It’s true.         .          .
You may never get an Answer
if you don’t ask a Question
but it’s just as true
that sometimes the best Answers
require no Questions.          .          .

Tracey Schmidt’s poetic reading of a Blessing for Our Death reminds us of the complexities of life – how we can be gatekeepers and entrance points, light filled and vulnerable, lonely and loved, all at the same time. She praises life and exhorts us to do the same, to “sing as if tomorrow will not come because one day it will not.” This singing of life’s praises enables us to live fully, “as if home were everywhere and you are no longer a guest but a loved and welcome member.”

L   I   V   E
L         I          V          E
W   E   L   L

Much to ponder in this song performed by the award-winning Becky Buller.
Let your mind paint the picture your Heart needs to see that'll give you more Heart and less attack.   .   .  

MORE HEART, LESS ATTACK

Be the light in the crack
Be the one that's been there on a camel's back
Slow to anger, quick to laugh
Be more heart and less attack

Be the wheels not the track
Be the wanderer that's coming back
Leave the past right where it's at
Be more heart and less attack

The more you take the less you have
'Cause it's you in the mirror staring back
Quick to let go slow to react
Be more heart and less attack

Ever growing steadfast
And if need be the one that's in the gap
Be the never turning back
Twice the heart any man could have

Be the wheels not the track
Be the wanderer that's coming back
Leave the past right where it's at
Be more heart and less attack
Be more heart and less attack
Be more heart and less attack

I stuck my hat out, I caught the rain drops
I drank the water, I felt my veins block
I'm nearly sanctified, I'm nearly broken
I'm down the river, I'm near the open

I stuck my hat out, I caught the rain drops
I drank the water, I felt my veins block
I'm near the sanctified, I'm near broken
I'm down the river, I'm near the open

I'm down the river to where I'm going


(My thanks to Becky Buller and friends.)

S  O
do you agree
disagree
or do you have a better
two minute spiel.          .          .
Maybe what the World has been trying to tell us
not just NOW, but especially NOW
is that I really don’t care what you think
or what words you use
or how you arrange them
so much as
HOW DO YOU LIVE
how have you Verb’d them up for
O T H E R S
or maybe
N         O        T
Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst
I don’t think you can tell the meaning of life in two minutes
IT JUST TAKES A SECOND
of your Caring Catalyst Self
to a Caring Catalyst Other.          .          .

T  H  O  U  G  H  T  S ?

DO ANY OF THESE STRATEGIES WORK FOR YOU?

Pssssssssssssssssssssssssst:
Don’t tell anybody, but I turn to music to feel better in almost any situation, You?
(My thanks to Polly Castor for the graphic.)

FEEL BETTER

John D. Rockefeller, the founder of the Standard Oil Company, the first billionaire of the United States of America and once the richest man on Earth was asked by a reporter, “How much money is enough?” He calmly replied, “Just a little bit more”

Is John D. right?  Is JUST A LITTLE BIT MORE, really enough or is there ever an ENOUGH-NESS that’ll satisfy.          .          .When Rockefeller was asked this question he had a net worth of about 1% of the entire US economy.  He owned 90% of all the oil and gas industry of his time.  Compared to today’s rich guys, Rockefeller makes Bill Gates, Jeff Besos, Elon Musk and Warren Buffet look like paupers; and yet he wanted
“JUST A LITTLE MORE.”

Maybe before we can know how much is ENOUGH, we’ve got to define
E         N         O         U         G          H
.          .          .and dare consider
ENOUGH
is more than just an amount
(but also an attitude)
MUCH-NESS

HOW MUCH
is never a question
to be Asked
yet is always Answered
HOW MUCH
isn’t found in an
Enough-ness
Much-ness
is daring to Give
a More-ness
than you can expect
to ever receive in a
Getting-ness
MUCH-NESS
is when a
Giving-ness
means so much more
than a piddle Getting-ness
MUCH-NESS
takes on an unimaginable hue
that can’t be found
on a painter’s palate
but always at the end
of your Soul’s brush
waiting to paint anew
the landscape scene
that completes us all
as it becomes a
Giving-ness
eclipsing the horizon of any
Getting-nesses  

.           .          .S O M E T I M E S
the shiny empty plate
waiting to be
SHARED
more than
PASSED
is all the
ENOUGH-NESS
necessary
I  F
it’s indeed more than a
passing partaking.        .      .
May your ENOUGH-NESS be Another’s as well.          .           .

We did a lot of traveling last week, to Niagara Falls to Dayton with nary a time for a quick car wash and my car literally got BUGGED.  The car wash couldn’t remove all of the mix mash of bug guts; it needed some more than unusual elbow grease and with sweating dripping down my face and slow diving off of the tip of my nose, I stood and wiped my face and THERE, there it was; a thought and then a flood of words that found its way into a poem, not just about bugs on a bumper and crusted across my windshield but about the randomness of our living and our dying; the vast unpredictability of
IT ALL.          .          . HENCE: SPLAT

Is it all willie nillie
some hocus-pocus predestinated Chance
A random bullet
Out of control car
Avalanche
Shark bite
A fallen tree limb
An elevator cable snap
Plane crash
All
wrong places at the wrongest of times
ALL so unmathematically
equating into a
SPLAT
No one ever sees coming
WE
like the Severely unsuspecting unnamed Bug
SPLATTED
It was never my intention to
harm, maime, Kill
Yet, just the same,
SPLAT
It ended up a glorious Yellow
but so very indistinguishable on my bumper
across my windshield
And Now
just like that
as I turned on the Shower
I spied a spider
frantically trying to get out
of the fast sucking swirlingly
towards the Drain—too late
for a rescue attempt
The Splat became a deadly Splash
Proving it’s always more than One Way
but always, still, A Way
S P L A T
What Pow, What Splash, What Kerplunk
SPLAT
Awaits us
If a bug, a flailing spider
not exempted
what of us
I don’t know
But make no mistake about
Knowing it does

Tony had a perfect life — until his wife Lisa died. After that tragic event, the formerly nice guy changed. After contemplating taking his life, Tony decides he would rather live long enough to punish the world by saying and doing whatever he likes. He thinks of it as a superpower — not caring about himself or anybody else — but it ends up being trickier than he envisioned when his friends and family try to save the nice guy that they used to know. Golden Globe winner Ricky Gervais stars in the comedy series, which he also writes and directs.  Mind you, THIS IS NOT PRETTY; GRIEF seldom is and what it is during this three season hiatus is downright PROFANE at times; UGLINESS at its worst and yet deep within its TRUTH.  I have shown a clip or two from this show before which makes these series of clips a little different, a little difficult and hopefully, a little more digestible for that which is most distasteful for all of us…dare I say, ENJOY.     .     .     ?

Hmmmmmmmm.          .           .
Maybe like Tony, there’s been some things in our lives that make us feel like him, that
“NOT CARING is a Superpower; CARING ABOUT STUFF; THAT’S WHAT REALLY MATTERS!” but we’re not a NETLIX episode or series that we can turn off or on or yes, put on PAUSE.           .           .

WE ALL COME WITH EXPIRATION DATES
which means we’re one DATE closer than we’ve ever been before
BUT THE GOOD NEWS
is that we can be more kind, more loving, more compassionate than ever before because knowing
THAT WE WILL EXPIRE
also means not so much postponing the DATE
but living lovingly today.          .          .
IF DEATH IS INEVITABLE
LET’S MAKE SURE OUR LOVING IS, TOO.        .        .

SHE MAKES THINGS GROW

All ground is fertile
and she proved it
by taking what had no life
L I V E
She makes my soul her soil 
when she digs deeply
and prunes, sharply 
The ache is more of a yearning
Ahhhhhhhh
than a moaning Owwwwwwl
She makes things grow
out of nothingness
an Everythingness
hardly without notice
but never unnotable 

This is a poem I wrote a little over a week ago.  Its title is the one for my sixth chapbook that I just finished as a result of the SPRING poetry challenge that demanded 15 poems in 10 days that couldn’t exceed 15 lines.  It had a different theme of the day where one or two poems could be written on that given theme.  The theme for this poem on this particular day was EMERGENCE  

S  E  E  D  S
even in the most soiled of hands
have no chance of growing
no matter how warm the wish
or fervent the prayer
b     u     t 
BRING WHAT YOU HAVE
(who you are)
TO WHAT YOU’LL SERVE 
(who you love)
AND WHA-LA
You have a magical garden
S U R P R I S E
There’s no secret to a HAPPY MARRIAGE
I can’t give you the 12 STEPS TO SUCCESSFUL RELATIONSHIPS
But showing up each day
with the goal to be a
BETTER ME
for a
BETTER HER
has never failed me
and it has failed me horrifically
WHEN I HAVEN’T BEEN A BETTER ME
or at least not given it a better than
half of a chance.        .         .
OUR BEST TIMES
HAVE BEEN OUR ROUGHEST TIMES
(an ohhhh, there have been some severely rough times)
because soaked, shaken and jostled about
we’ve always ended up stronger, more invincible and
     C      L      O      S      E      R
SHE MAKES THINGS GROW
especially when I’ve given her 
some-not-always-wanted-manure
and yet
that served as some of the richest fertilizer
to some of the
greatest growth
that could never really been imagined
.      .      .only experienced
37 Years ago, 
on June 9, 
the day after we got married
we were laying by the hotel pool we had all to ourselves
talking about the future;
we both assumed we’d never see 50 years together
because of our ages
and then
like now
have never been bothered much by how much time we’ve got
because of the time
WE  HAVE
(and so the message that I usually include in each wedding ceremony
I conduct, is the message we’ve always taken to heart)
.          .        .Marriage is
HARD WORK
but it’s the best job 
you’ll  ever had.          .           .
I may have seemingly had The World to give
but Erin’s always had the grace to
bring me HomeWe’ve been able to show each other
what we could have never seen alone.     .     .

SHE MAKES THINGS GROW
Pssssssssssssssssssssst:
Take it from a Drain
who’s been transformed into a
f      o     u     n     t     a     i     n.  .  .

]]> http://thecaringcatalyst.com/she-makes-things-grow/feed/ 0 5921 http://thecaringcatalyst.com/lighting-each-other-home/ http://thecaringcatalyst.com/lighting-each-other-home/#respond Fri, 26 May 2023 11:00:35 +0000 http://thecaringcatalyst.com/?p=5903 This is a story I first heard from the gifted storyteller Laura Packer. I can’t say where it originated. I keep retelling it in my own way, because the world keeps needing to hear it.

In the beginning, there was only light and dark. During the day, the sky was bright white. No clouds, no blue. Just white. At night, the sky was completely black. No stars, no moon. Just black. And because this was the way the world was, you always stayed home. If you were ever caught far from your village when the sky went dark, you were never heard from again.

So, folks lived their entire lives in the same place, with the same people. And while they said they were happy living this way, in their heart of hearts they longed to see what they couldn’t see, to meet the people they suspected were out there but couldn’t meet. Yet they accepted that this was how the world was and would always be.

Then a certain girl came into the world. And this girl loved the world so much! During the white-sky hours, she’d explore and play as she wandered with her mother, gathering food for the family. In the black-sky hours, she’d listen to her father’s stories about the sights he saw while hunting around the village.

Each night, before she fell asleep, she’d say to her mother, “Mama, I want to visit other places. Please, will you take me? Can we go?”

And every night, her mother would say, “Oh, honey—we can’t! It isn’t safe. The world’s too dark. We’d get lost and never return!”

But you know how children are—how their dreams can creep into your heart and become your dreams too. So one night, when the girl asked, for the gazillionth time, “Mama, can we go? Please?” the woman said, “I’ll think about it.”

And she did. She thought for days as she gathered grasses and roots and berries to eat. She thought as she sat talking with the other women and as she listened to her husband’s stories. She thought as she wove reeds into baskets and thatched the roof of their house.

Then one night, while sitting with her family, gazing into the fire, she had an idea.

She got up and mixed water and clay. She made a pot from the mud. Then she made a lid for the pot. She placed these things in the fire and baked them until they were as hard as stone.

When the fire began to die out, she scooped up a potful of embers and covered it with the lid. She then lay down beside her daughter.

“Mama, can we go? Can we go?” the girl asked.

“I’m still thinking,” the mother said.

In the morning, the woman lifted the lid to look inside the pot. The embers were still glowing red. So that night when her daughter said, “Please, Mama, please—are you done thinking? Can we go?” the woman said, “Yes, in the morning we will go.”

As soon as the sky was white again, the mother and daughter packed up as much food and water as they could carry. They said their goodbyes. Then the woman took up her pot full of embers, and the two of them started walking.

They walked and they walked until the sky started to turn black. They stopped then and collected a pile of twigs and sticks. The mother poured out her embers on them. Soon they had a blazing fire. And when the sky was black-black, they sat around their fire, huddled as close as they could. From the darkness beyond their little ring of light came the growls and the howls of prowling animals. Just before they fell asleep, the mother put some live coals from the fire into her pot.

They woke up when the sky was white again. The woman dropped a few twigs into the pot to feed the embers. Then she and her daughter began to walk under the white-white sky. They sang and they told stories.

Just before the world went black-black again, they built another fire. They huddled close, listening to the night sounds and watching the sparks fly up.

Then the woman had an idea.

With the pot lid, she scooped up some coals from the fire. Then she flung them toward the sky, as far as she could. She was very strong, and those embers flew higher and higher until they stuck fast in the black.

And it was very good.

So the woman tossed up another lid-full of embers, this time back in the direction of their village. And those embers also stuck to the black.

Now her daughter wanted to try. Even she could send those embers flying. Before long, the way home was twinkling over half the sky.

Morning after morning, the mother and daughter continued their journey. And every night, they would cast more embers up into the sky, which was still black-black yet now sparkling as it never had before. The mother and daughter knew they’d never get lost.

After weeks of walking, they reached a village. The people there were astonished to see them.

“How did you get here?” they asked. “How did you not vanish in the dark nights?”

And the woman and her daughter showed the villagers the pot of coals. As soon as the world went black, they pointed out the path they had taken across the night sky.

“Throw some embers from your fires into the sky,” the woman told the villagers.

“Here,” her daughter said, “use the lid of our pot.”

And the villagers did.

The next day, the mother and daughter moved on. As they went, they always painted a shimmering path above them. And everywhere they went, they taught the people they met how to toss embers from their fires into the night sky.

So it is that we learned to light the way home for one another.