Gapawa published a post today titled A Bit of Honesty. He likened himself to Sisyphus, futilely pushing a big rock up a hill only to have it roll back down for him to push back up the hill. Day after day after day. Gapawa concludes the way out is beneath oceans of fear where your dream — whatever that means to you — is carefully concealed.
“It can be reached. But you must be courageous. You must be willing to accept help. You must be strong enough to surrender. Sweet dreams…” Gapawa
I left a comment.
“If you dive into the oceans of fear often enough, you can locate the shallows of experience where you can dream awake and put down your rock.
The first time was the scariest.” Me
He asked me if I’d care to share some of my experience, and my response grew into a post. With credit to Gapawa for prodding me to put it into words, I decided it would be more polite to publish it here than to fill his space with a post-length comment.
The Peace Poem, 2016, the collection of poetry begun under #PoetsForPeace, has been published in Praxis Magazine. It’s available as a free downloadable pdf. Each poem is worth reading and savoring. (You can find mine on pages 199-200, if you’re interested. 😉 )
We will combine all contributions and welcome suggestions for what to do with the resulting collaborative Poem…”The Poem Heard ‘Round the World” something that would make Gandhi, the Dalai Lama, and Martin Luther King Jr. sigh.” #PoetsForPeace
by S.T. Ranscht
ignorance, destruction, violence
the fearful band together
to contain, restrain, constrain
civilizing this Time’s
to question, create, explore
Shadows creep unnoticed from horizon
into unwary hearts that have no fear
or sense of other
or of love
Their first act shocks the world
to flurry anguish settling
to comfortable couch outrage
from the fifties
Was that the news
or just another episode
of mass shooting senseless violence reckless hate?
What can we do?
What can anybody do?
It is insane.
I see no hope.
Yes, this is a very comfortable couch.
Until it isn’t
Springs poke through
Too much anger, frustration, discontent
the hundredth monkey finally arriving
after the third act
or the fifth
Standing to make room
swallowing their fear with the blood flowing
past their homes. along their streets, in their veins
until it boils
to purify us all
Helen Espinosa’s Song Lyric Sunday theme this week is either protest songs or songs about “surviving this crazy thing called life.”
Before the British Invasion of bubble gummer rock, Folk music in America was hitting a more mature stride than The Four Preps and The Lettermen hit with their College Pop music style. Harking back to the social commentary of Woody Guthrie’s time, Bob Dylan and others — many others — tapped into America’s growing unrest toward the Vietnam War, racism, and the Civil Rights movement. He and the many others helped wake us up and motivate us to break out of that Dark Age.
Today, this song seems just as relevant as it was in 1964, like most of Dylan’s music seems to be. Maybe this can be the anthem for fighting our way out of the Dark Age we live in now.
This week’s theme for Helen Espinosa’s Song Lyric Sunday is Breaking Up. I’m guessing most of us have played both parts, the breaker and the breakee. I know I have. It feels like I was on the losing side more often than the other way around, but when I look back, it was pretty much even.
What did I do this week that was kind? Um, no. I am not gonna write about any kind thing I may or may not have done.
“Why not?” You
Maybe my perception of behaving kindly reflects my parents’ generation and their admonitions:
“Don’t brag.” “Don’t fish for compliments.” The Greatest Generation
I do kind things out of the goodness of my heart, and I think telling people about the kind things I do diminishes the goodness of my heart. It’s fine if nobody else feels that way, but I do, and hey, I’m the one I have to live with.
But because of something that happened yesterday, I have a single exception I’m willing to make to share a single story.