Weakness

I hate being "weak." 
Having an area in life where the limits 
of my strength are not just known, 
but are all too obviously shown. 
"Here is the weakling!" these challenges 
scream in the agonizing tones 
of deepest shame. "Come jeer 
at the so-called man who can't 
stand up to a Dorito." 

But that voice, that shame-filled voice, 
is only heard in my head, is only scraping 
its fingernails down the chalkboard 
of my soul.
 
There is another voice I need help to listen to. 
It says very different words, It says 
"True strength can only be found 
in the center of your weakness." 
Words that convey there is no shame 
in being human, that in reality 
my strength fails when I try 
to hide my weakness.

Who are “They”?

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Who are "they" to me? 
Who are the "other," the less enlightened, 
the opposition, the oppressors, the oppressed? 
I speak not here of abusers who I need to
distance myself from, in self-protection, but
about who the people are that I turn away from, 
who infuriate me? Who do I feel does not deserve 
compassion or care? Who are "those people" 
that aren't "normal," who through my response 
to their decisions or beliefs get somehow 
shunted out of the category of "neighbor?" Out 
of the category of those I can care for
and love as myself. And how do I love "them"
when I suck so badly at loving myself?
One thing I have learned and relearned
during COVID times is that each of us are "others"
who are part of all those "one an-others",
one and others who we must somehow 
learn to find love and compassion for.

My Father’s Pride

I feel the pride of my father, 
gone these 21 plus years, as he cheers
my brother and I on in being parents 
and finding our separate ways towards 
our mutual goal of being "good men."
Both of us build bridges in our own way 
with the works of our hands and hearts and minds.
Both of us struggle when our labors appear to be 
futile, when the people and society around us
see bridges as things to burn rather than cross.
But both of us, in our own masochistic ways,
start building again because connection is who
we were raised to be, and, in the unique
imprints of our souls, is who we are.

Words I Need to Hear

The line between hope and false
optimism is tough to figure out.
It is a blurry zone and navigating 
reality or caving to denial as things
shift in ways I don't desire is hard.
The swift changes in the pandemic
mental landscape tests all of our 
coping skills and, for many of us, 
the resistance to denial's temptation
is at the thinnest point of our lives.
When we passed the "One crisis too many"
threshold is different for each of us,
but almost every parent I know is
oscillating between shut down and denial. 
I feel myself begin to shut down as
I contemplate another year of
inconsistency from schools and other 
parents. My capacity for trust has worn
to the narrowest margin and it feels
like we are constantly on the verge
of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
The one sign of hope I cling to is that
we are destigmatizing leaning on others to 
help us through the multilayered challenges 
of our daily lives. We appear to be
learning the truth that there is no 
shame in not wanting to face 
hardship alone, and that the greatest 
repayment is to be there when the next
one of us falters and stumble on 
together.  

The Bridge to the Future

The bridge to the future is always
a chaotic construction zone. 
We build our future path step by step
as we react to the lessons of life
and try to take our desired pathway
Those lessons learned from our triumphs
and traumas often make strange building
materials that both repel and attract
but in that reaction, time catalyzes and
forces the next piece to be put in place
and our often reluctant legs must take
one more step in the leap of faith
we call "life." Sometimes watching those
oh, so carefully planned steps plummet
away from us because our supports came
undone and sometimes finding amazement 
as the materials and plans we choose
exceed our expectations and the future 
looks brighter than we imagined.

New Job

Hi Friends,

Sorry for no updates. I recently started serving the Friends World Committee for Consultation Section of the Americas as the Operations Manager. I am learning a lot about the job, and while I have not posted new poems, I have 3 waiting for me to transcribe. This is an exciting time, and I do plan to keep writing, but things will be a little sporadic as I learn the details of the role I have taken on.

Poems will follow shortly,

Gil (The Extroverted Quaker)

Present Moment

Living now, not in the past
where imperfect memory
paints distorted pictures of
what was or could have been
in colors of bright rose or 
hues of drained gray.

Living now, not in some
dark dystopian future where
we have successfully destroyed
our own humanity and scrape by
on the crumbs of what remains.
Not in some utopic "heaven" where 
we sit in perfect static bliss
and sing happy songs.

But to live in the beauty 
and pain of the now
Where the balance of things 
shifts and changes and the
dance of life switches from
dirge to house party and
back again in the blink of
a slightly confused eye.

Do I see what is right in
front of me? Can I experience
it fully now? Can I retrain
my temporally unfocused
mind to focus on you and
the gift of your presence to me?
For we are here and now and 
this present moment is our time.

Simultaneous Paradox

The paradox of simultaneous
joy and suffering is one of the 
most difficult, frustrating, and 
just plain weird to navigate 
in a way that feels "appropriate". 
But when does paradox ever feel 
appropriate? We rage at the 
inappropriate while laughing at 
the absurdity of lives that, at times, 
feel stranger than any possible fiction.

I remember the weird, even surreal,
quality of the reception immediately 
following the death of my cousin's
mother in the receiving line after 
his wedding ceremony.
There was nothing that felt appropriate 
to say, and so we spoke few words 
in hushed tones as we tried to 
figure out how to mourn and 
celebrate simultaneously.

The greatest gift to me that brings
hope and stability to the midst of 
paradoxical situations where all the
emotions are vying for expressive 
head space is the presence of 
others' love, not words or sayings, 
but the knowledge that I am held 
in care by someone simply being 
present.
   

Filtered Words

Image by vdavasad from Pixabay

Words are tricky things. 
In my attempts to enlighten 
I often encloud instead.
My metaphors fall short and
my voice produces noise
rather than a clearing signal.
This happens often when I
speak of bigger things
like the feeling of love or 
my experience of the divine.
This happens when I listen to 
the words others speak about
the bigger things and often
their words are filtered through
my experience and the words
come across as a mismatch.
The words hit my experiential 
filter and understanding falters 
and my listening brain detaches 
from my speaking mouth.
I don't know that it will ever be 
possible to listen to others' words 
unfiltered through the mediation
of my experience, but maybe if
I can remember that I listen through
filters I can find space to hear
the voice of life and love which 
weaves its way through all of us
and begin to hear past our filters.

Two Poem Day

In my weekly creation time I wrote a lot down and then spent days trying to make what I wrote 1 poem. Last night I realized that the problem was that I had written two poems not one and things came together much more quickly. Here are the two poems:

Projections

The physical can be as illusory as the virtual 
projections we broadcast through 
our carefully curated feeds. 
The masks we wear online are still present 
and projected when we step outside 
our rooms, our homes, and close the screens.

The images I want to project
in front of me protects me from
the harsh reality that not everyone
can or will love me, will welcome
the me that hides behind the masks
the true me. Can I ever find or have
freedom from my projected masks?

Can I accept myself as is
without fear, without pretense, 
without the masks I use to hide my
feelings of absolute vulnerability?
Can I take the first step on the
path to true freedom by accepting
the frail body I feel trapped in?
Can I look into the mirror without
my masks, look at myself and say
"This person is beautiful and
worthy of love."? Can I set aside my 
masks of illusion that get in the way 
of connection and bridge no gaps?

Companion

To walk beside someone in
this life is a slice of the deeper 
reality inviting us to lay down
ego and pride and instead 
simply be enough in our presence
to and for each other.