The L Word (Loneliness)

After taking a little walk, listening to the wind blow, it occurred to me that there is something I want to talk about today. I know lots of people are blue today because it’s mother’s day, and they are alone and lonely. But the thing I’m talking about happens every other day too. I may have got the pronoun wrong, somewhat, because males, as well, are having this kind of day. A lonely day that drags on and on and on.

I’m talking about a kind person. He or she is gentle and giving. Maybe someone whose partner has died and nothing has been the same since. Someone who doesn’t demand attention from people and seems content to be on her own, reading and puttering around. This person calls you sometimes and you have a great visit, but you never initiate a call. You are busy making money or running here or there.

Today, it’s likely single childless women who may be the loneliest. Another lonely group consists of those people who aren’t facebookers. They are out of the loop because they are not comfortable giving up their privacy and telling all their acquaintances, family, and friends the exact same story. Often they are people who are unique and wise, but they aren’t comfortable with the ways of modern life. Possibly they don’t like texting either.

Under the tears, there may be a lot of anger and frustration they are not comfortable sharing. I don’t blame them. They may be labeled as mentally ill, but a lot of people are depressed because the world has forgotten them. In this fast-moving, money-worshipping culture, there is little time or attention for those who aren’t part of the rat race. They don’t need more pills. They need a simple phone call, or a face-to-face visit.

It’s sad that some very kind and interesting people belong to this group. People are okay about receiving their love and support, but tell me, from where do these people receive support and appreciation? I think in an ideal world, we would all be givers and receivers both. But too often people belong to one group or the other.

The day isn’t over yet.

Julie

Friendly Mother Nature. . .

has not died, contrary to her sinking reputation as climate change affects so much of what we thought was normal. Our winter here just ended a few minutes ago. The rhubarb and lilies are sprouting, yet I did notice a small amount of snow still on the grass. The last few days have been beautiful and sunny.

I took my rake outside and started moving the leaf mulch off a flowerbed. After a few square meters, I stopped, when I noticed a few dozen ladybird beetles whirring around, having been displaced from their winter home in the leaves. I know the day feels warm, but if they are still hiding in there, it is TOO EARLY TO RAKE. I noticed one man raking his lawn about two weeks ago, determined to experience a little bit of springtime, I suppose. Personally, I don’t want to kill my ladybugs by exposing them to temperatures that may make them die.

So back into the house, time to shoot you guys a few words, and then what? Hubby seems happy enough changing the tires on our two vehicles. He doesn’t necessarily need a walk, but I’m thinking I could use a “stroll,” and, I tell you, a stroll is better done alone.

Happy spring from Moi,
Julie

On the fly. . .

. . . a little poetry editing can be my experiment for the day. There was this poem written a while ago, then a second version. . . then there was confusion about which was better. . . and two sheets of paper floating around tucked behind some bills. . .

It’s good news that the bills are paid. And the two twin poems, fraternal not identical, jammed together, may suffice for this day.

Call it This, call it That:

I could call it This or That
or Anything, Everything,
for everywhere I turn,
It is there.
A glow, a warmth, a coolness,
an act of kindness
demonstrating its Presence–
an act of hurting, shrieking out
negation of the same Presence:
dualities merging inside of
What-created-dualities
in the first place.

I could use the word, God,
‘though, sadly, it reminds me of the wars
and everyday cruelty
caused by that ungodly force,
righteous indignation,
which leads, at its extreme,
to religious hatred and murder.

But when I think of the Power that sustains me
in every moment of the day and night,
the soft pressure of air on my cheek
as I open my eyes, all jumpy with possibility,

I would call it Strength, Joy, Life even,
I would call it a holy Presence,
I would call it the Friend,
or the Mother of all these things.

Whatever the name, our lives belongs to That,
our own purposes just leaves in the wind,
and I too just one leaf flying free
in perfect harmony with
the Force that made me,
whether I blossom, even when I do harm,
there is no tap that turns the Love off.

The god-thing defies human imagination
and breaks our stubborn convictions
into so many grains of sand.
If only our punishing hearts
would give it a rest
sometimes
and let us see through the Eyes
of That which has no eyes!

* * *

The Inner Editor is yelling, as he smokes a fat stinky cigar and paces the length of this room. Get out, Stinky Editor, it’s my poem, mishmashed though it is. I want to give it away to all interested readers; so far I’m happy with all its flaws.

Stomach is still growling and it’s breakfast time.

Be helpful, be happy, be kind, if you can,
love from Julie