Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Vulnerability

February 17, 2020

February’s lightness of being

Looking for just the right words
To convey lightness of being
Descending through rainbows
To the ground of our heaviness
Bent beneath cares and sorrows
Though the sun shines brightly
This first and only Monday morning
Of week three and counting down

How do we live with sinking feelings
As friends and strangers known
To us if not by us wither and pass
Beyond veils of mist and ashes
Dying quickly as lines form
At the rear and out of control
If not out of mind and time
Waiting to hear the bell toll

This isn’t directly about the latest virus. It’s about how we get through one day at a time in a world that seems to be falling apart. Virus or no virus. I vote for rainbows and the Creator to whom they point. How about you?

Here’s to a Happy Monday, no matter the circumstances. Not because it’s cheery, but because this day belongs to Someone Greater than ourselves, who loves us and wants nothing more than our faithful presence. Especially when things seem to be falling apart.

Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 17 February 2020
Photo found at orcaissues.com

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February 13, 2020

At loose ends with myself

I posted this poem with brief comments a few days after mid-term elections in November 2018. Now there’s another election coming up in November, with large stakes for all of us. My biggest challenge today is to stay on target. Not just with my health and well-being, but the reality of our current state of our disunion. I want to ignore it, and cannot. My poem and earlier comments follow.

At loose ends with myself
Wandering up and down
The stairs of my distraction
Overturning this and that
Within my overactive mind
A clock ticks relentlessly
Counting down the corridors
Of tasks undone and words
Never recorded yet dissipating
Into a gray atmosphere silent
And secretive not yet menacing
Though the thought occurs
to me that I am being unraveled
strand by limp strand falling
to the floor of unknown reality

Unraveled. A word rich with possibilities. Terrifying and welcome all at the same time. Loss of control. Change of direction. Once-blind eyes coming out of misty half-truth and patched-together personas. Fragility unbound and hanging out there. Human. Vulnerable. Out of control in the best possible way.

All this and more went through my mind today. It isn’t just about getting older. It’s about getting real. Becoming a real rabbit, a real human being, a real baby. Not just a make-believe look-alike.

Here’s to more loose ends of the fruitful kind. Those that lead to something greater than you or I could ever become on our own.
Elouise♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 7 November 2018, reposted 12 February 2020
Image of unraveling butterfly found at movestrongkbs.com

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February 12, 2020

A Visitor | Mary Oliver

This haunting poem by Mary Oliver comes from a 1986 collection called Dream Work. My comments follow.

A Visitor

My father, for example,
who was young once
and blue-eyed,
returns
on the darkest of nights
to the porch and knocks
wildly at the door,
and if I answer
I must be prepared
for his waxy face,
for his lower lip
swollen with bitterness.
And so, for a long time,
I did not answer,
but slept fitfully
between his hours of rapping.
But finally there came the night
when I rose out of my sheets
and stumbled down the hall.
The door fell open

and I knew I was saved
and could bear him,
pathetic and hollow,
with even the least of his dreams
frozen inside him,
and the meanness gone.
And I greeted him and asked him
into the house,
and lit the lamp,
and looked into his blank eyes
in which at last
I saw what a child must love,
I saw what love might have done
had we loved in time.

c. 1992, Mary Oliver
New and Selected Poems, Volume One, pp. 116-117
Published by Beacon Press

Mary Oliver left home early in life to get away from an abusive situation. Now, years later, wild knocking in the dark of night reminds her of what she ran away from. If she opens the door, she must confront the man she remembers having a “waxy face” and “a lower lip swollen with bitterness.”

She ignores the pounding on the door. The knocking persists at all hours of the night. And so she “stumbles down the hall,” and the door “falls open.”

In an instant, Mary Oliver knows she has nothing to fear. In fact, it seems she’s surprised to discover her father is “pathetic and hollow.” Even his smallest dreams have frozen, and his meanness has vanished.

She greets him, invites him to come into her house, lights a lamp, looks into his “blank eyes” and sees what was needed when she was a child, plus what might have been “had we loved in time.”

The poem isn’t about Mary Oliver’s father; it’s about Mary. In the end, It affirms her decision to leave home, and acknowledges the high cost she and her father paid. With grief, and without apology.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 12 February 2020
Book cover image found at amazon.com

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February 11, 2020

Outcomes predetermined

Outcomes predetermined –
No need for witnesses

News cameras keep rolling —
Capturing unwillingness
to accept self-evident truths

We have not administered
justice for all with an even hand

We have not allowed freedom for all
in this land of the free and home of the brave

We have not believed
Each person of any color or religion
is created equal and entitled
to full protection under the law

Nor have we been able to stem
today’s flood of party-line mantras
and childlike temper tantrums
from The White House

Welcome to Trump’s world and
the world in which brothers and sisters
now celebrating Black History Month
have lived all their lives

Thank you Mr. Trump
for this unexpected opportunity
to move beyond our current state
of habitual denial and fear

Now playing in your city or town
Every night of the week
No tickets needed

Several days ago I read a news report from CNN. It was about the farce of Trump’s impeachment trial. The message from black folks for white folks: “Welcome to our world.” Ironically, this is Black History Month. What will we make of it?

The meaning of justice has always been skewed against black people in this country. The movie Just Mercy shows how difficult it is in this so-called ‘enlightened age’ for black citizens to get justice. The so-called impeachment trial simply used the same tactics, this time to the advantage of a white male President.

  • a pre-ordained verdict
  • jury nullification (deliberate rejection of evidence or refusal to apply the law)
  • the judge as a prop, offering a pretense of impartiality
  • one of similar trials in which white men are favored

This is a rare opportunity for all of us. Especially, but not only white citizens. It’s still Black History Month. What better topic than the state of our union?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 11 February 2020
Photo of Lynching Memorial found at heraldnet.com

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February 10, 2020

clear night air and moonlight

How much longer do we have
On this earth disappearing
Daily into a pit of promotional
Hype and unachievable goals

Besides which there is this–
The bottomless pit is gasping
Spewing junk into air heavy
With the weight of our denial

Perhaps we can agree on this:
We have a problem that isn’t
Going to dissolve like a sunset
Into clear night air and moonlight

I don’t have a clue where this came from. Best guess: from listening to statements about the way this or that disruption of nature will lead to a bright tomorrow. Especially for corporations and individuals playing winner take all.

Yes, I’m sure it’s more complicated than that. If I sound a bit cynical, so be it. Given my generous life span, I’ve seen and heard enough to feel anything but sad about the current state of our denial.

Do I have hope? Yes. Not necessarily for our planet, but for everyday people who inhabit it with grace, with interest in strangers and neighbors alike, and eyes still in awe of clear night air and moonlight.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 10 February 2020
Photo found at cottagelife.com

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February 6, 2020

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 woke up this morning with yesterday’s impeachment vote on my mind.

I’ve known resistance all my life–as a girl child, and later as an adult woman. This includes fierce resistance inside me when my full humanity isn’t honored, and sometimes polite, unrelenting resistance brought to bear against me as an adult woman with a mind of her own.

I’m also one of the so-called fortunate whose skin is white, whose citizenship is not in question, who isn’t living on the streets due to gentrification….and I could go on, but won’t. You get the picture.

I was deeply moved by Senator Romney’s courageous statement and vote yesterday to impeach our President on one count. The morning news was full of POTUS comments and other tirades against Romney. The news was also full of support for Senator Romney. He isn’t a saint (which I find comforting). He simply and directly told the truth and cast his vote as he saw it, against every other member of his party.

Silence is deadly. So is speaking out, especially when it’s costly. As I see it, I have a choice. Shut up and sit down, or stand up and open my mouth. I choose the latter. How about you?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 6 February 2020
Image found at pinterest.com

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February 5, 2020

Human indignity for all?

Is this the best we can offer?

Indignity: treatment or circumstances that cause one to feel shame or to lose one’s dignity. Regardless of gender, race, ethnicity, religion or country of origin. Which, in my book, amounts to indignity for all of us.

Martin Luther King, Jr.’s dream was simple: human dignity for all.

Or, as Dr. King put it when writing in 1963 about his own children:

…I dream that one day soon
they will no longer be judged by the color of their skin
but by the content of their character.

The quote comes from the opening pages of Dr. King’s book, Why We Can’t Wait.

Today, 57 years later, we’ve gone backwards. Especially, though not only for African Americans.

Yesterday D and I went to see Just Mercy, a recently released movie. It’s based on Bryan Stevenson’s book, Just Mercy: A story of Justice and Redemption. Stevenson, a Harvard-trained attorney and recipient of a MacArthur Genius Grant, writes about one of his first cases as a young black attorney working in the South.

The movie depicts what happens to two black men placed on death row before receiving a fair trial, and what it takes to deal with the status quo. The judicial system’s message is clear: You won’t get out of here alive, no matter what evidence is produced in your trial or on appeal. But what happens in the end, and how?

February is Black History Month here in the USA. Just Mercy is being shown in several cinemas in the Philadelphia area. If you haven’t or can’t see the movie, check out a copy of the book. It’s at least as clear, heartbreaking and challenging as the movie.

This movie was my choice yesterday evening, rather than watching/listening to the President’s State of the Union address. It was a splendid choice.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 5 February 2020
Image from the movie found at rogerebert.com

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February 1, 2020

climate change and politics

Restless wind lashes out
Sucks moisture from air
Whips back and forth
Tossing its weight around
Lost in desperate attempts
To make things happen but
Will we survive to tell about it?

I drafted this poem under another title in early April, 2019. We’d just experienced fierce wind storms in the Northeast. I was sorely tempted to make a connection between the storm outside and the growing storm in the White House.

This morning we have yet another storm brewing in the Northeast, as we move closer to a presidential election in November. Perhaps this explains the sometimes contorted speech we’re hearing from Senators up for reelection.

The ongoing drama of our current President’s behavior is important.

At the same time, nothing is more important for our future than addressing climate change. Actually, I don’t care what you call it, just so you get the point. Planet earth is sick unto death. And we, the gardeners, don’t have any quick fixes.

There are reasons for upheavals and breakdowns in our ecosystems. However, it’s easy to get caught up in the drama of presidential politics and neglect what we can do right now to care for even a small patch of planet earth.

Money is important, but it won’t solve the problem. Nature doesn’t know about our bank accounts or our retirement funds or underground bunkers being built so we’ll ‘survive.’ Nor does Nature care whether we’re Democrats, Republicans, Independents or Nothing at All.

This is a disaster of our own making. Innocently enough, perhaps. Yet even so, isn’t it better to admit we were wrong, and demand that our towns, cities, states, and nation do the right thing? There’s more up for grabs in the coming election than who will be the next President.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 1 February 2019
Photo of Hurricane Irma passing through Naples, Florida, September 2017 (AP Photo/David Goldman); found at wunc.org

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January 28, 2020

Broken pieces of memories

Broken pieces of memories
Gone forever
Or never there in the first place
Play hide and seek
Inside her tormented mind

Who am I?
Where am I?
What just happened
Or didn’t happen
And where is my mother?
Did she just try to call me
On the phone and you
Hung up on her?

You stand there
Looking at me as though
I should know you
Or remember something about you
That has disappeared
Forever

You say I had an accident
But I don’t remember it
And you don’t have any pictures
So I think you’re lying
Trying to insinuate your way
Into my life if not into
My worldly treasures of which I have
Precious few left

I’m so tired….
When will I wake up and
Remember?
Or better yet,
Never wake up at all….

Written in light of my youngest sister’s recent health emergency. This isn’t directly about her. It’s about our human fragility and how unexpected events might impact our sense of time, place and self-identity.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 January 2020
Image found at steelmit.com

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January 27, 2020

Blinded and distracted by rhetoric

Blinded and distracted by rhetoric
Vision dims for planet earth
Its seas and splendid birds of the air

Coral reefs and dying species
Beneath and above the seas
Unseen and neglected drown
In a growing swamp of rhetoric
And passion for one-issue politics
In which survival of a human fetus
Viable or unviable has become
The battle cry of policy driven
By the need to collect and nurture
Votes, favors and money

Meanwhile this earth and its seas
Birds of the air and coral reefs
Neighbors and strangers
Disappear before our eyes
And before their time
Unseen and neglected
In a growing swamp of self-righteousness
Nurtured by good intentions laced
With half truths and outright lies
Plus a primeval need to be right
And righteous no matter what
The cost to ourselves or others

No one ever promised life together would be easy.
Nonetheless, we can and must do better than this, together.
Not for our own survival, but for coming generations already endangered.

Prompted by a recent news item regarding evangelical Christian support for Donald Trump. Not every Christian who identifies as evangelical is in this boat. It is, however, a large, influential and enthusiastic boat. Kept afloat in large part due to Trump’s support for anti-abortion legislation and, in my view, his need for votes and affirmation.

No, I’m not a political commentator. I am, however, a commentator on what I see and what I think. Especially when it has to do with people and places I know and love, no matter which boat they’re in.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 27 January 2020
Image of Great Barrier Reef found at http://www.sciencemag.org

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