Broken, Unbroken

The lonely stand in the dark corners of their hearts.

I have seen them in cities, and in my own neighborhood,

nor could I touch them with the magic that they crave

to be unbroken. Then, I myself, lonely,

said hello to good fortune.  Someone

came along and lingered and little by little

became everything that makes the difference.

Oh, I wish such good luck

to everyone. How beautiful it is to be unbroken.

Is Mary saying that we are only whole when in relationship with those that linger in our lives?

Well then, aren't we always unbroken, for we are woven into the web of life from birth to death.

Maybe it's just at times that the strands that connect us are so faint that we can barely see them. 

Maybe in our sleep we grind our teeth on what binds us to life

So it is to us to wake up to the beauty

It is to us to open our eyes and train them to see the interconnection

It is to us today to bind up the broken.

What shall you weave today?

Meeting Wolf

There are no words

inside his mouth,

inside his golden eyes.

So we stand, silent,

both of us tense

under the speechless but faithful trees.

And this is what I think:

I have given him

intrusion.

He has given me

a glimpse into a better but now broken world.

Not his doing, but ours.

I can hear my spouse speaking in my mind now, for over the last few days we have spoken about "needs based ethics."  This ethical process doesn't have principles, or categories of people., therefore there isn't blame or praise.  For example,  "animals have the same rights as human animals,"  Ethical principles are one framework for guiding our behavior, but in reality our modular brains, our emotional limbic system, and our other subconscious motivations for behavior influence our actions more than any cognitive framework. 

You might ask then that with such wild brains as ours and without judgment of what is moral, how do we heal the world and stop the harming and breaking?

In Needs Based Ethics (NBE) what we do is integrate our mind's conscious and subconscious functions by keeping our hearts open to the needs of all beings.  It is an ethic of com-passion in that we bring our feelings to the situation of ourselves and others so that we can empathize with others' needs. These needs aren't desires or strategies, but are universal and fundamental to the species in question.

So as in my reflection yesterday, we humans are not more "right" or "wrong" than the wolf, squirrel, or owl.  We do things to fulfill life and the basic needs of protection, security, connection, and creativity.  It's just that the strategy that we pick to meet these life fulfilling needs have tragic consequences. 

My tenets of the day:

We break relationships, bodies, and the earth.

We must meet the wolf our self-interests and mourn our choices.

We are not an intrusion upon the earth, but one of many beautiful beings.

We are worthy and so are others.

May my actions so reflect these understandings.

What are your tenets today?

The Opossum - December 20, 2010

Beauty of fox, lemur, panther,

aardvark, thunder-worm, condor,

the quagga, the puffer, the kudu,

and this: the opossum

with her babies hanging on, gray lumps.

all around the scaly tail

that was bent over her back, like a sailboat's boom,

for the very small and oh! almost human baby-fingers

to cling to. At first I thought

it was some pitiful broken thing

lumping along over the scrubby leaves,

and then I saw the brown dog-softness of her long-lashed eyes

as, swiftly, with her wobbling burden of life upon her,

she ran.

When a child I once came upon a broken possum on the roadside.  She had been hit by a car, dead, but still warm. About her were strewn her babies, some still with their hands clenched in death around her fur.  I think hating my own kind began then in that moment, and since that day I have spent a lifetime moving ever so slowly from hate back to love.  Each day I rise, struggling  to love all beings, whether marsupial or placental mammal, finned, furred or feathered, or with grasping feet, tail, or hands.  I admit some days it's tempting to run as far from possible from the heavy burden of my own humanity.

But then comes grace, a chance like this morning where I rose very early and beheld the blood red moon, totally eclipsed by the earth's shadow.  Shadows and blood, shining above us all, and in us all.  What's not to love?

Where is there shadow in your life?  What burdens do you carry?

Logan International

In the city called Wait,
also known as the airport,
you might think about your life --
there is not much else to do.
For one thing,
there is too much luggage,
and you're truly lugging it --
you and, it seems, everyone.

What is it, that you need so badly?
Think about this.

Earlier, in another city,
you're on the tarmac, a lost hour.
You're going to miss your connection, and you know it,
and you do.
You're headed for five hours of nothing.
And how long can you think about your own life?

What I did, to save myself,
was to look for children, the very young ones
who couldn't even know where they were going, or why.
Some of them were fussing, of course.
Many of them were beautifully Hispanic.

The storm was still busy outside, and snow falling
anywhere, any time, is a wonder.
But even more wonderful, and maybe the only thing
to put your own life in proportion,
were the babies, the little ones, hot and tired,
but still
gurgling, chuckling, as they looked --
wherever they were going, or not yet going,
in their weary parents' arms (no!
their lucky parents' arms) --
upon this broken world.

Mary asks what is it that we need so badly. I desire that children would not be looking upon a broken world. Yet, if the world is such a bad place how is that that gurgling, wondrous babies came into being? Airports are such places where we look at the baggage of our lives, open it up, and perhaps leave some of it behind. Or take home more to ponder at some later date.

A few years ago I was in a busy airport when I saw a bat flying at people level on the walkway between gates. People were ducking and darting. I set down my baggage, took of my jacket to use as a net, and set off to catch the bat. I was not having much success when one man took a swipe at the bat to harm it. I told him that I would catch the bat and let it go outside. I almost had the bat when the same man took off his shoe, threw it, and the bat fell to the floor. I just stared at the man. Why would he kill an innocent being when he knew that I would take care of her? I scooped up the bat, still alive, and went to the airline attendant at the gate and asked if she could let me outside so I could let the bat die in peace, or perhaps recover. She just started at me and asked, "What are you, a veterinarian?" She did let me out side and I placed the bat on the connector walkway on the tarmac.

Returning inside, many eyes were on me. I wanted to shout, "What are we, humans?" In that moment the world indeed seemed so very broken.

When have you experienced "brokenness" and what reminded you of wholeness?

In Pobiddy, Georgia

Three women climb from the car

in which they have driven slowly

into the churchyard.

They come toward us, to see

what we are doing.

What we are doing

is reading the strange,

wonderful names

of the dead.

One of the women

speaks to us-

after we speak to her.

She walks with us and shows us,

with downward-thrust finger,

which of the dead where her people.

She tells us

about two brothers, and an argument,

and a gun-she points

to one of the slabs

on which there is a name,

some scripture, a handful of red

plastic flowers. We ask her

about the other brother.

"Chain gang," she says,

as you or I might say

"Des Moines," or "New Haven." And then,

"Look around all you want."

The younger woman stands back, in the stiff weeds,

like a banked fire.

The third one-

the oldest human being we have ever seen in our lives-

suddenly drops to the dirt

and begins to cry. Clearly

she is blind, and clearly

she can't rise, but they lift her, like a child,

and lead her away, across the graves, as though

as old as anything could ever be, she was, finally,

perfectly finished, perfectly heartbroken, perfectly wild.

This is the first poem that I have written in its entirety - for I know of no other way to tell the story that left me crying this morning. Mary, you surprised me. Me, a Georgia born gal who thought I had seen everything.

Are you as blind as I have been? The world invites us to look around all we want in the pull and push of Yes, No, and in the end we are here to be heartbroken. Nothing else but this, which is everything.

What

Alex - January 15, 2010

Where is Alex, keeper of horses?

Nobody knows.

...Well, maybe he's in the madhouse,

And maybe he's sleeping it off..

Dreaming of horses and leather.

And maybe, with luck, he's dead.

I know an Alex. We took him in one day shy of 18 years of age, an undocumented minor from Honduras with a history of domestic abuse from his father who forced him to work at 8 years of age, his mother having left him at 2. We knew him by another name, but he told all his friends he was Alex. He was such a wild beautiful heart and I imagine his dreams were of wonder and possibility. But in this world he was a breaker of hearts. We finally asked him to leave the house, too many broken promises amidst a background of substance abuse and run-ins with police and jail. I have not seen him in over a year, and I wonder where he is, sleeping on the streets, in jail, dead? I almost dread that he will come by again, for this brings chaos and pain into our home. And yes, love.

Yesterday I learned what I could of the horrific earthquake in Haiti. One picture showed a little girl, dead, half buried in rubble in the street, her head in her arms. It would be so much easier if the dead and broken were all the way buried so we wouldn't have to witness their lives.

Since reading these poems, Mary has shown the tension of beauty and death, grief and abundance. In this poem, where is beauty? In the brokenness? In death?

Who do you wish would go away from you so you wouldn't have to witness their brokenness or suffering? What is your response to the pain of the world?