New Book!

I'm happy to announce the release of my new book

One Moment, One Chance, Always: Finding Hope in Despair

Please use the QR code or the link on the title to get the best price for your copy!

Hope

I am convinced that hope is a lifeforce.

  Reflecting on moments in my life when

  I could no longer face forward, or stand.

Circumstances, different and changing. 
  But one thing there, perilous, terrifying.
  A crushing and interminable loss of hope.

The loss of hope always accompanied
  by a tightness in my chest, the inability
  to draw oxygen from the chi in my lungs.

The loss of hope always materializing
  the nightmares from the dark recesses
  into reality, ugly, malevolent, malignant.

There are no tomorrows when hope is lost.
  All the todays and yesterdays dissolve into a
  primeval, undifferentiated consommé of loss.

How much does the loss of hope account for
  the widespread malaise and hate in our society,
  addictions to money, hate, drugs, the past, work?

When one’s world shatters or slowly collapses,
  and everywhere one looks, there is nothing to
  stop the looming destruction, what is left of life?

How does the human spirit survive loss of hope?

When one carefully arranges the effects of one’s life
  to survive the continual onslaught of losses, and then
  another inescapable blow lands, how can hope survive?

How does the human spirit survive loss of hope?

When everything, everyone, every god has failed you,
  which way do you turn, how can you possibly breath,
  what is left to encourage you to stand and face forward?

How does the human spirit survive loss of hope?

You are in my heart, Terry.

Gratitude & Entitlement

 My father counseled me.

  ‘Feel gratitude, my princess!’

Such love and joy filled his eyes

  as he shared his wisdom with me.

Yet, my heart was hardened by privilege.

  ‘For what should I be grateful?’ I argued.

My father, war-torn heart and thankful soul,

  intentionally guarded me from life’s traumas.

Yet, my Pollyanna life blinded me to the blessings

  all about me, which sired my sense of entitlement.

It wasn’t until well into adulthood that I learned

  of my privilege, entitlement and their impact.

Life did not afford me continued privilege

  throughout many of my middle years.

Rather, it set me upon a 15-year path

  of financial loss and discovery.

Abundance Born of Poverty.

  Feel gratitude my child!

Understanding My Neighbor

As I booted a man with a broken-down truck
  from our parking lot, the man without
  a home or food shared with me,

  ‘Most people don’t understand.’
  

He was right.  I don’t understand.

But rather than listening to his truth,

  I turn to my addled brain, trusting its

  contorted and highly specious process

  to elucidate for me the answers I desire.

Before you decide these thoughts outlandish,

  consider how our brains treat lack of knowledge.

  Our brains do not tolerate voids in understanding.

  They fill empty space to help us make sense of life.

It is in this process of filling this intolerable void that

  we dredge our own mysteries, our unconscious mind,

  and in so doing welcome specters unknown to ourselves.

Our bias and prejudice thrive in the shadow of anonymity.

  Untethered to the realities corroborated by evidence,

  our biases reign…entirely outside our awareness.

Our implicit biases, and we all have them,

  are inculcated in us from early childhood,

  reinforced by family, community, religion, 

  media, political and economic institutions.

And the unique way in which our brains perform

  renders us, quite literally, blind to our own biases.

  We cannot see our biases yet are controlled by them.

Returning now to the story, stirred by

  the recognition that I do not understand

  the circumstances of my unhoused neighbors.

Aware of my brain’s inability to provide answers,

  I wonder if I might ask the person who does know,

  my neighbor.

Our Neighbors

People living on the streets pop into our lives for a time.  
  Then they disappear.  And we may never see them again.
  So, don't our relationships with them matter all the more?

Reaching out.
  Listening to learn.
  Seeking to understand.

The Heavens Tear

 

'My God!  My God!'
  'Why hast Thou forsaken me?!'

Pleas from God's beloved

  throughout the epochs

  dying on our streets.

The cries shatter my heart,

  drive stakes into His palms,

  darken the sky and our souls.

'My God!  My God!'

  'We have forsaken Thee!'

  

Our bodies ravaged by pestilence born of opulence.

  Our minds soured by tales penned to betray us.

  Our voices strangled by vitriol and malice.

  Our souls ravaged by fear turned hate.

We fall prostrate before You,
  pleading for forgiveness,
  aching for the grace
  that only You
  can bestow

  upon us.

Nomads…by Choice or Sweep

 April 7, 2023

   Elucidating for me why so many unhoused people

relocated to the church this month, he explained,

‘When one of us moves, the others will follow.  

That is how our nomadic community works.’

    I didn’t ask him why, but I can guess.

Humans need community, others.

When faced with trials and loss,

we need each other even more.

   His community travels together,

simply as they are community.

I also didn’t think to ask why

their community is nomadic.

   Lest I fill my void of knowledge

with my ill-advised perceptions,

I turn my mind to another thing

I witnessed this year on this block.

   I learned and witnessed this last year

that there is a crusade of the ‘haves’ 

to sweep ‘those people’ from our streets.

  Wrapped in cloaks of anger and disgust,

they call politicians, the fire department,

police, the county, anyone who will listen.

   And they demand the expulsion of 'those people'

from our streets and lives, forcefully, if needed.

   Green flyers are posted on the trees with words

warning, ‘Leave or Be Moved’ and the implied

threat that all their belongings will be impounded.

   Word has it that people can get their belongings back.

They just need to drive to some undisclosed address.

   I made such a call three weeks past, charged with vitriol

and fueled by my fear, exhaustion and self-righteousness.

   The police came, but didn't do anything, making me even

more furious at ‘those people’ and the law enforcement that

doesn't enforce the law for 'good people who are trying to help'.

   Let us pause now, in this story unfolding, to breathe deeply.

For see, this, for many, is the most holy week of the year.

   Thank (not God, I think) 'those people' are finally gone,

in time for us to celebrate in peace and without fear,

in our bubble of self-justified rights and privilege.