Ruminations

After reading a couple of blog entries by fellow blogger, Jinksy, I was inspired to dig up this piece I wrote a few years ago - also about body parts - Viewed from a different perspective.
As I stood waiting for a bus the other day, I had some minutes to study the people moving around me. This was most enjoyable since I am a dedicated people watcher. One can tell a lot about a person by silently observing them.
A thought forcefully pushed its way among these wandering ruminations. Every one of us is a unique specially created individual. Every one of us has something that no one else has in quite the same way or shape. We are the same yet distinctly different.
Take for instance eyes. Eyes come in several colours and shapes. Lashes may be long and luxurious or short an stubby. But the main thing that makes one pair of eyes so different from another is the expression, or lack of expression in them. Some eyes reflect sadness, or despair, terror or pain, some snap with enthusiasm or anger, some seem to be so deep that one feels as though they are looking into the person's very soul. Other eyes seem to be filled with laughter. Each pair of eyes portrays a unique detail about the person behind them. eyes were included in the human form for one reason - to watch. Eyes are the same yet distinctly different.
And then there's ears. They may be large, medium or small. Some stick out quite plainly. Others nestle snugly against the head - almost invisible it seems. Ears remind me of sea shells. They range from tiny delicate formations to large conch shell-like ones. All ears are created for the same purpose - to listen. Ears are the same, yet distinctly different.
Let's not forget hands. They too, come in a variety of sizes and shapes. Some are large, with short stubby fingers. Others are smaller but with long slender fingers. Still others are missing digits for one reason or another. Some hands are strong and powerful. Some are awkward; some are gentle, others rough. Many are capable of incredible feats - performing complex operations, playing concertos, building great structures, carving or sculpting unforgettable masterpieces. But hands can do so much more.They can reach out and touch another person. They can comfort, support, encourage, unite and and they do - on a daily basis. Hands are the same, yet distinctly different.
No, I haven't forgotten mouths! They are all the same, yet molded to meet the owner's individual personality. They are constantly changing, reflecting the mood of the person at any given time. Lips may be curbed up or down. So unique.Their position may signify happiness, anger or sadness or any emotion in between. With them, we can speak - words of comfort, shrieks of rage, shouts of joy. The impact of the sounds and mouth expressions we use can have lasting effects on all we meet. Mouths were added to the human form to help us communicate. Mouths are the same, yet distinctly different.
I could go on at considerably greater length, but I think you catch the idea. We are all the same, yet we can appear so different. How can the same basic equipment be supplied to each of us, yet we manage to look and act in such diverse ways? The key seems to be in how we use the equipment. We are the same, yet distinctly different.

Autumn poetry

The following is a Robert Frost poem:

NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY by Robert Frost (1923)
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower,
But only so an hour,
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

There are many other "Autumn" poems. Seems that many poets have been moved to comment on this season. If you've a mind to read more along this line - here's a few:
"Sonnet 73" by William Shakespeare; "To Autumn" by William Blake; "To Autumn" by John Keats; "The Autumn" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning; "Autumn Movement" Carl Sandberg.
Autumn is a fascinating, sometimes fickle season. Sometimes its warmth and beauty lasts (in Canada we call it Indian Summer - why I'm not sure) and lulls us into thinking that this will never end, and then - suddenly we wake up one morning to find heavy frost, freezing winds bending the bare trees and lashing our faces. Aaah. Such is the face of Autumn. No wonder poets find so much to say about it!

Dentists - Bah humbug!

I read Jinksy's account of visits to the dentist and how she could see no reason to regard these visits with trepidation. She was lucky she got anesthesia for dental work! When I was a kid, going to the dentist meant a visit every six months or so. At those times the dentist would poke around in my mouth, murmuring tsk,tsk! There was never less than five cavities, often more. Before you say ,"I know why you had all those cavities! Too much sugar and chocolate!" funny that's what the dentist would say too. But hear me out. I grew up on a farm - lots of fruits, vegetables, home-grown beef, pork, and chicken as well as our own milk and little or no candy bars. How then, you say? Genetics. My parents had poor teeth as did their parents, so they took great care to see that I ate well and visited that miserable old (at least I thought he was) dentist every six months. Seems that I was blessed with very soft enamel, hence the large number of cavities. But I digress.
I will explain why my experiences were so very different. Cavity filling meant being jabbed with a huge, long needle to freeze the gum and nerve. If that wasn't bad enough, there was the vibrating drill grinding away at the cavity, while I froze to the chair, praying that drill wouldn't slip. No water-cooled drills then! This continued through my childhood and teenage years. When I married, we often didn't have enough money for essentials for our babies, much less to fix teeth!
At one point during one of my pregnancies, I could stand the pain no longer, so I went to a dentist. He examined my teeth and shook his head. 'You need some work done here', he said, 'but right away there are two teeth that are ulcerated and must come out today.' I reluctantly agreed. He proceeded with that dreaded big needle. It hadn't gotten any smaller or less painful since I'd last been to a dentist either! Soon he came back to, as he put it', see if they were ready.' Obediently I opened my mouth. I knew the freezing hadn't set in, but thought he's just checking - right? Wrong! he immediately latched on to one of those teeth and yanked it out sans freezing while I'm trying to tell, him, around the implements in my mouth that I'm not ready yet. When I asked him what he thought he was doing, pulling my teeth with no freezing, he very matter-of-factly said, 'Oh well I knew the freezing wouldn't help for an ulcerated tooth, but I wanted to make you feel better. Besides I knew you'd probably panic if I told you the truth.' And you wonder why I avoided the dentist! At age thirty, I finally had my poor soft teeth pulled and was fitted with dentures. This was the one and only time I ever had an anesthetic to have any dental work done! I have not regretted the decision to have those troublesome teeth pulled. I haven't kept up with the latest and best in dental technology - for obvious reasons. But believe me, I sympathize with any of you folks out there who dread those visits!

Gods of the Harvest

Shades of the prairie autumn again. Since we are in the fall or autumn of the year, I thought I would share another seasonal poem and a few memories. When harvest was done, we looked forward to the coming winter with mixed feelings. If the harvest had been good, we would have lots of food to fill our needs, our home would be warm and snug, preparations would have made for our animals, and yet- there was the anticipation for me, as a child, to see the first snow flake of the season; make the the first snowman; wear that new (hand-me-down like as not) coat. But there was the other side of the coming season - short days, long nights and a winter that would be cold and, sometimes seemed to go on forever! But I digress.
This poem is about activities that took up much of our waking time throughout the fall.
But there were also fun things to do - like scuffing my way through a pile of red and gold leaves, or even jumping into the middle of them and rolling around like a queen in her royal bath! I marvelled at how the animals began to prepare for winter, with the thickening of their coats, and sometimes with even a colour change! Fall was a time of flux - not quite winter but beyond the warm days of summer. A time of crisp mornings sometimes with a skim of frost on everything. A frost that made the grass sparkle with diamond crystals, Diamonds that melted away as the morning sun found them. Because the sunlight peeked into my bedroom later, and later each morning, it became just a little harder to leave the cozy nest of my bed. Ah, those wonderful bygone days of autumn!


GODS OF THE HARVEST

Every fall was the same
Spattered across prairie fields
Were big metal gargoyles
Brought out to honour
The gods of the harvest
For just a brief time,
The worshipers filled up the maws
Of these hungry beasts with sheaves of wheat
They hoped the gods would be pleased
they hoped for bounty this year.

Faster and faster those worshipers worked
And faster and faster those
Greedy gods gobbled their gifts.
Sometimes the return
Was most lavish;
A benevolent reward
For a work well done
The old harvest gods seemed to say.

Sometimes tho' the return was so sparse
It brought tears to the eyes
Of those diligent servants.

The old harvest gods didn't care!
They'd had their rewards
Those simple folk got
What they deserved.
The gods seemed to say.

Wait just a minute!
What's this?
Those simple folk are
Putting the altars away!
They're working together
To make this season
The best it can possibly be.

Greedy gods go into the barn
Until next year's rewards are about due.

Fields are just stubble now
The hard work is done.
The race against whims
Of dear Mother Nature
Has been won – for this year.
Surveying the handiwork
The farmers enjoy the ripe beauty
Of this, their beloved – the land.
SFS

Walking Sticks

In the last few years I seem to be vertically challenged. Oh not the way you think. I can't always maintain my equilibrium without staggering and clutching at things as I walk. Talk about hard on my dignity!! I considered a cane. Someone suggested a walker. I'm not ready for that yet, I thought! Then someone else suggested getting two walking sticks and using them to help stabilize me, sort of like two extra legs, while enabling me to get more long walks in! Ah, now this sounded like something I could handle. Off I went on an expedition to find said poles without breaking my budget. After some looking and talking to a friend who uses them (and she's much younger than me!) I finally found some, in a local hardware store, for a third of the price that the specialized sporting goods stores were prepared to sell them for. My first stroke of good luck. The second was in encountering someone else who uses these sticks for walking. He was the employee in the hardware store who sold them to me. He gave me some valuable tips on how to adjust the height for me, how to hold them and swing them. Away home I came full of enthusiasm. However, three days passed. Each day there was a reason why I couldn't (legitimate of course!!) go out and start using them. Finally, I couldn't stall any more so I took a deep breath and plunged outside my apartment. The first two people I met -a couple of my neighbours - said 'oh, are you practising up to go skiing?' Hmmm I thought, I never expected that response! Next at the flower shop, the owner referred to them as canes. I was most affronted. At least for five minutes or so. These responses kind of threw me off balance (oh, not literally, but figuratively) so I came home and plunked them down. There they stayed for two or three more days! Not one to give up a challenge easily, (not for nothing do I have this stubborn Irish streak!) I gathered up my courage and off I went again. The day was hot and I worked up a sweat, but you know, I walked confidently - for three kilometres for the first time in a long while. I think I'm getting the hang of this. It feels great to have this opportunity again. No longer will I consider walking a right, but a privilege that has been given back to me! I'll write more here about my walking adventures with my two extra legs - from time to time....

Autumn thoughts....

When I went to retrieve my poems, it seemed that I was unable to access them. Grrr! How maddening that they are there but I cannot access (some) of them.
But wait! All is not lost. I found some hard copies of them and while this means I must re-enter them, at least I still have my "babies." Funny until this moment I hadn't thought of them like that. Guess I am pretty possessive when it comes to my writings!

By this poem you can see that my approach to autumn is from quite a different perspective. My Canadian Prairie roots are showing.

HARVEST GLEANINGS
Harvest is done- earth can rest
The time has come to prepare
For winter's icy reign.

Little creatures of the earth
Are scampering busily
Intent upon their season's work
Lining and filling their nests.
With leavings from the harvest.

When crops are good,
Gleanings are rich indeed
When the crops are poor
Leftovers too are sparse
It matters not where creatures fit
In the order of things,
All are affected by Nature's capricious works.

So just remember, whether you're
Cleaning up garden, yard or harvest fields,
Spare a thought for your fellow creatures -
Great and small.
Won't you share your leavings with them?
You know, each one is important.
God knows when even a sparrow falls.

Now harvest is done – the earth can rest.
The time has come for all to prepare
For winter's icy reign.
SFS

Autumn thoughts...

Profound Silence

As is often the case, my mind wanders to things profound and spiritual.Somehow the subject of this poem that I wrote 8 years ago remains current in my mind. Just when I think I'm clear what I think about silence, another thought winkles its head out of the soil of my mind.(How's that for a metaphor!) I've come to know that this a a good thing. All that remains is for me to nurture this new little plant. And who knows what will come of it. Perhaps my idea of silence Will grow stronger and more beautiful and bear unimagined fruits. And fruits are meant to be shared. You never know, another poem might just spring from it!


PROFOUND SILENCE

Early morning darkness
Wind is asleep
Birds are not stirring
A soul alone, at one with the universe.

Is this profound silence?

Woman sitting alone on a bench
Book open in her hands
Staring off into the distance
Her face a map of serenity.

Is this profound silence?

Man on his knees at the altar
Head bowed, eyes closed
His face a gentle mask
Of expectancy.

Is this profound silence?

A wide-eyed child spellbound
At his first sight of snowflakes
A moment frozen in time
A look of joy -
Once seen, never forgotten.

Is this profound silence?

Contemplation of a master’s work
Eyes shining, cheeks aglow
Climbing into the artist’s mind
Experiencing the joy of creation.

Is this profound silence?
....sfs2001

The Kitchen Gremlins

I have just noticed a strange phenomenon occurring in my kitchen. I think that something like Santa's workshop after closing time is happening. I spend time (now and then) cleaning and washing up. I leave feeling pleased with myself. An hour or two later I return with the intent of doing some cooking. Wait a minute! Where did that spoon come from? I'm sure that black splotch wasn't on the floor there before. Puzzled and annoyed, I clean things up again and proceed to do my cooking. I notice, as things progress, that the sink and counters are filling up with clutter at an astonishing rate. I can't be using that many utensils, I think. Oh well, again, I clean up again. Sink's clean, counters are clear, floor is free of unidentified items.
Off I go , coffee in hand, feeling pleased with myself. Time passes. I am in and out of the kitchen a few times, but imagine my shock when I do really look around! Again not just spoons, but knives seem to have leaped into the sink, possibly in antipication of a hot bath? They have been joined by several plastic cartons - wearing suspicious evidences of food, and a small pot. I sigh and look around in puzzlement. There must be some as yet unseen gremlins inhabiting my kitchen. I imagine them chortling (quietly) with glee as they wreak this disorder.
Tell me, are there any more kitchens out there like this or is mine an anomaly?

Return of the Poet/Writer (I think)

I never really got off to a great start last time. I was limiting myself to my poetry - already written and that seemed to blunt any creative writing of any sort.
Here's to an end to that and, a new beginning!
Recently, one of our local TV stations went off air. It wasn't making enough money for its owners. Oh dear!
For some while I have been disenchanted with the quality of news we receive. It seems as tho' the newspapers and networks simply want to write a script and deliver it. We should be happy with that - right? NOT! At least I'm not. This has led me to search for more authentic and independent alternatives to get news. Its amazing what is 'out there'. It seems that I am not alone in wanting to know what's really happening, both locally, nationally and internationally. I take comfort in that and I intend to keep searching out new sources. Who knows? I might be able to actively participate in some of the newsletters and papers appearing in my community! I might even meet some interesting people too!

ON BEING ORDINARY....

ON BEING ORDINARY;
I used to think that being ordinary was not a state I could aspire to.
It was common and boring - being ordinary meant being one of the crowd.
What a terrible fate I thought as I peered down from the lofty heights
Of my snobbish nose. Surely these little people want "more" out of life?
I tried and tried to be one of the chosen, select ones.
I was singularly unsuccessful. But that didn't stop me from trying again, and again , and again....
Each time I failed, the veneer, the mask I wore, grew thinner and thinner.
Harder and harder to hold together.
I was afraid - afraid that people would see through my mask.
They would see the "real" me and they would hate me!
This only made me strive harder and try more and more impossible feats.
Time after time I beat myself with my guilt. Oh, if only the world could see THOSE bruises,
I thought. But I don't want them to see me as I really am.
Time passed. My mask became threadbare and weak. I was growing weaker
And more frantic by the moment.
Any time now the whole facade would explode.
It didn't explode and somehow I held it together.
There's got to be more to life than this terrifying, draining struggle.
Admitting that I needed help was hard enough, seeking out that help was
Hard beyond belief. But to have that person tell me that I was not
Not superior and above average, and worse yet just ordinary! was
Unbearable. I argued and fought and denied it. I refused to surrender!
But .....then one day, I realized something that changed my attitude and started me
Down a road where I could not only accept, but rejoice and revel in my ordinariness!
Many blessed and wonderful things came about because of ordinary people.
One of the most wonderful being the birth of Christ - a special child - to ordinary parents.
If he could come from such humble, ordinary beginnings, then surely there could be
Nothing shameful about being ordinary. Rather it seems now a privilege to be called - ordinary!
...musings by sfstevens

The Silence Within

Most of my poetry begins with a phrase
chasing itself around in my head.
I have learned that there is usually a truth
to be learned from this kind of thing -
for me at least. My poetry is always
a surprise to me!


The Silence Within
Plumbing mysteries of life
Exchanged for ignorant poverty
Life’s a jumble
Leaves us hungering
For the feast.
In rags of mundanity
We stumble through life
Eyes downcast
Blind to the presence
Of spiritual food.
Life in the margins
Never savouring the depths
Groveling in confusion
Precious time ill-spent
Looking in barren fields.
Drowning in a famine of chaos
Begging for meaning
In all the wrong places
Weary and worn from our emptiness
Downtrodden by shadows.
Raising our eyes
Looking inward for help
Our path becomes clearer
Silence envelops us.
A gateway appears.
We are rich beyond measure.
sfs2001


This was written at a time when I was grasping at straws
looking for meaning - often in the wrong places.
Only when I started to write the last five lines
did I begin to understand my reason for writing this poem.

WHO AM I?
I danced on the moon
I flew through the stars
I painted the skies
With my tears and my laughter
I sculpted my life without care
Taking no thought
For the promise it held
More and more often
My skies became stained
With deepening gloom and despair.
I feel so alone!
On the outside I laugh
On the inside I moan
As darkness takes over
My carefully-crafted facade
Becomes lost in the shadows
Of deepening gloom and despair.
I want to dance
I want to fly
I want to feel free
I want to deliver
My soul, my sacred self
From deepening gloom and despair.
I want to find me!
...sfstevens
1998





REFLECTIONS ON WHO AM I?
This was written some eleven years ago, when I was losing my battle with depression. Everything was overwhelming to me. Anything I tried seemed to be insurmountable. Even the simplest, most familiar occurrences could send me into a spiral. I prayed a lot for help and strength, but at times it looked as tho’ no one was listening. I cried and yelled at the anonymous ‘whoever’ that seemed to be conspiring against me.
I flung myself repeatedly against the same old obstacles and, surprise! they were as immovable as ever. There was no hope, I thought. I had wasted so much of my life, prospects of regaining control (if I had ever had it!) appeared impossible. I threw tantrums. I made unwise decisions, but I didn’t care. If God didn’t, and it looked like He didn’t, why should I?
I put up a good facade - I laughed and talked and continued to act as tho’ nothing whatever was wrong. On the inside I wanted nothing more than to be ME - whoever that was! I wanted to feel free to live out my purpose. The problem? I still had no idea what my purpose was!
Not to be completely overcome, I continued to rant and rave at the ‘powers that be’ and in between times, I tried to pray. Prayer won more often than not , but I still could see no end to this dilemma. Who was I, exactly? I didn’t know then, and still don’t today. I do have a clearer picture tho’. So that means there’s hope!

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Will I Ever Learn?

This poem came out of much soul searching. I felt that I had a right to judge others, but somehow that didn't make me feel 'righteous'. When I finished this, I realized that I was the one who needed the help! I needed to learn to forgive and not just forgive but forget too.
This was written ten of more years ago. It has proven to be a critical step in my personal growth - both spiritual and emotional. I realized that all was not hopeless for me, but filled with opportunities for joy.


WILL I EVER LEARN?
My neighbour came to me one day for help.
I said, "I am too busy."
He came again another day,
I hid behind the curtain and refused to let him in.
Will I ever learn to share another's burdens?
He approached me on the street
In ragged clothes, with hands outstretched.
My soul was chilled with condemnation.
I turned me head and walked away.
Will I ever learn to feel another's pain?
He broke into my space; he stole from me
Some precious worldly goods.
At his trial, I shouted, "Justice!"
What I really wanted was revenge.
Will I ever learn forgiveness?
"How do you plead?" the judge called out.
My neighbour sadly looked at me.
"I asked for mercy, but no one listened.
I begged for human understanding
But only silence came in answer."
(Will I ever learn to care?)
"My children cried from hunger, I could not bear it!
In desperation, I stole from my neighbour
To feed my sick and starving babes."
Will I ever learn to share my worldly wealth?
Only as my neighbour was led away,
Did I recall the Saviour's gentle warning;
"If you did it not for one of my children,
You did it not for me!"
WILL I EVER BE FORGIVEN?
...sfstevens

This is my first foray into the world of blogs, so please bear with me while I try out my internet legs.

I have written a few poems, mostly for myself, a few geared to others, which for obvious reasons I will not share here. The ones that I share were indeed written for myself. I am a seeker, a searcher. For what do I search? For meaning in my life and the world in general. Some of my poetry has been ripped out of the pain in my heart/soul. For me it helps to 'verbalize' on paper at least, problems and, sometimes out of this comes peace of mind or reconciliation with a situation as it is.
Some has been written during spiritual searches. Again I often found committing to paper my thoughts helpful and, often revealing of what I really believed.
All of my life so far has been trying to find my purpose and reason for being on this planet. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my reason is simply to be; to remain open to life's opportunities and soak up all that life has to offer!


NIGHT LIFE
Pines are aglow
In the moonlight.
Ocean waves appear
In darkness,then light.
A rustle in blackness
Means life is still there.
A hoot from a sentinel owl
Assures me all's well.
My sleepy head drops
To its welcoming pillow.
My mind drifts back to dreams
Afloat on wind stirring pines,
And waves washing sand.
Knowing life is still there.
The song of a dream owl
Assures me all's well.
by sfstevens




NIGHT LIFE
I am awakened in the deepest depths of the night. What woke me, I wonder. I lie perfectly still and listen. The darkness feels friendly and warm, like gentle arms are protecting me. Worries are banished into the day yet to be.
The wind soughs gently through the trees outside my windows. Ocean waves rise and fall through the moonlight, changing from black to flashing silver.
Gentle rustling of small animals, birds murmuring in their sleep sounds so right. I drift back in my mind to my life as a child on a prairie farm. I am snuggled securely under the blankets on the screened in porch of our farmhouse. It is summer and the night is black. I can hear the occasional owl proclaiming what sounds like, ‘all’s well, go back to sleep now.’ In a tree nearby I can hear the scratching sound of a porcupine laboriously climbing up to safety. My dog snorts gently in his sleep - further reassurance that all is well. In the distance I can hear the barely discernable sound of a lonely, yet somehow comforting, train whistle. Those were happy times I think to myself. In those moments fear was a stranger. God was very near.
I come back to the present, reassured that all is indeed well. Morpheus arises to lead me back to sleep. My head drops without protest, onto my welcoming pillow. My thoughts drift effortlessly back toward my dreams. They are afloat like leaves, at the whim of the breezes among the unsubstantial shadows of my mind. In my imagination I once again hear the wind through the pines and the waves gently washing and arranging the sands of the beach. I am secure in my snug nest. A dream owl sings of dreams to come, I am again assured that all is well in my nighttime world.
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