I'm moving . . and if I get nothing else done in the day . .at least I've done that . . and wow, my youngest daughter did all of those today in a triathlon and kudos . . .xo . . can she motivate me . . and can she move you . .(notice there are no lines for a list . . you're supposed to be out moving ;)

and . . if you're still here to finish before you head outside . .

Look ahead . . and catch a glimmer of where you want to go and what you want to accomplish . . even though we live in the present, there are often baubles of the future that can help us over those "bumps in the road" (thank you Mr. President :) . . so close your eyes and see the biggest and best . . why not reach for the stars . . I still believe we can touch them if we keep spiraling up . . .

And so as I'm reaching I remember some very touching words that continue to inspire and hold me and move me forward . ."I want to be far enough away to watch over you and close enough so that you can see my light" . . .(thank you dad:)

What's your inspiration . . share as you give thanks, keep moving and reach for the stars . . . I'm really listening . .

To Tell the Truth?

There's been so much in the news lately about sex and lies . . .but have you noticed that rarely has anyone mentioned that the real heart of the matter is: we don't tell the truth anymore. Matter of fact, we don't seem to tell the truth about anything . . .it's not socially or "politically correct". And from this sidestepping of words (perfected in the presence of our boss or our co-workers) we've adopted a very grey sense of truth. What used to be an uncomfortable feeling for telling a "little white lie" so we didn't hurt someone else has now become a dismissed or disregarded feeling . . conditioned away so that we don't even carry that discomfort into a conversation with our closest friend over coffee. We've "forgotten" it already . . until it doesn't even exist anymore and our ability to stretch, spin, and contort the truth to fit what we want to protect or promote is unconscionable if we allow ourselves to "think" about what we are doing.

And yet, with this comes the silencing of our inner selves . . our inner conscience . . about everything. When we cannot and do not tell the truth . . . nothing else is real, is it?

So where do we draw the line? What is acceptable to hide? When is it okay to lie? Is it alright for someone else to hurt us by omitting the truth?

I'm listening . . .

Choosing to Accomplish . . .Something

Both of my daughters and I have had several conversations lately discussing the choices that we make . . or our thrashing about over choices . . that seem to push us in one direction or the other. And I am so guilty about spending an inordinate amount of time in the "thrashing about" stage . . to the point that I have tons of great ideas and projects that never get off the ground!

So here I am, again, this morning trying to identify the ONE project that I will work on . . and to promise myself that I will follow through (at least until tomorrow :)

What I know is that life does get in the way . . and I certainly don't want to be the one with one toe sticking up out of the ground saying "well, I was dedicated to my project . . so sorry I missed the chance to gab with you today . . or to throw back my head with laughter . . or to listen to your worries . . or to soothe your furrowed brow".

So, even as no one is in need this morning (other than me with my project deadline), I am torn between savoring the moment of the day and sticking my nose back into my research . . .

I'd love for you to help me out of my dilemma . . I'd much rather chat or listen . .

Re-Defining . . A Continuous Process

Yesterday it occurred to me that, once again, I am in the midst of questioning who I am and what I am doing. And . . it occurs to me (even as I'm writing this) that possibly I've spent my entire life re-defining my goals, re-adjusting my sails, adapting. . and maybe that is exactly what we are supposed to be doing our whole entire lives . . after all, we are dynamic human beings. . .twisting, wiggling, and squirming within the constraints of societal expectations to be unique, to make our mark on the earth . . to say we were here and to have someone else confirm that it was worth having us in their lives. We are forward thinking, we are feeling, we are motivated . .and yes, sometimes we are even stuck. But the truth is that re-defining may be more of a process of refining . . putting flourishes on what seems to be mundane and discovering a niche that catches the light and sets our spirits soaring again.

When I study the theorists, I always think of Abraham Maslow's proposals for self-actualization . . the inherent drive within that urges us to find the best in ourselves and in others . . to become the best we can be . . and in doing so, delight in those "peak experiences" . . those moments of transcendence and peace. And yet, I believe there is more . . that we can develop a pattern of reflection and introspection . . so that re-defining and refining becomes a continuous process . . . of delightful flourishes . .

So today, I have crinkled my nose in that scrunched up way I do when I smile . . and I noticed that my eyes are twinkling a bit . . I've been teaching and reading and swimming . . exercising my mind and body . . creating and speculating. Re-defining what I want from life and in the process, refining who I am. What flourishes have you created in your life lately? If I looked into your eyes . . would I see the sparkle? I'm here and I'm listening . . .

Finding Time for The Good Stuff

OMG! It's 2:20 PM and I've been moving from one item of needed attention to the next since 5:30 AM. Yes, I've had my coffee and done my dishes in between . . .but what I'd really like to do is read . . .or talk with someone about a good book . . .or dissect the latest Yahoo gossip buzz . . or swim. But I know that if I don't keep with it for a bit longer, before long my mind will be saying "uh-uh, no-more" . . and I will be done. So how do we find the time to fit in the good stuff before we're too tired to enjoy it?

I'm open for suggestions? . . Go ahead . . .I'm listening . . .

A Child's Gift of Love

Today is my middle child's birthday . .and I woke up to the sweet memory of my huge rounded belly (clad in brightly colored a tie-dyed shirt) . . my smiling face as I mugged to the camera in the kitchen leaving for the hospital . . and the noisy suckling of this dark headed beauty as she nuzzled in close to become one with me on that afternoon 34 years ago. Amazing, aren't they . . .those children who at once are a part of us and in the same instance are individuals completely separate and unique. I am awed by this process of motherhood . . linking me forever to the lives of three undeniably smart, funny, and successful children (now adults). And although I am proud of who they have become . . and as they continue to flourish . . I am also drawn back in to reflect on the influence they have had on my life (a life I never would have had without them). I am humbled by the precious gift of love . . true love, unconditional love, sticky-gooey kisses . . dirt encrusted nails . . tangled hair, creatively shaved heads . . earring piercings and tattoos. Love. For them, I have pulled myself up by the bootstraps (more times than I sometimes care to remember) . . as they have prodded and nudged me to become who I am, too. And so, on this day I once again will put myself to my work . . to create, to grow, to flourish . . as their love nurtures me . . in ways that no matter what I write can never be captured. But for them . . and for me . . and for those of you who are mothers (and fathers). . you will understand. The stories . ..those lessons we learn from our children are gifts of love . .and for me, they trump all others. How as your child's gift of love changed you? I'm here . . I'm listening . . .