Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life
November 16, 2017

The Missing Key | A Nightmare

The key to speaking clearly and directly in situations of danger is simple, isn’t it? Forget about survival. My own, that is.

Which brings me to my recent nightmare. Here’s a short version, followed by what troubles me about this nightmare.

I’m at an event I agreed to lead. It’s late in the evening. D is with me. I’ve never been here before, and I don’t know anyone around the table. They don’t seem eager to be there.

A couple of men, black and white, come in and sit in a row of chairs facing the table, not pulled up to the table. They look unhappy, determined not to cooperate with me or with the group, which includes D, other men, and women.

I begin the rehearsal. Of what? I don’t know. It’s supposed to be a musical production. The group’s energy is low. We’re doing all right until a man at the table says something out of order. I call him on it. He backs down, unhappy.

Two or three more men walk in to join the men not sitting around the table. They’re all glaring at me. One becomes even more disruptive with comments and threats.

Before and during this time, I walk around the house. Body parts are lying here and there. After the entrance of more men I take a break and walk out on the back porch. I feel uneasy. I look around and see the partially dismembered body of a woman lying there. Fully clothed, no arms, and I can’t see her head.

I adjourn the meeting and leave immediately with D, who is driving the car. We’re on a deserted road with few street lights. We’re going to our overnight accommodations, at the end of a long driveway. D misses the driveway and quickly pulls off the road.

The car behind us zooms by and comes to a screeching halt just in front of us. The driver gets out. There are other men in the car.

The driver walks back toward the driver’s side. I recognize his face (one of the men not at the table) and tell D not to put the window down, and to sit on the car horn. Just as he does this I wake up, my heart pounding, afraid for my life.

Things I don’t like about this nightmare:

  • I haven’t a clue why I agreed to do this, or what the musical program is about.
  • I see body parts lying around the house even before I begin the meeting, but say nothing.
  • I’m being intimidated, especially by the men on the row facing the table.
  • I never speak directly to the row of men.
  • I go on as though things were normal, even after seeing a dismembered woman’s body on the porch.
  • I don’t consult with anyone, not even with D, about what might be going on and what to do next.
  • My focus is on the row of men glaring at me, and on my survival.

Creative rewrite coming next!

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 November 2017
Image found at pinterest.com

7 Comments
November 15, 2017

Working on My Nightmare

This morning I poured creative energy into rewriting a nightmare I had over a week ago. In the dream I was in charge, and found myself suddenly in a situation of growing danger. Yet I couldn’t speak directly and clearly to the danger. Not just danger to me, but to others.

This inability to speak clearly and directly in situations of danger is the most difficult damage I carried into my adult life. I don’t like the physical, spiritual and health fallout from being abused in body and spirit, but I can handle it.

Yet when it comes to my voice, whether written or spoken, I sometimes flinch when dealing with difficult issues. Or I speak out, followed too often by loss of confidence and the urge to sit down and shut up. Or stop being so emotional.

We live in a shrinking world tormented by personal, familial, national and global horror. It stares us in the face every day. Almost like a nightmarish taunt that won’t go away.

So I had this nightmare that began badly, became even worse, and finally woke me with my heart pounding, afraid for my life. It was all about threatening men, or so it seemed.

Since then, I’ve thought about a nightmare I had back in the 1990s, after I’d begun working with my psychotherapist. In it I’m running for my life from two or three men carrying loaded rifles, determined to silence me. I’m carrying a large umbrella. Hardly a match for loaded rifles.

I run into a room with an exit door at the top of concrete steps. The men are close behind me. There’s no way I can fight them off or stop them physically. I race up the stairs to exit the room and discover to my horror that the door is locked.

Of course I wake up with my heart pounding, afraid for my life.

Back then (as now), my psychotherapist encouraged me to rewrite the nightmare. Creatively, using only the material I have in the nightmare. Which includes my voice.

I’ll never forget how excited I was when I figured out what to do. I was at the top of the steps. Suddenly I turned around and pressed the button on my large umbrella. It flew open immediately, and I danced and, as I recall, sang my way back down the stairs and into the small room. The more I danced, the happier I was. I even invited my pursuers to dance with me!

The men were so flabbergasted they didn’t know what to do next, and I was suddenly in charge of my voice and the situation.

That’s the kind of ending I want for this nightmare. And I think I’ve got it! Which is for another post.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 15 November 2017
Image found at bgartshop.com

3 Comments
November 14, 2017

the long walk home

I wonder—
Do breathless trees
dusky skies
and lengthening shadows
remember what they see
beneath fading twilight
swathed in heavy garments
unsure of her destination

Is this a woman? I think so. She seems to be taking the long walk home. Which may or may not be that dark cottage hovering in the background, watching as she makes her way.

Is she alone? I think not. The trees, skies and passing shadows reveal more than what’s happening on the ground or in the background. If this world is God’s poem (thank you, Mary Oliver), we have reason to hope. Not because of the play of light in the trees, on the ground or in the background, but because of the Light that shines even in our darkest hours.

Sometimes, perhaps always, we must leave home to find our true home. Or better, to be found by God’s everyday angels in this world that belongs not to us, but to God.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 14 November 2017
Autumn Landscape at Dusk, 1885, by Vincent van Gogh found at Wikiart.com
Daily Prompt: Dubious

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November 13, 2017

Thank you, Anita Hill

In October 1991 I listened to your courageous testimony about Clarence Thomas. Your words took me back to my first boss. It was 1960. I’d just graduated from high school and was now a clerk in a bankruptcy court. We called the boss ‘Judge,’ though he was actually a referee in bankruptcy. He’d held this governmental appointment for years. He was about 60 years old; I was 16.

By 1991 I’d told only my husband the truth about my first boss. From the beginning, the Judge was on a mission to take me down a notch or two by way of sexual innuendo and outright inappropriate behavior toward me. He knew I was under-age, that my father was an ordained minister, and that I was a Christian. He said he was a Christian, too, and reminded me from time to time of his church membership.

I didn’t know what hit me. I got through three summers plus one full year, thanks to the friendship of other women working in the office, and the kindness of a few male attorneys who knew the Judge and witnessed some of his behavior toward me.

Back then the term ‘sexual harassment’ hadn’t been invented, or connected to Abuse of Power as an issue in the workplace. In addition, my childhood home where I still lived didn’t offer a safe place to talk about anything related to sex.

Flash forward to October 1991, and your testimony before the Senate Committee. I owe you a huge debt of gratitude for at least two things.

  • First, your personal account was the first I’d ever heard from a professional woman talking about repeated sexual innuendo and inappropriate behavior in the work place.
  • Second, your courage gave me courage to begin talking about this without fear or shame.

I’m sad this happened to you. I’m sad things happened to me. I’m sad things like this still happen every day to others.

Am I angry? Yes, I am. Angry that even in today’s reports from powerful women about powerful men, we’re still using the language of “if this is true.” Which conveniently overlooks the power imbalance that was in place when the alleged behavior happened. To say nothing of optics and the appearance of evil that seems now to be embraced, not avoided. Embraced, and laughed at in a zillion cartoonish ways.

We are not the world’s latest sleazy entertainment opportunity. We are women with every right to stand up and tell the truth about what happened and didn’t happen to us. And why it must stop now if we’re ever to be Great. Not again, but for the first time ever.

May God grant us serenity to accept what we cannot change, courage to change the things we can, and wisdom to know the difference.

Thank you for showing me how this is done. Not just then, but throughout your professional career.

Respectfully,
Elouise Renich Fraser

For a 2016 PBS News Hour video discussion between Gwen Ifill and Anita Hill, click here. It’s outstanding.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 13 November 2017
Photo found at gq.com

3 Comments
November 11, 2017

I was just a beginner…

I was just a beginner when it happened. In a supposedly safe place. I had a title and stature within an academic community.

From my childhood I’d experienced worse. Regularly. In ways that raised deep shame and self-blame in me. Bad girl.

But this was different. I was an adult. A colleague among adults who were followers of Jesus Christ.

It happened in a crowded hallway between classes. Without a whisper of warning. Just walking to my next class, in conversation with an adult man.

He wasn’t a stranger and he wasn’t my father. He professed to be a supporter of women’s full humanity, and our right to fair and equal access to theological education as students and as professors.

Perhaps he wasn’t thinking? I could give a thousand questions you might have asked me. None would have erased the sudden chill and shame of feeling an uninvited hand patting me on my butt.

I switched my briefcase to my right hand, moved over slightly and kept walking through the hallway as though nothing had happened. Indeed, it never happened again. I maintained my distance, without giving up my friendly demeanor.

My friend touched my body in a way I wouldn’t dream of touching his. It wasn’t a hand on my arm, but my butt. I believed that any attempt to draw attention to this would have made things worse. I felt trapped.

Don’t get me wrong. This is not my big #MeToo story. I’ve already told that in earlier posts—not just about the Shopkeeper, but about my father’s attempts to subdue me, and my first employer’s determination to humiliate me as a young woman just out of high school.

So why tell it? After all, it happened in the blink of an eye.

I’m telling it because we need to attend to the daily impertinences and seemingly small ways in which women, girls, boys and men who aren’t considered manly are reminded of their place and who has power over them.

I’m also telling it because there are millions of everyday people aching to let someone know what happened or is now happening to them. Are we able and willing to listen from our hearts? Without offering solutions or trying to re-write the stories we hear?

Sometimes silence and listening without judgment are the best gifts we give each other. In fact, to listen well is to follow well. The way I imagine Jesus Christ following us and being there when we’re ready for help.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…. (from Psalm 23)

I’m grateful for the women, men, young people and even children who have listened to my story, and shared with me their own experiences. In some ways, this is the table God has set before me in the presence of my enemies—who are more like I am than I could ever guess.

Praying you have a wonderful Sabbath rest.
Elouise ♥

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 11 November 2017
Photo found at theanvilnewsletter.blogspot.com
Daily Prompt:Neophyte

15 Comments
November 10, 2017

Our National Nightmare

Burning with contempt
We peer into the mirror
of our discontent
strutting proudly
through our dens
down hallways
of our disbelieving minds

Deliriously happy
to be Great Again
Or
Deliriously happy
we are Not Like That

There, but for the grace of God, go I?
Really, my heart?

This moment is full of danger and opportunity. The opportunity to work on our national homework—long overdue.

Perhaps it’s too late for some. It’s never too late for our surviving children and the surviving children of this world.

Is this a nightmare from which we’ll one day wake? Or is it the nightmare that will take all of us down—together yet divided.

Every time national events cause deep revulsion or fear in me, I know it’s time to take stock. What is this national nightmare trying to say to me right now?

It doesn’t matter which issue we’re dealing with. White supremacy, human trafficking, pornography, sexual abuse and predators, political gridlock, opioid epidemic, mass killings, racial profiling, homegrown terrorism, corporate greed, broken promises, or a hundred other issues. Plus a steady dose of twitter-like hyper-inattention.

It’s all part of our National Nightmare, not new, yet starkly in focus and fed by Mr. Trump’s persona and ubiquitous presence in our media.

No one can deal with everything. So I’ve chosen a few things to explore between now and Christmas. Things with which I’ve had close encounters of the uncomfortable sort, each of which boils down to one very large issue: Abuse of Power.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for caring and doing what you can to level the imbalance of power around you. Right in your own backyard.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 10 November 2017
Daily Prompt: Strut

16 Comments
November 9, 2017

early morning

A flock of small birds
speeds south
high above tree tops

Early morning sun shivers
behind gray clouds
creeping across the sky

Next to the radiator
my cat huddles
soaking in precious warmth

Sometimes I think it would be easier if I were a bird or clouds or a kept cat. Then again, I don’t think that would be nearly as adventuresome as getting up each day wondering what it will become by nightfall.

I don’t know why I’m the woman I am, why I was born into this skin, or why I had no say about the family or country into which I was born.

I used to fret about this, as though things would be better if I were someone else. Born to different parents, at another time and in another place.

Today I love who I am as one of God’s creatures. Small, yet as precious as the smallest hummingbird making its annual migration from North to South. Flying, not tiptoeing my way into the next season of my life. Held in God’s large hand.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 November 2017
Photo found at pinterest.com
Daily Prompt: Gingerly

14 Comments
November 8, 2017

shades of dusk

cleansing water sweeps
sands of time with burning gold
dust dropped from heaven

***

I was just looking through some photos, getting ready to shut down for the night, and this haiku happened. I love dusk, when everything holds its breath, and the sky comes close to earth with no sound but waves washing onto the beach. The photo reminds me of my childhood and teenage years in Savannah, Georgia, and the old wooden pier at the Tybee Island Beach–though this one is a bit more substantial.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 November 2017
Photo found at pixabay.com

13 Comments
November 8, 2017

Dancing with Chrysanthemums | Photos

Chrysanthemums have never been my favorite flower. When I was a starry-eyed teenager, getting a chrysanthemum corsage from an admirer was distinctly less impressive than an orchid corsage. Not that I had many opportunities to receive such favors, thanks to the strict No Dancing Rule in my family. Still, I got the occasional corsage for banquets, and orchids were the best!

Orchids are still magical–witness the orchid photo below, taken in Longwood’s ever-blooming orchid house.

Yet my appreciation for chrysanthemums is growing.

Longwood’s annual Chrysanthemum Festival is about more than flowers. It pays homage to Japanese Americans, their homeland, and the way they’ve enrich our lives daily with beauty and grace. The numbers of ‘pilgrims’ to this Festival is substantial, including homegrown and overseas families. I find this humbling, given our history with Japanese Americans during World War II, including the bombing of their country.

Here’s a quick tour, including a very short video about growing and shaping those huge Longwood Chrysanthemum ‘mushrooms.’ Did you know each of them is only one chrysanthemum plant, patiently trained, shaped and transported into the Conservatory?

First, some favorite photos from the main Conservatory. The huge Japanese lanterns rolling on the grass have tiny lights inside, not visible during the daytime–I’m sad to say!

As promised above, here’s what it takes to create just one of those stunning Thousand Bloom Chrysanthemum plants. Longwood Gardens made the video in 2009. It’s only 3 and a half minutes long.

Finally, here are a few more Japanese lantern photos. First, from the silver, gray and blue cactus garden. These lanterns also have tiny lights inside. You might be able to spot a few if you look carefully at shaded lanterns in the second photo.

And finally, a few spectacular shots of the passageway that runs beside this garden.

Thanks so much for taking time to stop by today!

Elouise♥

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 8 November 2017
Photos taken by DAFraser, 28 October 2017, Longwood Gardens Chrysanthemum Festival
Daily Prompt: Dancing

17 Comments
November 7, 2017

Dear Friends,

No big post for today. Just a little report on what’s happening.

  1. I just got back from voting! Not a big election, but then that shouldn’t matter. I value my vote, especially as a woman with clear convictions and yes, hope for our future.
  2. The weather is going north today–temperatures dropping by the hour. On my way to our polling station I wore my down-filled winter walking coat for the first time this season. Walked fast, voted, and walked fast home, trying to dodge the cold wind. A great start to the day. Not for the faint of heart.
  3. Last Friday I spent most of the afternoon at my primary cardiologist’s office. He’s thorough and experienced–takes his time and looks at every possible angle to make sure my heart is functioning as well as possible. My biggest compliment of the year (so far) came at the end. He looked at my birth date, noted I would be 74 this month and told me I look like I’m 64! Now there’s a really smart doctor. And yes, he also said I’m doing just great, all things considered.
  4. Yesterday afternoon I met up with my friend Rita and her adorable little doggie. We had a wonderful walk and talk through the park and back to her place. She’s in her 80s and is as lively and engaged in life as possible. A beautiful woman from the inside out. Petite and energetic.
  5. Sunday was marked by news about the mass shooting at a church in a small South Texas town. Only 400 town citizens; over 25 dead and many more injured and/or in shock. There have been many mass killings in the USA. Not simply in recent years, but from the beginning. The difference today is that the last three massacres were carried out by loners using various means to kill as many people as possible. Homegrown terrorism, as have been most horrendous mass murders.
  6. Today I joined an online spiritual formation community, and hope to get into an online Advent retreat for poets. A friend sent me the link after reading one of my recent posts. I’m excited and energized, especially after studying their website and seeing the quality of people who work with this online community. It looks like just the thing for me right now.

Well, that’s about it. I hope your Tuesday is (or was) filled with gracious surprises!

Elouise ♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 7 November 2017
Photo taken by DAFraser in Brisbane, Australia, November 2015 
Daily Prompt: Faint

7 Comments