Tag: poetry

When You Focus Upon The Light

When You Focus Upon The Light

The broken pots told the story of why the red leaves and dirt littered the floor in front of me. The local garden center had a large display of Christmas poinsettias and a couple of these vibrant plants apparently had fallen off the table, their plastic pots breaking open as they hit the concrete floor below.

Seeing the plants out of their pots showed a cross section their life story. The dirt, the roots, the stems, and the leaves. The leaves always get the glory, but it all started in the dirt. 

Before a flower is celebrated for it’s beauty, the seed begins the journey buried in darkness, covered, watered, and left on its own to find its way instinctively upward and towards an unseen light. From a human perspective, such a journey would be daunting and quite traumatic. But to a flower, it’s simply the process of growing.

As humans, dirt is often a part of our growth process. Dirt, in the form of disappointments, pain, Continue reading “When You Focus Upon The Light” →

Making Space For The Hurt

Making Space For The Hurt

I bet Mother’s Day has always sucked for Shawn and Zig.

Shawn and Zig were two friends I grew up with in the neighborhood. Both lost their Moms when they were quite young. They were old enough to understand what had happened, yet not quite old enough to understand why it happened.

I don’t think they’ve ever understood why, even all these decades later.

Their pain was never something they brought up. They just carried it with them, silently, as they bravely tried to move on with their forever-changed young lives. Time simply doesn’t heal wounds of this magnitude. You just learn to deal with it, in your own way, in your own time.

To look at them both you’d never know of the heaviness that was weighing them down, their pain undetectable to the uninitiated. But that’s kind of how we deal with our pains, isn’t it? Silently. Isolated. Our burden, ours alone to carry.

While pain may be visibly undetectable, life has taught me that the vast majority of us silently carry our own degree of pain and hurt just below the surface. Life certainly is a contact sport and we all have our scars and bruises inherent with simply being alive.

Everybody hurts.

Yet, do we make space for the hurt?

You’d think with the commonality of pain we all share we’d all be a bit more understanding. Since we do Continue reading “Making Space For The Hurt” →

I Found Your Broken Heart On The Beach

I Found Your Broken Heart On The Beach

You’d think with all the miles I’ve walked on beaches over the years this would have happened sooner.

But there it was, at my feet.

A heart-shaped stone.

I’ve jealously seen a great many heart-shaped stones posted on social media, many from beaches I’ve actually walked on. Yet never had I seen one in real life. But there it was.

And it was broken.

The symmetrical shape of the symbol we equate with love wasn’t quite perfectly symmetrical. A small section on the upper left side had broken off, the roughness of the break contrasted against the weathered rounded and smoothed surface of the rest of the stone.

I found a broken heart on the beach.

This broken heart got me to thinking about the symbolism it may contain. Was there some significance in such a find? Was there a particular message or lesson behind me being in the right place at the right time to discover a fractured heart right in front of me?

A broken stone heart is easily seen. A human broken heart is much more difficult to see, the fractures and pain concealed within, with facades of smiles and laughter concealing the hurt even further.

Most of us with some years behind us carry within our own asymmetrical heart, a heart fractured and broken by the impact of simply being human, of simply being alive. Maybe finding this broken heart was to remind me that while broken hearts, specifically the human ones, can never be perfectly fixed, they can be cared for with love, kindness, patience, and understanding.

Hurt is universal.

So, too, is our capacity to respond with compassion.

Towards your heart.

And mine.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Popsicles And The Art Of Reclaiming Possibility

Popsicles And The Art Of Reclaiming Possibility

If there was a movie about that rather dark period of my life, the soundtrack would have to be filled with the music from the band Soul Asylum.

It’s the early 1990’s. I’m moving forward in life, fully transitioned into adulthood, taking a few small steps up a corporate ladder I felt compelled to try and climb. The facade of smiles and joviality, lubricated and enhanced with a steady supply of alcohol, diligently disguised the heaviness of doubt and uncertainty swirling within.

Cue Soul Asylum.

There was a relatable rawness in the lyrics of Soul Asylum’s music. Dave Pirner’s songs of emptiness, loss, longing, vulnerability, and frustration so perfectly captured exactly where I was at that time in my life. Eloquently composed, yet painfully accurate.

But it was his popsicles which always saved me.

Like the sun peeking through an ever gloomy and ominously cloudy sky, one lyrical reference always offered a faint source of light in the musical darkness. Each time I hear these words they always bring me back to a more innocent time in my life.

“Standing in the sun with a popsicle, everything is possible…”

I remembered back when life was a clean slate and everything felt possible. As a kid with the sun washing your youthful face and with a popsicle in your hand, life is a wide open highway ready to take you anywhere you want to go. Until life gradually shows up and experience and expectations turn that wide open highway into an unmarked and unpaved backroad endlessly circling back upon itself.

Life does have a way of ripping the popsicle out of your hand and wiping the smile off your now not-so-youthful face, doesn’t it?

Life does get busy. Life does get hard. Practicality often replacing possibility in the process.

Yet possibility always exists. In the light, in the darkness. In the flow, in the struggle. In the peace, and Continue reading “Popsicles And The Art Of Reclaiming Possibility” →