Tender

It may seem continuous exposure of a wound to the blade,

the burn to the flame.

The source is the same,

in gender, not name.

A taste of poison as antidote.

What cut as cure.

Risk.

Scar tissue is tough.

Tough.

Tender.

Testimony.

Mighty.

Judgment vs Responsibility

One post.

A post whose meaning was lost on those who read it...

The focus of that initial post was to be on the complete turning on its head of what has been normal and sane throughout history and which is now considered weird or crazy. 

Now I am considered judgmental.

I have now caused offense.

When, originally, the post was about others judging ME...

Am I now to apologize and grovel at the threat of losing "friends" who viewed my words through a completely different lens than was intended?

I care about others.  I fall in my own attempts towards improvement.  I judge myself more harshly than anyone else ever could or would.

Do I have opinions? Yes.  Do I know people who have continued behavior that is killing them?  Yes.  (Hell, I have continued behavior that is detrimental to my own well-being!) 

Are people free to make their own decisions?  Yes, of course.  The law is there to protect if those decisions infringe on another person.

Are the choices of others any of my business?  No, provided they do not impact me, my family, my community, my country, or our freedoms.

At the risk of offense, am I to stand by, silent, with potential saving knowledge, saying nothing while those I care about continue behavior that is killing them or severely lessening their quality of life?

If someone possess knowledge which would benefit me, improve my life, or potentially save me, and they silently withhold that information because they did not want to offend or appear judgmental towards me...?  I would be angry!

The truth sets free!  But first it will piss you off. 

The truth is so often offensive.  It typically does NOT feel good to hear, particularly if a person believes something in error.

I would so much rather be offended by the truth than comforted by silence... or a lie.

I would so much rather be offered information which offends me, and be given the opportunity to choose, to learn, to grow... to change.  Than to be kept in ignorance or in darkness, and potentially in pain. 

However, with knowledge comes responsibility.

Once a person knows, there is no excuse.  They cannot rail and say "But I never knew! You never told me!  I had no choice!"

If people are so quick in their rush to judge my motivations or intent, can they truly be called "friend?"  (Could their offense potentially indicate conviction? Hmmmm...?) Even if I attempted to clarify, what difference would it make?  If they have already made up their minds as to my guilt...?

Am I judgmental?  Yes.  I judge my eating too much and gaining weight, when I know better.  I judge my stuffing my face with chocolate and justifying it by thinking I will fast the next week in repentance, because I know better.  I judge my weakness, lack of diligence, and will power, because I KNOW BETTER!  When I see others eating themselves into disease, do I judge that behavior as harmful?  Yes!  When I hear others judging my attempts at health as "crazy," and then justifying their own radical choices, it doesn't make sense to me.  However, do I judge that person as a loser or "less than" me?  No. 

Do I need to apologize or repent of my original post because others misinterpreted it?

No.

Will anyone apologize for offending me? Absolutely not.  And I do not need them to.

Will I clarify?

Yea, probably.  And in some very diplomatic way... Yea.

Because I am responsible for me. Imperfect and fallible, yes. 

I am responsible for what I know.

And that's just how I roll...

Not for the Weak

Challenged.
After a uncharacteristic, shocking, and completely unexpected reaction to events on the road, someone I love very much said, "If I have to be disciplined, struggle against myself every day and against every obstacle, to train, to eat so strictly, to pray, to meditate... what is the point?!  Why can't I just be like everyone else - normal?!"
The woman in me wanted to hug all that frustration and weariness away.
The lioness in me wanted to roar at him and swat him with my claws in an attempt to wake him up to the strength and greatness he carries inside.
The broken and tired soul in me SO identified.
I've wanted to scream and rage at the unfairness of life.
To raise my finger at the obligations and personal accountability demanded of adulthood and maturity.

Our culture has come to idealize hedonism and nihilism.
"Life is meaningless, has no purpose, and there is no need for morality or faith..."
"I will indulge myself, live in pursuit of pleasure, my own pleasure, and damn any archaic societal mores that get in my way..."

Responsibility.
Morality.
Accountability.
Maturity.
Wisdom.
Perseverance.
Long-suffering.
Patience.
Self-control.
Courage.

The above words are anathema to many in our consumerism culture, who cry out
"I want it NOW!"
"I deserve it NOW!"
"Life should be pleasurable - always."
"Life should be easy - always."
"Don't get in the way of what I want!"
"I WILL say what I want."
" I WILL do what I want, when I want, and how I want, and without consequence."
"I will do whatever it takes to get whatever I want."
"But what about me?!!"
"Give me, give me, give me... I need, I want, I, I, I, I..."
Like an infant.

Where is meaning?
Where is character?
Where is depth?
It is not given.
It is forged.

The easy road is wide and leads where? Death, destruction, and decay. Darkness, the void - empty and without value. The end is suffering.

The difficult road is narrow, full of suffering, and few tread it, yet it leads to what? Real peace, joy, strength, fulfillment, meaning, and much, much more. The end is life!

It's a choice.
A painful, tedious, unapplauded choice.
Armchair babies sucking at the sugared teat of slothfulness and self-indulgence look on with envy at those suffering for purpose and striving in fortitude, desiring what they have, but refusing to work for it.

Count the cost.
And remember...

Not choosing is a choice.

I write because

I write because...

...the words will not wait.
...they must be expressed.
...perhaps someone will read.
...I imagine I will be heard.
...perhaps some other mind and heart will understand.
...I long to touch another soul.
...I long to understand, and be understood.
...it is human.
...it allows me to just "be."
...I imagine this is a dialogue, not just an ego-driven monologue.
...it feels like the purest water flowing out of my soul.
...it is cathartic.
...it is like a song by which my soul dances.
...words can be like unexpressed tears.
...it is so much more than words.
...thinking someone special may read it gives me a shit-eating grin.
...in a way, it is empathetic.
...perhaps this virtual wooden spoon will hit someone on the ass and cause them to become more self-aware, as well.
...it is window on the past, the present, and ideas of the future.
...it can be reread and cried over, laughed at, or smiled about.

...I can.

Just for a While...

"One more day feels like home again
For so long now I was my only friend
But I know it won't be long till I pack my things and I'll be gone
So for awhile, just awhile, let me feel at home again
Feel the earth beneath my feet again
One more night I see my love again
But I know it won't be long till I pack my things and I'll be gone
So for awhile, just awhile, let me feel at home again
Hey, hey
Hey, hey
But I know it won't be long till I pack my things and I'll be gone
So for awhile, just awhile
For awhile, just awhile
So for awhile, just awhile, let me feel at home again"
__________________________________________


They are not my words
Not my melody
Yet they sing my fear
Sing my longing
"Like home again"

Yet like nothing I've ever known...

Not in House
Not in walls
Not in space within which I breathe...

But Home
Home in heart
Home in hand
Home in hearing

In the here and now

Maybe someday, someone, somewhere, will get it

Will understand
Will sing a similar song
For a while... Just a little while
A while of welcome

Welcome Home...

Finding...

Jaded..?
Because I doubt this.
I don't believe in soulmates any more.
I don't believe in a twin flame.
I don't believe in "finding" a mate.

I'm so damned afraid to ever hear "I love you" from a man again...
In anything other than friendship.
It could be lies, all lies.
It could hide such deceit.
It could destroy the fragile ability to trust that I'm working so hard to grow.
If I let it close, if I dare let down the drawbridge even the slightest bit...

It "could..."

Will it?

I can't possibly know that. Or predict it.

Funny, because I still do believe in love.
Even after having my trust completely obliterated...

So, I won't look.
I'll grow and tend friendships like my favorite raspberries in the garden... :-)
With care.

I'll be quiet, and watch.
And wait.
And work on becoming a better version of myself.
And learn to love others better.
And learn to let God work in me deeper.
And learn to laugh, and smile, and dream again.
And learn to give...

And one day...

Just maybe...

Hearing "I love you" will sound like home is calling.

Fear will vanish.

And I'll walk through that warm, welcoming door.

And my soul will be found.

All we are..

At once we seem so simple.

A body.

Look deeper.

A soul.

Look even deeper.

Our mind, will, and emotions are wrapped up in between the cells.

Wrapped in the light, the glue of the universe.

A spirit.

Oh, it's getting complicated now.

Where is the personality lodged?

From what soil did it come forth and in what it has put strong roots?

Thoughts?

Ahhh... they have temporarily erected thrones in shifting foundations.

Springing up, then toppled, then built again.

Where can one find the heart's residence?

Do I go by feeling to note its location? 

Because at times it's low in my belly, solid and grounded. Calm and peaceful.

At other times it rockets through my chest like a locomotive, threatening to burst its bounds.

And then, there it is clutching my throat with a vise-like grip, holding back words... or sobs.

Even there, from behind my eyes. Burning, melting, leaking... or blank.

Memories are housed in my head, right?

A shovel should dig them right up and out.

Ah, but no.

They twist and turn, some from shadowed corridors, some from breathtakingly lighted glass jars.

I can smell the cedar fire, taste the gingerbread, feel the softly falling rain, and hear the words whispered.

Perhaps they are only suspended above my head.  

I cannot reel them in and sort them out.

It makes me doubt their veracity.

Ah, but then I look even deeper still.

Faith.

Where does it live?

Trust.

Honor.

Truth.

Where does character have its birth?

Doubt.

How to cut out that which is diseased?

How to prune the unruly branches in me?

How to determine what is worthy to remain?

Oh, and I forgot about something.

Longing.

Is there a room for this, as well?

It aches and reaches, groans and pines.

Stark white walls with no decoration.

Unfilled.

Small on the outside, but cavernous within.

Its questions tumble on and on, asking, without answer, a riotous flood.

Simple?

One has to be simpleminded to think so.

More intricate and complicated than I can comprehend.

Yet, it is all we are.