Category Archives: Spirituality

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 17 June 2018

I realized that I started two of my magnetic poems this week with the phrase “there is no sanctuary”. It was completely accidental, or perhaps it was subliminal. I think it was most likely the latter. I have felt helpless against the recent atrocities perpetrated by my government on innocent people in my name as an American, and now most egregiously in the name of God as well. We are learning more and more about the Trump/Sessions'”Zero Tolerance” agenda for those crossing our southern borders; the horrors experienced by families seeking asylum in the U.S.; children being ripped from their parents’ arms and shipped to holding facilities, some even lost in the system. A system that uses intimidation and fear to dissuade people from coming here. And now we have a president who is using these innocent children as ransom for his ludicrous border wall.

To be honest, I don’t know what to do. I made a contribution to a legal defense group who is working to reunify families at our southern border. I’ve contacted my senators and congressman. I’ve voiced my concern in poetry, and by linking to help organizations on social media. But I still feel helpless.

And the thing that disturbs me the most is the continued complicity, even support for this president and his ilk from so-called christians who put these monsters in office in the first place. How can they still support an agenda that serves the rich with massive tax cuts that most of us will never see; an agenda that is intent on destroying health care for all, most especially the poor, the sick (in the repeal of pre-existing conditions coverage), and the elderly; an agenda that would like nothing more than to cut off all “entitlement programs” to pay for the massive tax breaks bestowed upon the rich; an agenda that has no respect for the care of our environment, seeing only profit in selling off our precious natural resources to the highest bidder; an agenda that cares more about supporting the gun lobby and its small base of gun enthusiasts, than for the children and others who die from gun violence in increasingly alarming numbers; an agenda that disrespects our international allies while schmoozing with dictators and terrorists…sadly, I could go on, but I won’t. It is too, too much.

But I also refuse to be silent anymore. Fair warning to you Trumpsters. Don’t tell me “all” politicians lie, don’t tell me Hilary would’ve been worse (she lost, we’ve gotten over it…it’s time for you to get over it too), don’t tell me Obama was the worst president in history; dont tell me the Russia investigation is a sham and a witch hunt (20 indictments does not a baseless witch hunt make); don’t tell me christians are being persecuted and that you need laws to protect your rights; don’t tell me it’s good that we are now putting America first. That is not who we are. It has never been who we are. And please for the love of all that is right and good and true, stop using your god to justify your hate, misogyny, prejudice, racism, and privilege. While I may have tempered my angst and outcry the past few years to play nice with you…I’m over it. Stop your whining and suggestion that I should give Trump a chance. I am declaring a “no tolerance” policy on your bullshit. Your actions have put evil in charge and your ignorance and complicity keep them there. It’s time for you to own it.

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 17 June 2018

in simplicity
never ending rain
nightmares fading to dust
there is no sanctuary
eyes deep as pools
greet the dawn,
power feeds on souls
yet we save for eulogies,
midst a tyrant’s oppression
burdens we carry
to be livable
we have lost our souls
when god was love
heavy with tears

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 15 April 2018

Every Sunday I gather a line from each of the previous week’s poems. I call it a ReVerse. I like to read the finished word collage a few times and then write what I’m thinking about it in this space.

But…I was detoured today, and so, there is this…

I don’t normally notice them. The judgmental, self-righteous trolls that stare daggers through us as we go about doing the things people do, like living and breathing. Maybe it’s the swelling tide of intolerance, where it’s become the acceptable norm to shun, to hate, to refuse to serve people like us. No cake for you…we don’t do gay.

We have a Sunday morning routine. After we drop our pups at the groomers, we head to our favorite breakfast spot for coffee, omelets and pancakes. It’s a comforting way to pass the time. At least it had been, until today.

Today, after being settled into our booth, we waited…and we waited…and we waited. After 10 minutes it was hard not to suspect that we were being snubbed, especially when our server glanced our way several times, obviously, before turning away to tap into a computer screen, or to fold napkins. Was she hoping we would just leave…no hot cakes for you? It was hard not to take it personally. She got her wish. After 20 minutes we left our booth. Her back was still turned. She hardly noticed.

But we didn’t leave the building of our favorite breakfast spot. It is our lovely, weekly routine after all. We asked to speak to the manager and while we waited I watched our server as she glanced over her shoulder, peered over the rims of her glasses, and raised her eyebrows when she discovered she had won the battle. Her battle. I can only imagine her silent, “hallelujah, thank you lord!”…the victory cry of this “good and faithful servant” having received her reward for standing her hallowed ground against the likes of sinners like us. I can only imagine.

Sadly, I believe I’m not far off the mark. I have been schooled by many of these saints, that I’m headed for eternal damnation, hell, if you will, and that their great and powerful god considers me an abomination. Or at least they do, and they should know because god, their god, speaks to them. Not only that. There are verses in his book; this one and this one and that, proof that their god hates me and so, they should too.

After apologizing, the hostess offered to reseat us; to bring us coffee, to take our breakfast order herself.

I smiled, “Thank you, but not that server’s section please, any section but hers.”

We were escorted to a sunny window booth. The hostess made good on her promise, bringing us coffee and creamer, and one cup, not two. She was most apologetic, serving was definitely not her forté, and of course it was easy to overlook, because she was being so kind. She was so very kind.

The manager stopped by, as I had requested, ready to listen, I could tell.

“We come here every week,” I said. “We love this place. It’s our routine. But today we were blatantly, obviously, ignored by the server of our section; not a word of acknowledgment that we were there. For twenty minutes…”

And then I did something that I hate myself for. I started to cry. It was not a loud, attention-grabbing spectacle of a cry. My face simply flushed and my eyes welled up; a few salty droplets burned my cheeks on the way down.

I apologized of course. I don’t normally let these sorts of things get to me you know. I just wanted breakfast at my favorite spot with my partner of 18 years, coffee with two sugars and cream, a glass of cool water, and pancakes…and to chill, read the news on my phone, and wait for the groomer to call. I just wanted to breathe. But I cried, damn it! Living should not be this hard.

It would be easy to tell you the franchise name. To call for a boycott, for justice; to invite others to rise up against a business who would employ such a sad, hateful zealot. But it’s not about the place or the business. It’s not about shutting everything down that doesn’t value me or my right to be.

It’s about kindness, and the lack of it. It’s about what we are becoming. It’s about the whittling away of civility and the rise of hate, emboldened by our leaders. It’s about the pervasive lie, the worst lie of all…that there is an “us” and a “them”, that others are not to be trusted, that only some people matter.

Yes, it would be easy to lump the whole franchise, or people, into my own personal boycott crusade, but I’d be forgetting the kindness of that hostess, and the manager, and the other servers who have been lovely to us on previous visits, and the one who finally served us today. That would not be very kind of me.

You might be surprised to hear that I pray every day. It’s true. What do I pray for? That might surprise you too. I pray, not for comfort, or heaven on earth; not for prosperity, or to pass an exam, to live forever, or to land the perfect job. I don’t pray to be protected from others who are not like me. I pray simply that the hardness of life not harden my heart. I ask the universe to remind me, most of all, to be kind.

It’s the hardest thing to do and be, and sometimes I fail miserably. I get angry, and defensive. But mornings like this remind me why kindness matters. It’s a very big, small thing to ask, not only of others, but of myself…please be kind. Please. Be. Kind.

There is still a ReVerse in the wings. I will let it speak for itself this week.

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 15 April 2018

spring is in flux, bitter
on moonless nights, the veil
the flicker of a new thought
of a single wick consumed
breathing is overrated
a few lone travelers that no one would miss, to save civilization
this very moment I’ll take a stand
one last hurrah, dark night at the gate
much too busy surviving
‘cause all work and no play is a chore
let’s rollick instead, for spite
prickly, pale petal pins
then suspended, in fact,
pause with me a spell
shy and sweet
there’s a lovely stillness
count my blessings, count sheep, pray my soul to keep
the end never comes
might linger til mid-day, it’s my bliss
rarely do I remember my dreams
it’s true…every one sweet

~kat


Cherita – Day 17

we don’t want your prayers

void of spirit, void of heart,
talking points read from a teleprompter

but when there are guns at the gate
you may hear us praying, “build us a wall…”
and the gaslight flickers to black

~kat~


Affirmation – Monday Magnets

dazzling.png

you were born dazzling
as the stars on moonless nights,
wild as the ocean, brilliant as
flowers blushed with color;
your breath is a kiss of eternity,
breezy, slow, lingering…

so never let anyone say you
are broken…it is a lie

remember you are magic,
dancing to the rhythm of
the universe…poetry in motion

~kat
Magnetic Poetry Online (The Poet Kit)


The Man Who Talks to Walls

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Wailing Wall from Wikipedia

People from miles around gathered at the wall. For centuries it had heard their fears, their hopes, their dreams. For centuries it had collected messages and prayers scribbled on scraps of paper and stuffed into its crumbling facade. Some people were true believers in the wall and its power to pass their intentions to the One who listens. Some thought it nothing more than a novelty, a tourist destination, a photo op.

Cyrus was one of the latter. He lived near the wall and hated it. He often laughed at the pilgrims, ‘emotional fools’, he called them, shouting at them from his doorway, “It’s a wall you know! You’re talking to a stupid wall! Can’t you see how crazy that is? Stupid wall…stupid, stupid wall!”

But early every morning, when the streets were empty Cyrus would shuffle over to the wall; to the very same spot each time. He reached into a paper-laden crack and gently removed a folded yellow note, dropped to the ground, tears flooding the corners of his eyes as he read the child-like scrawl fading on the page.

Please don’t take my mommy God. I need her.
Love,
Cyrus

Days after young Cyrus had written that note, his mother succumbed to illness. That was the day Cyrus stopped believing in the wall; in anything for that matter. He felt oddly comforted when he read the note though. Memories of his mother flooded his mind. As painful as it was, he couldn’t stay away.

Year’s passed and it was Cyrus’ time to leave this world. As he closed his eyes, weary from a life of pain and disappointment, he started to feel lighter. His soul rose above his body and drifted through the door of his house and over to the wall where his mother stood waiting for him, holding the yellow note in her hand.

“Momma? Momma, why did God take you away from me?”

“Oh Cyrus, I never left. Don’t you know that every time you came to the wall to read your note, I was right there, holding you. Reminding you of how much I loved you. Did you feel it Cyrus?”

“I did. Yes, I did feel you each time as lovely memories filled my head. That was you?”

“Yes. The wall and your note kept me close to you. Now you and I can both find rest and peace. Are you ready Cyrus?

“Yes. I’m ready,” Cyrus whispered as he took his mother’s hand. Together they drifted through the wall into the starry night sky.

The wall moaned and shuddered as another breach ripped its ancient stone face bottom to top creating another portal for notes from those seeking miracles and little boys, orphaned too soon.

~kat

For MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie Sunday Writing Prompt. This week: “It’s All in the Title” – Use one or more of the titles below to compose a song/story/poem:

A Girl Called Gift
A Night Without Dreams
The Day the Stars Burned
Revenant
Sleep Deprivation
The Mulberry Bush
A Disquieting Haze
A Vision in Blue
The Man Who Talks to Walls
The Fairy Queen


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