Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Health and Wellbeing

March 3, 2022

Today’s nightmare

Recent news from Ukraine is beyond grim. The post below is from September 2017. It’s about a dream, and my sense of being trapped when Trump became POTUS. Now we have Putin against Ukraine and most of the world.

~~~

This morning I woke up feeling strangely empty and weeping. Partly because of a near-nightmare and partly because we’re living, it seems, in a near-nightmare.

In the dream, I’m alone in a small room, just getting ready to exit. I’ve decided this small room isn’t going to work for me. Suddenly a man I don’t know and have never seen before walks into the room. He isn’t impressive in stature or looks, yet I know in my gut that he’s potentially bad news. He immediately flops down on the single bed near the door.

As I walk toward the door to exit, he reaches out and grabs my hand. His face clouds over with contempt and a sneer. I know I’m done for if I don’t take charge. I feel small and defenseless. Caught in a nightmare not of my making. I feel his grip tightening on my hand.

I wake up not knowing what to say or do next.

The man’s eyes, the sneer on his face, and the totally invasive nature of his presence and behavior communicated his firm belief that I was totally irrelevant. In his eyes my life mattered not a whit.

It’s sometimes difficult these days, especially since I’m on the older end of the age spectrum, to maintain a sense of relevance. But this was bigger than that. It was about the invader’s power and willingness to exercise it no matter who I might have been. Though I’ll admit it didn’t help to be female.

This tired old world is in a season of growing visible and present chaos. The kind this world has seen before, though not with so many growing warehouses of nuclear arms and an over-supply of trigger-happy leaders ready to prove their supposed virility. Ordinary people seem to have become irrelevant. Except as props on a political stage.

I don’t fixate on this every day. Nonetheless, it’s always in the air begging for my addictive attention. If I remain fixated, I’m a goner, dead or alive.

Instead of playing along with the ‘dream’ man’s agenda for me, I relax, ignore his eyes and disgusting speech, and pray out loud and in a strong voice these challenging words from Mary Oliver’s poem, “Six Recognitions of the Lord.”

Oh feed me this day, Holy Spirit, with
The fragrance of the fields and the
Freshness of the oceans which you have
Made, and help me to hear and to hold
In all dearness those exacting and wonderful
Words of our Lord Christ Jesus, saying:
Follow me.

Mary Oliver, Thirst, stanza 5 from “Six Recognitions of the Lord”
Beacon Press 2006

Praying we’ll find courage to identify our True North and follow it, one day at a time.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 March 2022
Caught in a near nightmare was published on 27 September 2017
Photo found at givaudan.com

6 Comments
February 28, 2022

The looking-glass

This morning I looked into my bathroom mirror and got a fright. Who is this woman? Do I know her?

Well…of course I know her. Still, there’s something about mirrors that feels like betrayal. They’re so honest!

So I washed my hair and washed my face and, for at least a few minutes, felt quite lovely, thank you.

Here’s a poem I wrote in December 2016. I’ve had it on my mind for about a week, so now it’s your turn to have it on your mind–for at least the minute it takes to read it!

Her bespoke face
betrayed no provenance
no signature or style
save those life etched within each line
each scar and curve of chin and cheek

No sign of props placed here and there
to hold it all in space
no awkward look or heavy paint
to dazzle or illuminate
Just a canvas standing there
with pleasant eyes of burning depth
and mouth with upturned corners

Quite suddenly she smiled at me
and said hello-how-are-you?
One of a kind I see — said I —
with hat tipped to my Maker

Given today’s upheavals here and abroad, I pray each of us will find a bit of peace and hope to share with neighbors and strangers alike. Thank you for stopping by.
Elouise♥

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 February 2022
Image found at pingfind.com

7 Comments
February 26, 2022

The world as God’s poem

Several years ago I posted “Emily Dickinson meets Mary Oliver.” A phrase from one of Mary Oliver’s poems had captured my imagination. As she puts it, we owe our dignity to being part of “the poem that God made, and called the world.”

With so much ‘undignified’ death flooding our news media, it’s difficult to hold onto Mary Oliver’s image. I don’t easily hear or see “the poem that God made, and called the world.” It’s easier to picture what’s happening today as a rising tide of undignified and wrongful deaths that should never have happened. Which may also be true.

Here’s my response, first posted in August 2017, and reposted below in light of today’s current events.

No mortal words of poetry will ever do justice to this world, God’s poem.

Nor do we understand ourselves
unless we give up all efforts to capture in our words
the reality of what God created and invited us to inhabit as caretakers.

We can look and point;
We cannot replicate.

Furthermore, no poetic words of ours
will ever improve upon God’s great poem.
Still, as humans we’re at our best when we reflect in our lives
the grandeur of creation.

Surely the summer sky, the deer,
and all parts of God’s creation are dignified
not because of what each does, understands,
or even writes in flowing poetry.

Rather, they and we owe our dignity to being part of
“the poem that God made, and called the world.”*

*Quotation from Mary Oliver’s poem,
“More Beautiful than the Honey Locust Tree
Are the Words of the Lord.” Published in Thirst, p. 31

~~~

Praying we’ll become open to seeing each human life and each creature great or small as part of God’s poem. Which, of course, includes each of us with all our flaws and our gifts.

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 February 2022
Photo found at smartpress.com

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February 24, 2022

A poem I can’t get out of my mind

It doesn’t take much effort to see what’s happening daily in many if not most of our neighborhoods, towns or cities.

Nonetheless, when it comes to actively joining efforts on the field, many of us would rather stay put in the grandstands. Glued to our seats. Gasping from time to time, but not joining the fray, or putting ourselves in harm’s way.

I’m no extroverted star. I’d rather stay on the sidelines. Study what’s happening on the field. Pray. Give money. Or read more about poverty in cities and surrounding towns, and what others are doing to come alongside with help. Certainly all those good things are important and necessary.

Here’s a poem that challenges me every time I read it. G. A. Studdert Kennedy served on the ground as a World War I army chaplain to British soldiers. Many of his poems reflect realities of life in the warzone. This one, however, reflects the reality of life in the city of Birmingham.

Indifference, by G. A. Studdert Kennedy (aka Woodbine Willie)

When Jesus came to Golgotha they hanged Him on a tree.
The drave great nails through hands and feet, and made a Calvary;
They crowned Him with a crown of thorns, red were His wounds and deep,
For those were crude and cruel days, and human flesh was cheap.

When Jesus came to Birmingham they simply passed Him by.
They never hurt a hair of Him, they only let Him die;
For men had grown more tender, and they would not give Him pain,
They only just passed down the street, and left Him in the rain.

Still Jesus cried, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
And still it rained the wintry rain that drenched Him through and through;
The crowds went home and left the streets without a soul to see,
And Jesus crouched against a wall and cried for Calvary.

“drave” – drove

Indifference found on page 21 in The Unutterable Beauty – The Collected Poetry of G. A. Studdert Kennedy
First published by Hodder and Stoughton Limited, London (March 1927), reprinted June 1928
Second publication by Pendlebury Press Limited, Manchester, U.K., August 2017

There’s no end of women, children, young people and men who would welcome even a small sign of genuine interest from another human being. Maybe they’re next door, just down the street, sitting beside us in church or on a bus, or even sitting lonely in that big mansion up on the hill. In the end, Woodbine Willie was known for his commitment to being there. Not with answers, but with a listening ear and a praying heart.

Thanks for stopping by today.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 24 February 2022
Photo found at backwatersman.wordpress

 

 

 

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February 22, 2022

The greatest gift

When I began blogging, I didn’t give much thought to writing poems. I loved to write. I loved using imagery. I loved playing things out in words. And I loved reading poetry.

But writing it myself? Not since my freshman year of college, when my writing professor told me I would never write poetry. I believed her. Until I began blogging.

This morning I read the poem below. I’ve read it many times, always accompanied by tears of gratitude along with recognition that my life is in its final chapter. I hope you enjoy it and are prompted to remember things that bring joy and music into your heart and mind.

music to my ears

I love the calm cadence of your voice
and the way you make rare 
the everyday

waves rolling in on the beach
wind whispering in the willows
my husband reading to me aloud
Mendelssohn’s E Major Song Without Words
J. S. Bach’s C Major Prelude #1
doves cooing in the morning
robins singing in dusky evening
the overwhelming calm of Psalm 23

I chose the Bach rendition above because of the player’s calm approach to Bach’s Prelude in C Major. Also because it’s being played by a so-called amateur who gets the nuances just right.

Wishing you a calming Tuesday no matter what’s going on around you,
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 2/22/2022
Video found on YouTube

12 Comments
February 21, 2022

Living in dreamland

Larger than life
Incapable of death
Colors that never fade
Every leaf and blade
Rooted in the good earth
Beneath an autumn-blue sky
What more could we want?

My computer greets me daily
With dreams of yesterday
One following another
Minus the everyday pain of
Weather out of control
Pandemic out of control
War as a chess game out of control

Strength to live into tomorrow
Fades into preferred backdrops
Of a picture-perfect world
Known only in photos and dreams

No, I haven’t gone sour on beautiful landscapes. And yes, I still love Longwood Gardens!

Nonetheless, the contrast between daily world news photos, and what pops up on my computer wallpaper each day sometimes makes me cringe.

Where am I? Where do I want to be? Where am I afraid to go? Why am I mesmerized by these lovely photos of what we call ‘the good earth’? Especially now, in a world seemingly addicted to warfare and continuing violence to ourselves and others.

The pandemic isn’t just about Covid. It’s also about what’s happening to land, forests, water, soil, air, inner cities, and isolated rural communities struggling to keep going.

Today, my prayers are for every child, teenager and adult gifted with knowledge, humility, a vision for the whole (not just isolated pieces of reality), and stamina for what lies ahead.

Thanks for stopping by and doing what you can to get involved.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 21 February 2022
Photo found at pinterest.com

5 Comments
February 18, 2022

The Uses of Sorrow | Mary Oliver

Have you ever dreamed a poem? Here’s one from Mary Oliver. Short and to the point. My comments follow.

The Uses of Sorrow
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

© 2006 by Mary Oliver
Poem found in Thirst, p. 52
Published by Beacon Press

I first read Mary’s dream poem several years ago, then hurried on to the next page. I didn’t want to think about it. How could a box full of darkness be a gift?

In German, “das Gift” means poison. In some ways this blog was my way of beginning to take ‘das Gift’ seriously. When I began blogging, I agonized over what to say and how to say it. What was in my “box full of darkness,” and who gave it to me? Or, better put, who passed it on to me so that it became My Problem?

Sorrow isn’t a throw-away event, or series of events. As Mary Oliver says in the title, sorrow has its uses.

Nonetheless, real life doesn’t usually invite us to see a box full of sorrow as a true gift. Instead, we’re supposed to play the game ‘their way’ because that’s what the box of darkness is about. Put another way: It perpetuates the angst and anger of generations, without recognizing or fighting today’s poison. Easier all round for everyone, right?

Wrong. Understanding ‘das Gift’ as a true gift to be explored was and still is dangerous. Beginning to investigate the past brings an avalanche of consternation, anger, tears, honesty and humility. It dares me to turn my so-called gift into light. The kind that illuminates truth and empowers me to be the woman I am.

At this age, I’m still finding ‘stuff’ not yet examined from the box of poison passed on to me as a child and young adult. However, when I’m willing to step back and take a deep breath, I’m also able to take one more step in the right direction. For better and for worse, being in my elderly years means I have lots of material to work with, whether I like it or not.

Thanks again for stopping by. I’m doing quite well most days. Especially when I follow my heart instead of my head or my forever-lists of things to ‘do.’

Cheers!
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 February 2022
Image found at pinterest.com

4 Comments
February 15, 2022

Old habits die hard

I’ve been thinking about this poem for several days. I wrote it two years ago, not expecting we would find ourselves in today’s mess. My comments follow.

The Resistance

Bursting dams explode
fueling unhinged tongues

Roiling water floods old landscapes
scarred beyond recognition

The end of this world collides
with the untimely birth
of a new world ruled by
winners of a rigged lottery

How shall we then live
with death-dealing word-bombs
hanging over our heads
seeking to silence the resistance?

I posted this poem in February 2020. That was after Mr. Trump’s loss to President Biden, and after the attack on both houses of Congress by followers of Mr. Trump. I considered myself then, as now, part of the resistance — not part of those who hoped to change the outcome of the 2020 Election.

We’re still living in the aftermath of this attack. We’ve become a country at war with itself. The war is about more than Covid masks and vaccinations, or even who won the 2020 Presidential Election.

It’s about what it means to be a law-abiding citizen of the United States, who gets to decide whether to obey the laws and requirements of citizenship, and how to deal with centuries of unequal justice.

In the end, it’s about perks that come or don’t come with money–gobs, a lot, some, or virtually none. Or what kind of attention your voice gets or does not get. Or what color your skin is, your gender, where and how you live, and whether you’re considered dispensable or not.

I don’t have answers. When I wrote this poem, I wasn’t thinking about the mess we’re in today. However, now as then, it’s still time to take risks on behalf of truth and justice. Like some of you, I was brought up in a family, religious organizations, and workplaces that expected me to sit down and keep my poor white female mouth shut.

Thanks for reading and doing what you can on behalf of truth and justice for All.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 15 February 2022
“The Resistance” was first published on 6 February 2020
Photo of bursting dam found at pinterest.com

10 Comments
February 10, 2022

all things considered

Olympic National Park, Ozette Triangle Trail

all things considered
I’d rather be a giant
with scars and deep roots

paths through dense forests
age quickly minus upkeep
or handrails for guests

lush green and daylight
create a silent backdrop
alive with birdsong

I’m captivated regularly by photos that document the beauty (and sometimes conundrums) of nature and our way of relating to it. I also wonder what these beautiful photos represent at this real-time moment in our Climate and Pandemic Change Journey as inhabitants of Planet Earth.

I’m heartened by simple photos like the one above. Small markers and reminders of what we might still become: students of trees, mountains, rivers, oceans, and wildlife. Each trying to tell us something about ourselves and our relationships with Mother Earth, with our histories, and with each other.

Today the sun is out, and we’re promised mild temperatures this afternoon. Maybe the last remnants of snow will finally melt!

Happy Thursday and thank you for stopping by.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 10 February 2022
Photo of Olympic National Park found at pinterest.com

7 Comments
February 7, 2022

noisy silence

noisy silence
invades the old woman’s ears
cars cruise past her sleeping house
on their way to nowhere

darkness falls heavy
over her weary body
aching for mercy
and lovely songs that linger
through long nights
of farewell

Yesterday was a spectacular day. A grand mix of icy cold, beautiful sun, and a hint that we might be on a warming trend. My various body parts cooperated quite well so that I felt almost normal. Until late evening.

Something about evening can bring out pain and tears. True to form, last night my body reminded me that it’s still there and it isn’t getting any younger. Even so, it was a beautiful day–the kind that felt almost normal.

When it was time to sleep and my body objected, I went into my office, opened a notebook, and wrote whatever came to mind, including the first version of the poem above. Then I went to bed and promptly fell asleep.

Today isn’t nearly as spectacular as yesterday. Nonetheless, I’m grateful for another day on this earth with family members, friends, D, Smudge, and each of you, of course. Thanks for stopping by!

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 7 February 2022
Photo found at wallpaperaccess.com

7 Comments