Autumn brilliance fades
Behind misty fog
Precursor of dreams
Conceived out of time
Dying to be born
***
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 30 November 2016
Response to WP Daily Prompt: Faded
Photo by Ayten Kranat, found at photofredericton.com
In this somewhat grimly humorous poem, Emily compares her childhood as a ‘little Girl’ with the way ‘They’ treat her as an adult. My comments follow.
They shut me up in Prose –
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet –
Because they liked me “still’ –Still! Could themselves have peeped –
And seen my Brain – go round –
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason – in the Pound –Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Abolish his Captivity –
And Laugh – No more have I –c. 1862
Emily Dickinson Poems, Edited by Brenda Hillman
Shambhala Pocket Classics, Shambhala 1995
What a great word — ‘still.’ Read the rest of this entry »
My soul-mind-body health barometer is a nasty piece of business. Totally independent of my plans and wishes, it does its duty whether I like it or not. It won’t be bribed or bought off with promises to do better tomorrow.
And then there are those pesky paydays. Days when what I wish were true about me has to face harsh reality. Inconvenient reminders of how I’m progressing in soul, mind and body. Or not.
I seem to have arrived on this earth with a predisposition to try harder, more often, more consistently, in better form, with a better attitude. Never give up. Just keep practicing. Little by little today; giant leaps tomorrow. Yes, you can reach the sky. Just pick yourself up and try again!
This morning, however, my soul-mind-body wants something different. The kind of difference Simone Weil writes about in Waiting for God.
There are those people who try to elevate their souls
like someone who continually jumps from a standing position
in the hope that forcing oneself to jump all day—and higher every day—
they would no longer fall back down,
but rise to heaven.
Thus occupied, they no longer look to heaven.
We cannot even take one step toward heaven.
The vertical direction is forbidden to us.
But if we look to heaven long-term, God descends and lifts us up.
God lifts us up easily.
As Aeschylus says, ‘That which is divine is without effort.’
There is an ease in salvation more difficult for us than all efforts.
In one of Grimm’s accounts,
there is a competition of strength between a giant and a little tailor.
The giant throws a stone so high
that it takes a very long time before falling back down.
The little tailor throws a bird that never comes back down.
That which does not have wings always comes back down in the end.
― Simone Weil, Waiting for God
And so I’m challenged today to wait for God. To give up jumping through hoops and trying harder, hoping for something better. I anticipate God’s descent to lift me up, and kindle quiet thanksgiving in my heart.
We cannot take a step toward the heavens. God crosses the universe and comes to us.
― Simone Weil, Waiting for God
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 23 November 2016
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Anticipation
One year ago I celebrated a birthday. Today I’m celebrating birthday #73, yet it feels as though decades have passed since 20 November 2015.
I’m writing this on Saturday evening. A cold front is moving in, and a strong, cold gusty wind is already whirling around in the dark. Read the rest of this entry »
Ostentatious Leaders
preen before Desperate Adoring Citizens
clothing each other in superlatives
one flimsy piece at a time.
Has it become impolitic to tell the truth?
Or is it fear?
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 19 November 2016
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Ostentatious
Lassitude
percolates
pore by pore
disarms
body spirit
induces
slumber
of denial
***
I know this feeling. The desire to escape into dreamland–literally and figuratively. I thought I’d tamed this beast. I have my short list of things to do today. They’re small, I admit it. Yet they’re forward-looking and constructive. Not in the world’s eyes, but for me personally.
Still, I find myself fighting it again. Putting things off until later. Pretending my days aren’t numbered, or that my contributions don’t matter. Allowing this way of thinking to seep into every pore of my body and spirit. . . . . . . . . .a life-numbing, bitter, death-dealing brew.
This is my wake-up call.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 17 November 2016
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Percolate
I’m drawn to this poem from Emily Dickinson for two reasons. First, I sometimes call myself Queen Elouise. Second, it captures the difference between belonging to Them and belonging to Grace. In my view, it describes what we need today in this world of stunning beauty, visible misery, and stunning injustice. My comments follow.
I’m ceded – I’ve stopped being Theirs –
The name They dropped upon my face
With water, in the country church
Is finished using, now,
And They can put it with my Dolls,
My childhood, and the string of spools,
I’ve finished threading – too –Baptized, before, without the choice,
But this time, consciously, of Grace –
Unto supremest name –
Called to my Full – The Crescent dropped –
Existence’s whole Arc, filled up,
With one small Diadem.My second Rank – too small the first –
Crowned – Crowing – on my Father’s breast –
A half unconscious Queen –
But this time – Adequate – Erect,
With Will to choose, or to reject,
And I choose, just a Crown –c. 1862
Emily Dickinson Poems, Edited by Brenda Hillman
Shambhala Pocket Classics, Shambhala 1995
Emily’s poem reminds me of the biblical exhortation to put away childish things. Here, Emily is ready to put away her childhood name—the name They chose and dropped on her face at her infant baptism.
In fact, They can put that name (Princess?) in the attic trunk along with childhood toys and activities she no longer needs. Perhaps they served her well, but they have no place in her new, freely chosen baptism into the fullness of her personhood.
And so Emily announces her conscious Declaration of Independence. Her rebaptism is possible because of Grace, not because of someone else’s past decision for her, or their approval of her decision now. This choice is hers alone, made possible by Grace! Not forced, not from shame or blame, and not as a power move.
This independence won’t come without clarity of speech and action. Even more difficult, since it’s driven by Grace this means clarity driven by the Grace of truth, not by anger or a desire for revenge or retribution.
I respect you, and I am not your possession. I’m not interested in childish approaches to life. The name you gave me no longer fits. I don’t want or need your affirmation. I have a new, fuller Calling. I’m not the silver sliver of a Crescent moon. I’m a full-orbed Harvest Moon, signified by this ‘one small Diadem’ I now wear.
I’ve outgrown my childish identity. Back then I was at best a half conscious Queen. Today I’ve come of age. No more baby crown, and no more cute crowing or baby talk. I am Adequate and Erect. I don’t want or need the kingdom, fancy parades, or pandering obeisance. I’m content with a simple Crown and telling the truth in my own voice, as I see it.
Need I say Queen Elouise again? Now, more than ever, I long to be
…Adequate – Erect –
With Will to choose or to reject,
And I choose, just a Crown –
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 15 November 2016, lightly edited and reposted 18 June 2021
Photo of Harvest Moon by Robin Osbon found at almanac.com
Here’s a timely poem from Emily Dickinson. She captures what it’s like to be at loose ends. Unable to think straight, sort out feelings, or fit oneself into the new reality. My personal comments follow.
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind –
As if my Brain had split –
I tried to match it – Seam by Seam –
But could not make them fit.The thought behind, I strove to join
Unto the thought before –
But Sequence raveled out of Sound
Like Balls – upon a Floor.c. 1864
Emily Dickinson Poems, Edited by Brenda Hillman
Shambhala Pocket Classics, Shambhala 1995
Things undone aren’t easily put back together. Especially when accompanied by Read the rest of this entry »
Glen Eyrie Castle, where D and I stayed – at the heart of the conference grounds
Imagine being dropped into gorgeous Colorado Springs autumn weather, on the grounds of Glen Eyrie Conference Center with about 90 other people, all of whom know your name but not your face. That’s where I was from Thursday through Sunday—with David (aka D), my husband of over 51 years.
The occasion? Read the rest of this entry »
Nation of strangers
Forced choices
No winners
In this cacophony
Of bitter loss
And gleeful victory
Strangers to ourselves
In a never-never land
Indivisibly standing
Beneath competing flags
Disunited yet One
In Strangerhood
I thought I knew you
Until I didn’t
You my neighbor
My sister my brother
My one-time ally
Whose words now chill my heart
Niceness covered a multitude
Of pain and betrayal buried
In fear-filled hearts
Smiles helped us get by
Until we couldn’t any longer
Forced choices
Dare I go public
With fear and grief
Or do I smile and make nice
Nod when I hear
Everything will work out for the best
No matter what the cost
How do I retain integrity
Honor my neighbors
My womanhood
My patriotism
My Christian conscience
My personal and public dignity
I don’t want to be a Stranger
Or find you’ve become a Stranger
Dare I begin now
By looking you in the eye
How do you feel today?
Tell me about it — or not.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 11 November 2016
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Or
