Doubt not, but be believing: a poetic introduction to a series of posts on faith and becoming...

The Doubter's Prayer 

by Anne Bronte

Eternal Power, of earth and air!
Unseen, yet seen in all around,
Remote, but dwelling everywhere,
Though silent, heard in every sound.
If e'er thine ear in mercy bent,
When wretched mortals cried to Thee,
And if, indeed, Thy Son was sent,
To save lost sinners such as me:

Then hear me now, while, kneeling here,
I lift to thee my heart and eye,
And all my soul ascends in prayer,
Oh, give me -­ give me Faith! I cry.

Without some glimmering in my heart,
I could not raise this fervent prayer;
But, oh! a stronger light impart,
And in Thy mercy fix it there.

While Faith is with me, I am blest;
It turns my darkest night to day;
But while I clasp it to my breast,
I often feel it slide away.

Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks,
To see my light of life depart;
And every fiend of Hell, methinks,
Enjoys the anguish of my heart.

What shall I do, if all my love,
My hopes, my toil, are cast away,
And if there be no God above,
To hear and bless me when I pray?

If this be vain delusion all,
If death be an eternal sleep,
And none can hear my secret call,
Or see the silent tears I weep!

Oh, help me, God! For thou alone
Canst my distracted soul relieve;
Forsake it not: it is thine own,
Though weak, yet longing to believe.

Oh, drive these cruel doubts away;
And make me know, that Thou art God!
A faith, that shines by night and day,
Will lighten every earthly load.

If I believe that Jesus died,
And, waking, rose to reign above;
Then surely Sorrow, Sin, and Pride,
Must yield to Peace, and Hope, and Love.

And all the blessed words He said
Will strength and holy joy impart:
A shield of safety o'er my head,
A spring of comfort in my heart

Last night I had this dream and it went something like this....

COME live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks	5
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,	10
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,	15
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love.	20
Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing	25
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.

There is something  alluring about the imagery provoked by Kit Marlowe in this verdant verse, a bucolic sweetness touching on a deeply felt passion. The gift of poetry lies in its capacity to extract from our innermost chambers  those things which we most long to protect from the eyes of the world. For many years I have believed myself to be too sensible for passion and romance, that a keen mind and fine sense of humor are all that matter, but beautiful poetry has convinced my hard head that I have been hiding that which is most sensitive, protecting it from the mockery of the world because that is so often what the world has offered when I have worn my heart on my sleeve. But the truth I guard so indefatigably  is nothing to be ashamed of, despite what my more practical sarcastic self tries to tell me, I am a romantic.

If I needed you would you come to me, would you come to me and ease my pain? If you needed me I would come to you, I would swim the seas for to ease your pain . ~ Townes Van Zandt

This is the conclusion to the previous post....

When dinner was finished I remained quiet as we moved on to discussing other things and opted to pick up dessert from a nearby bakery. My emotional state at this time was very much like the finch who slammed itself into a window and lay helpless on the cement walkway. My friends were kind enough to notice and accept this. At one point an arm was placed on my shoulder to reinforce  support and awareness of my intensely vulnerable state. I am not one who tends to become quiet during debate and heated discussion, but the dinner conversation had touched on my  innermost heartache, as ee cummings  eloquently described, "the root of the root and the bud of the bud". I attempted to recover my spirits and when we had gotten dessert and decided to watch a dvd I decide I needed to stay and be a part of the world instead of fleeing and retreating into my own.

When we returned to our point of origin, being my friend's house where we would watch any of a number of movies on a regular basis, I split off from our group and went to place my delicious Italian leftovers in my car. It was dark out but for the undependable streetlight and from the corner of my eye I could see something fluttering and struggling in the gutter. All I could muster was a sort of wailing gasp because it was clear that this mysterious object  was not a leaf or really an object at all, but a tiny bird that was unable to properly use its wings to lift off. There was no barrier that could have prevented the flood of grief that burst forth from my lips."Oh, it's dying" I whispered and one of my friends stopped in his tracks. As I watched this little life struggle and feebly attempt to coordinate it's wings in order to take flight my friend  approached me with a look of concern on his face. When he asked me what was wrong,as I was clearly trembling and overwrought, I explained there was a tiny bird flapping around and dying in the street. And when he turned to discover where this helpless creature was the little bird was nowhere to be found. All I could think of was this poor bird, desperate and unable to get off the ground would shortly be devoured by either cat or the tires of an oncoming vehicle and I wept. What happened next I will never forget and will forever love this friend for. Sensing my need for comfort I was blessed with a friend who was able to provide a tender moment when comfort was given and received. Moving closer he embraced me  warmly placing  his hand on my head and gave me the sweet gift of letting me cry on his shoulder. As he spoke words of comfort to me I was able to quickly regain my sensibilities and we moved together towards the house. In that moment I was the bird standing defenseless in the street caught in a maelstrom of sorrows and uncertainties and I was rescued by a brief but pure moment of  affection and solicitous care.

Two birds on a wire /One tries to fly away and the other /Watches him close from that wire/ He says he wants to as well but he is a liar/ I'll believe it all /There's nothing I won't understand /I'll believe it all I won't let go of your hand ~Regina Spektor

The building that I work in has reflective windows on the facade which means when, on  stunningly gorgeous fall days like we have been having in Illinois recently, walking in and out of the building you are captured by the illusion that the azure sky continues on forever. While this is most assuredly an aesthetically enticing  architectural technique it has an unsettling result by one of the main entrances into the facility. Every day for the last week when leaving work I have been stunned by the same phenomenon: the lifeless yet intact frames of  several tiny birds lying  on the cement walkway adjacent to the building. This circumstance was a result of these tiny creatures seeing the reflected sky in the windows of the building and flying head on into their own destruction. While this does bring to mind the significance of illusions and not being deceived by the ephemera and surface reflections the world has to offer, for me the first thing that came to mind each day I walked from the building and saw these poor frail lifeless birds strewn on the pavement was an emotional night  several years ago where I was very much that poor frail bird butting its head against  hard glass.

It was the fall of 2010 and I was basically a hot mess. I was in school full-time, working, and constantly worried about my sister who had recently been diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. My soul was decidedly  beset by heightened emotions and uncertainty of what I could and should be doing to help my sister. This was a constant spiritual undercurrent  for me back then and it was often present in my interactions with others. Such was the case one fall evening when after classes I went to dinner with friends. We decided on Italian (my comfort food of choice) and opted for a local place (because in NY there are many many local Italian restaurants) that I had never been to. I was myself and yet I was not myself.  As we sat discussing this and that the topic of my sister came up and I felt my nerves pop and my heart quake. I was explaining how I was determined to help my sister raise money to pay for treatment and so I had decided to basically beg and cajole for help through social media. There was a slight pause in the conversation and one of my friends commented on how they had seen my postings and had discussed it with another Facebook friend who had been struck by the vehemence of my recent postings/pleadings. This began a most excruciating philosophical discussion over the "proper" way to get results in such a scenario. It was all very surgical, my heart being cut out quite efficiently in the process of a few general observations made over 3 or 4 minutes by the other member of our party. As the seconds progressed  and the food arrived, my head leaned ever further downward as I played with my food and lost my voice. My eyes fogged up with hurt and uncertainty. In those minutes I felt like a trapped bird whose wings were unable to fulfill their purpose leaving me to look wildly for any means of escape. I could not speak much above a whisper in response to the questions being posed. It became obvious to those I was with that our companionable dinner had evolved into a painful autopsy of all of my recent actions regarding my sister  and they thoughtfully changed conversational courses to ease my discomfort, and I was grateful.....

stay tuned for what happened next and what I learned about tenderness....posting  to follow later this week

Slugs and snails are after me/ DDT keeps me happy/ Now I guess I'll have to tell 'em/ That I got no cerebellum/ Gonna get my Ph.D. I'm a teenage lobotomy

My freshman year of high school was a free fall beginning  to a life long journey to discover the "me"ness of me. 8th grade had  been, and to this date remains, on of the most damaging and painful years of my life. I still have a hard time contemplating being in a room with people who so enthusiastically pushed my sensitive soul the very boundaries of  emotional security. After surviving 7th and 8th grade, 9th grade offered me an opportunity to expand my social circle and escape from the barbarity and insanity of adolescent kill-or-be killed socializing. Many of the girls my age were petty, dishonest, and driven by jealousy, and often those who weren't  made decisions about their loyalty based on social necessity. The girls at church were no exception. And the boys...well let's just say just because they had figured out how to keep their hands to themselves by high school some of their mouths and minds needed to be washed out with good detergent.

Lies were told by and about me within the drama of freshman year survival of the fittest. As my circle of "friends" began to suffocate me I was blessed that  a group of people were drawn to my independent, bull -headed, argumentative, sarcastic teenage self and they were all seniors. They found it curious that I had no interest in smoking or drinking and messing around was not my aim in hanging out with older guys. I was the "Mormon" girl who probably had eight mommies, who argued politics in the library at lunch and had no problem kneeing someone in the proper place to get them away from her. I was brash and angry and desperate to  figure out how to be me without  drawing so much malevolent or inappropriate and unwanted attention. This was the year that birthed within me a natural attraction for nerdy boys who liked to argue ideas and make the librarians threaten to kick us out of the library for being too rowdy and rowdy meant arguing about the Iran Contra hearings or Clarence Thomas confirmation hearings. These were the boys who allowed me to not always think of myself as a girl who was defined by her body but as a person who had a passionate mind and thirst to learn new things and debate ideas and to understand what was going on in the world and why that mattered.  This was the year I joined a club that explored the birth of and philosophy of Marxism and socialism, I sang in the choir and played in the band, I joined Model United Nations, I cut school after my cousin died and became entangled in a mess of my own making. I discovered The Ramones, The Dead Milkmen, Erasure, Depeche Mode, ee cummings, and that hanging out in graveyards after school was something to look forward to. These were the things that made my freshman year worth looking back on and worth remembering. I did have a few girlfriends in my grade that managed to stay out of the drama and with whom I enjoyed a bond of friendship but after my senior friends graduated that year I lost myself until I was able to find true meaningful friends in the grade younger than me....and lost my heart to a boy named....

Words of love: How e.e. cummings taught me the intimacy of love

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

BY E. E. CUMMINGS

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

I will follow you into the dark...

Today. I have not been doing a lot of thinking. I

have not been thinking of just the right words 

that would describe what this day is and what

it was 12 years ago. 

I miss my NY. 

Lives have been lost, taken, and

given on and since this day 12 years ago and

today certain songs played on repeat cycle as 

I tried not to remember what I felt 

one beautiful September morning 

and on that day every year since.

I pray for peace and love and comfort for all those who continue to suffer the vacuum of grief left by September 11, 2001