Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: courage to change the things I can

Night falls gently

Night falls gently
Without fanfare
Draping earth in shadows

The night train’s whistle
Sings a lullaby
Down by the riverside

My cat comes creeping
Onto my warm lap
For a last evening cuddle

That was last night. My favorite time of day, and, as it happens, my last day of being 75 years old! I almost always spend a little time writing in my journal before I go to bed.

Last night I wrote this, among other things:

Smudge just visited me — sitting on my lap quietly, as though he needed one last cuddle. I can’t imagine the last 6 1/2 years without him. Thank you for this small reminder of how important he is in my life. Along with David and the rest of our family. Tomorrow I’ll be 76 years old — hard to believe.

So now 76 is upon me, and I feel more than a little lost. Not within the core of who I am, but out there, when I look up and around. Where do I belong in this sea of humanity?

Many markers for what’s considered good and true have morphed into something else. Sometimes this is good riddance. Still, I’m not sure what’s going on right now, especially within our nation. I feel more at sea than ever, more guarded when I talk or write about current events, and less certain how to make a difference.

One of my Emily Dickinson posts, There is a pain — so utter, has had more than 1,000 views since I posted it in February 2018. It’s about living in Trance. A state in which we in the USA seem caught in endless loops. We refuse to look at reality, choosing instead to step over and around it. Pretending all is well when the ground is shaking beneath our feet. And has been for unnumbered years.

The Good News is that we can live in Truth. Maybe not the full load all at once, but at least in small, potent doses that begin to wake us from our national Trance. The kind that blinds us to what’s happening in the present moment. Whether personal or national.

So here’s my wish for today: I want my life, including my writing, to be part of the solution, not part of perpetuating the problem.

Blessings to each of you.
Elouise

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 20 November 2019
Photo found at pinterest.com

Exiting the Room

My heart doesn’t lie
The signals are clear
This situation is damaging
If not deadly
Yet I don’t get up
Walk out the door
Follow my heart

Childhood PTSD is a harsh taskmaster
One lesson bleeds into another
Something else reaches out its tentacles
Trying to keep or put me in my place
My heart remembers the terror
It can’t tolerate another second
Of helpless hopeless angst about
What ‘they’ might think or do
When I stand up and exit the premises

It’s not about you or them
It’s about me
It’s about taking my heart seriously
Standing up and walking out the door
Finding a quiet place somewhere else
Acknowledging my terrified heartbeat
Showing it and myself I’m not afraid
Though I don’t understand all the connections
Between this present terror
And the terrors of girlhood

Living with my heart these last few weeks was like enduring an unpredictable roller coaster ride. Lovely moments of normalcy punctuated with the anxiety of a heart out of control. I saw it happening on my heart monitor and felt it in my chest.

My biggest challenge isn’t what to do when this happens at home. It’s what to do when I’m in a public gathering and my heart suddenly goes haywire.

From childhood I’ve known the terror of feeling trapped. No exit. Often in church. Not just at home.

As an adult woman, I’ve also experienced feeling trapped in punishing work and worship situations. I could, and occasionally did get up and leave the room. Though not until I was falling apart.

So what’s needed today? I need to exit the room. Take my heart to a safe place. I don’t need to explain or apologize. It doesn’t even matter that I don’t understand what’s going on. It’s time to follow my heart, and see what happens next.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 March 2019
Photo found at tripadvisor.com

More Than Enough?

In Fall 1999, my husband and I spent my sabbatical semester at a seminary in Nairobi, Kenya.  Stunning beauty surrounded us:  flaming sunsets and colorful sunrises, flowering trees and shrubs, brilliant birds, sassy monkeys, hungry dogs, hungry chickens, goats and cows.  Nearly everyone lived on the seminary campus:  students, faculty, staff and administrators, all with their families.

Classes met in one of two long, converted chicken coops. Read the rest of this entry »

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