The Caring Catalyst

S U M M E R I N G

ChuckBehrens — Fri, 28 Jul 2023 11:00:11 +0000

I am not the only one who
THINKS
or most certainly
F E E L S
I T. . .

But I keep looking for the rest of Summer
as soon as the last sparkler loses its sparkle
on the 4th of July
which got me to thinking about things
a little beyond Summer
and this one Summer of 2023
being the last one any of us will
ever live. . .
h e n c e:

100 Summers

100 Summers from now
I’ll be gone
and so will everyone
I know and love
(and you too, dear reader)
My name won’t be
remembered or spoken
The Okay-ness
of this is that after
100 Summers gone
is there’ll be as many
Falls, Winters and Springs
taking their places as
100 Seasons before
without much explanation
(recently written for a 15 poems in 10 day challenge for local gems)

Uhhhhhhhhh
days gone by
are never really days
g o n e. . . .

A RESURRECTION MANIFESTO

ChuckBehrens — Fri, 21 Apr 2023 11:00:47 +0000

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
by Wendell Berry

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion — put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

DEATH AWAKENINGS

I went to sleep
and never woke up
A-lay-me-down-to-sleep-can’t-stay-
awake-anymoreness-kind-of-sleep
To a not all-that-well-to-known-
kind-of-Hereness
And it wasn’t an Okaynessability
or an Alrightynessity
but an Is-ie-ness
A never-not-to-be be-unknowability
that makes any new day
A Death Awakening
An Infinity
not a new Reality
sleeplessly Forevernity

DO MORE THAN LOOK. . .
SEE
NOTICE
RECOGNIZE
R E S U R R E C T

Brrrrrrr is Never in Season

ChuckBehrens — Mon, 19 Dec 2022 12:00:00 +0000

A small Unitarian Universalist church choir in Black Mountain, North Carolina (The Unitarian Universalist Congregation of the Swannanoa Valley) began making videos for their online services as a response to the Covid pandemic in April of 2020. Their choir director, Annelinde Metzner, used her experience as a compose and arranger to make videos using Garage Band and I-Movies, with rehearsals and recordings on Zoom. “We Are Lights” (The Chanukah Song) is a song for Chanukah that their choir performed in December 2021, with lyrics by Steve Young, music by Stephen Schwartz, and a 2006 arrangement by Mac Huff. They have added their own photographs symbolizing “Light” which give the words poignancy. . .and inspired the rest of this blog post celebrating the beginning of Chanukah and Christmas week:

It is THE Season of Lights. . .
Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst:
L I G H T
is always in Season.
I love stories,
especially ones that start out:
THE STORY IS TOLD. . .
that there were six people trapped by pure Chance in the darkest of darks and the coldest of colds– but not without a
G R E A T S O L U T I O N
Each person, all six of them, had a stick of wood. . .
SO THE STORY IS TOLD. . .
Their dying fire needed just one thing as they huddled around it:
L O G S !

One woman who had a Stick wasn’t about to give her’s up. As she shivered and huddled around that dying fire, that dimming light, she was still able to see the faces huddled/shivering being illuminated and because one of those faces was Black, there’s no way she was going to give up her stick to warm THAT face up

There was another sitting around that dying fire and saw the face of one who’s mouth talked about a God he didn’t quite believe, there’s no way he was going to give up his stick to warm THAT face who’s mouth talked of a different
belief. . .

The third one sat there around that dying fire in tattered clothes pulled the well worn coat closer and more secure around him as he muttered under his breath, “There ain’t no way I’m giving my Stick to this fire to warm these Highfalutin rich folks,” .

There was a rich man who just sat and thought of the wealth he had in store, and how to keep what he had earned from all of these lazy, shiftless poor; he would not be giving up the Stick he rightly earned. . .

The Black man’s face was frowned all up in revenge as he held on to his Stick even while the fire was flickering its very last flame; no way he was giving up that stick to people who had oppressed and kept he and his ancestors down. It was spite that made him hold that Stick almost as a weapon; serves these White folks right. . .

The last man in this group, shivering harder now in the barely glowing embers, firmly believed you give ONLY IF FIRST GIVEN TO, so his cold hands held his even colder stick and would stay that way since no one else was going to offer up their Sticks.

THE STORY IS TOLD. . .

S I X L O G S . . .

Six Logs held by six different
UN-SHARING
people who died. . .
w h o
WOULD RATHER DIE
than to
S H A R E. . .

The Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm of the Season
is that they died not from the
Cold and the Dark
but something the much,
much worse:
The Cold and The Dark
I N S I D E
It is the Season of Lights. . .
Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst:
L I G H T
is always in Season
A single little ember can Light a miracle. . .

There are many
CANDLE BLOWERS
OUT AND IN
T H E R E
Keep an inner Candle lit
so that the Miracle in your life
can find its way home again and not only
E N L I G T E N. . .
b u t
W A R M O T H E R S
along the way. . .
Eliminate
B R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R R
from ever having a Season. . .

A n y
L I G H T
that Shines
not only illuminates a path
. . .It Warms a Heart

BE A SEASON OF LIGHT
(if not always–o f t e n)
(BETTER STILL: ONE THAT NEVER ENDS!)

BE AN EVERLASTING
LIFESTYLE OF
L I G H T

FALLINGS

ChuckBehrens — Fri, 28 Oct 2022 11:00:37 +0000

James Crews is a poet who teaches Poetry at the University at Albany and lives on a organic farm with his husband in Shaftsbury, Vermont. Each Friday he posts a poem, sometimes one of his own that serves as more than just some mere Poetry Prompt. He recently posted this:

I’ve been sitting with this very short but very powerful poem by Jane Hirshfield ever since a dear friend passed it along to me earlier in the week. It speaks to the season so many of us might find ourselves inhabiting, not only that of autumn, but a moment of loss and transition during which we’re asked to accept such changes as necessary, and perhaps even sacred. In this poem, she invites us to see each shedding tree as an icon, “thinned/back to bare wood,/without diminishment.” And there is almost a haiku-like quality to those final three lines that urges us toward deeper contemplation of the richness inherent in these wooden beings. Perhaps what we see as loss and a kind of death each year as fall comes is really just wind and weather having worshipped the trees so much they are returned to their basic essence. In this way, we might reframe any difficult season when we are worn back to our essential selves as holy, worthy of worship for the way such trying times allow us to become something new.

Autumn

by Jane Hirshfield

Again the wind
flakes gold-leaf from the trees
and the painting darkens—
as if a thousand penitents
kissed an icon
till it thinned
back to bare wood,
without diminishment.

Invitation for Writing & Reflection: How might you reframe a difficult season in your own life as sacred or holy, seeing how you were worn back to the truest version of yourself even while in pain?

It prompted me to write in kind:

FALLING

And just like that
Summer fell
into a colorfully crisp confetti
of blazenous colors
that never reached the ground
Flutterings
into what can’t always be planted
but never fails to be garnered in
whatsoevers

that find us all
softly soaringly sheltered
in a cooling uplifting Breath
A heavenly satisfied Sigh

May this Fall Season bring you lots of
Oooooh and A W E

NATIONAL POETRY MONTH–YOUR POEM

ChuckBehrens — Fri, 08 Apr 2022 11:00:57 +0000

I accepted two challenges recently
FOR PURELY SELFISH REASONS
ONE: Write Fifteen Poems in 9 days
TWO: Write 30 poems in 30 days. . .
W H Y
for me
it’s a form of meditation
of connecting
Me to ME
both reading and writing
p o e m s
so for these remaining four Friday’s
I’ll POEM You
Scary
waking up in a Robert Frost poem
that promises miles to go
while I’m trying to walk out of an inner forest
that’s dark and deep
robbing me of more sleep than a
Bank robber with a combination to the vault
on a deserted Sunday night
Feeling out of Season
Season’d
in a Season is unseasonally strange
gyping you
unless you love the surprise of
unopened gifts on Christmas’s in July
All ways inspiring an
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
begging for a welcomed
not-always-in-season’d
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

SCALED UP

ChuckBehrens — Mon, 04 Oct 2021 11:00:43 +0000

C H R I S T M A S
is still
8 1
Days away
but this is not about
CHRISTMAS
or how many days away
we are to celebrating
so much as
HOW A FEW SIMPLE PAUSES
can make all of the difference
to a message
and even more
to a busy
L I F E

PART OF BEING CHRISTMAS OUT OF SEASON IS
Being the Song
in Some One’s Life
that’s never been a part of their
r e p a r t e e. . .
JOY TO THE WORLD

YOUR HEART

ChuckBehrens — Mon, 31 Aug 2020 11:00:00 +0000

Have you ever lost your heart. . . ?
Loaded question, huh?
Well?
What makes it such a touch question
is just trying to figure out
is that a
Physical
Emotional
Psycho-Social
Spiritual
L I T E R A L Question. . .
Ohhhhhhhh how you should know by
NOW
and all nearly some 800 Blog Posts later
that I’m a Sucker for the Sap Movies
and this one,
LAST CHRISTMAS
is maybe the sappiest of all
and it’s leaked a glue over me
that I can’t wash away
(and most likely don’t want to, anyway)
Nothing seems to go right for young Kate, a frustrated Londoner who works as an elf in a year-round Christmas shop. But things soon take a turn for the better when she meets Tom — a handsome charmer who seems too good to be true. As the city transforms into the most wonderful time of the year, Tom and Kate’s growing attraction turns into the best gift of all — a Yuletide romance. . .
Sa-Sa-Saaaaaa-SAPPY, right?
ba-ba-baaa-but
it made me think
IT MADE ME FEEL
the times I’ve lost my
h e a r t
Uhhhhhhh not so much
physically
emotionally
psycho-socially
spiritually
so much as
uh-ohh. . .
dare I write:
metaphysically. . .
and I guess I’m inviting you
to ask
to reflect
a time(S)
you’ve actually lost your heart. . . ?
Can I help answer?
Are you the same you were
10
20
30+
years ago?
What changed from the time you were an infant
to the time you became a toddler
to the time you became a preschooler
to the time you were in elementary school
to the time you were in junior high
to the time you were graduating high school
to the times of different jobs
to the the times of continuing education
to the times of getting married
to the times of having children
to
N O W
. . .just how many,
HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU LOST YOUR HEART
and maybe better still. . .
FOUND IT?
Psssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst:
Here’s to all of the times to come
and all the Seasons
that’ll allow
the prompting of the question:
WHO AM I?
(MAY THE ANSWER CONTINUALLY BE DIFFERENT
as it has countless times before)

MOMENTS

ChuckBehrens — Fri, 27 Dec 2019 12:00:00 +0000

I
T H I N K

Christmas is so much more than lights on a tree
or a date on a calendar in the month of December
or a Season
or a Day
. . .it’s a bunch of moments
in a not so perfectly wrapped package
that when opened
you just really don’t know what
you’ve got
but
you know it’s
s p e c i a l

And what get’s me all lit up
is that it doesn’t happen all at once
. . .it comes to us in a series of
m o m e n t s

A MOMENT:
I was gifted a free Starbucks
while in the drive thru
twice during the week of Christmas

A MOMENT:
I stopped back at one of hometown favorite hole in the wall dives

And I was literally shocked that after some 45 years that I’ve been gone the place actually never changed;
as I was eating my usual,
three dogs with everything

The waitress asked me how I liked everything
and when I told her
how much I liked it
and even more
how much I had missed this
after all of these years
she smiled and said,
“Good, because it’s on the House; a Secret Santa picked up your bill.”

A MOMENT:
I was asked to give a Blessing at a Youth Community Christmas Bash
for at need kids/parents
who came to have a meal
make crafts
dance
GET GIFTED

And as I was walking around
way overdressed in
my suit and tie
because of two earlier Memorial Services I conducted
several people came up to me
thinking I was a politician
a councilman
except one little guy
who asked me if I was
Santa Claus
I and I shot back at him,
“Do you think Santa would come dressed like this?”
and I love his
little-kid-speak-the-truth-because-you-don’t-know-how-to-lie-remark:
“Hey, I know Santa don’t always come looking like Santa but that don’t mean he ain’t Santa Claus!”

A MOMENT:
The lady in front of me
pumping gas at the pump
with a cool
License Plate:

When I said,
“Great Licencse Plate!”
she walked back to me and asked,
“Do you want to know what it means?”
And when I told her, “Absolutely”
she told me that it had nothing to do with her
running marathons or half marathons or
W H A T
she ASPIRES
to be
but
“I ASPIRE
to be all I’ve been created to be
no matter how many roadblocks
or short-cuts I need to take to get me
to the
FINISH LINE”

I
T H I N K
Lifetimes
can me lived in
m o m e n t s
and that when you have that
Special Season
they not only get accentuated
but magnified
and hopefully
r e a l i z e d
n o t i c e d
r e c o g n i z e d
K N O W N

I
T H I N K
that Special Season
is a never-ending
NOW
a moment
within
THE
M O M E N T
b u t
what do
Y O U
T H I N K

The WARM Cold

ChuckBehrens — Wed, 29 Nov 2017 12:00:12 +0000

C O L D

there’s only one true way to

E M B R A C E I T

. . .with W A R M T H

In the Southern Hemisphere, the night of lune 20 is the longest night of the year, marking the arrival of Winter. . .

W E L C O M I N G

The Cold

as a GIFT

is part of being ONE

with Nature

and all of it’s cycles. . .

E V E N

when

E S P E C I A L L Y

when it’s in

U S. . .

I’m one of those strange ones

that actually likes WINTER

letting everyone I know:

I CAN ALWAYS GET WARM, BUT I CAN’T ALWAYS GET OR STAY COOL

One of my most favorite authors is

John Updike

and in his essay, THE COLD

he tells us,

“COLD IS THE ABSENCE OF HEAT, AND YET IT FEELS LIKE A PRESENCE–A VIGOROUS HOSTILELY ACTIVE PRESENCE IN THE AIR…”

The ancients honored this rite of passage with ceremonies and celebrations. The Iroquois used to go to sleep early in the longest night, convinced that Mother Night reigned over the Earth and walked among people’s dreams to send them messages. At dawn, the tribe got together to exchange visions. The Incas celebrated Inti Raymi (Sun Festival): they received the first rays of the Solstice with open arms, throwing kisses at Apu Inti (Sun God). In Patagonia, the mapuche tribe still celebrate We Tripantu, or New Year, a festival of purification and gratitude for the renewal of life…

We are told

not so shyly

by Scientist and Ecologists:

We might have lost the pulse of so many vital cycles, we might have made a mess of them with our unconscious interventions, but we have never stopped being a part of them. Little by little, guided by some unerring voices, we rediscover, in Mary Oliver’s words our “place in the family of things.” Scientists speak of biophilia – the love of living things that beats even in the most relentless city-dweller, and they resort to biomimetics to learn from nature how to solve problems, even those we created by trying to thwart its plans.

C O L D and W A R M T H

The two meet in most unlikely

yet predictable ways

I N U S. . .

T H E T R U T H :

There is no BLINDNESS worse than that which keeps you from seeing THE LIGHT you Bring. . .

T H E T R U T H:

There’s always more WINTER in us than we’ll ever accept or Embrace. . .

T H E T R U T H:

There’s always more Warm Light in us than we’ll ever accept or Embrace. . .

T H E T R U T H:

We don’t have to be fully ILLUMINATED to SHINE. . .

T H E T R U T H:

W I N T E R

like any other season

has never lasted

for an ever

and the one that looms before us

and harshly at times

WITHIN US

won’t either. . .

The Cure for Winter

isn’t the coming of Spring

nor is it moving from one WARM location to another. . .

It’s E M B R A C I N G IT

with a Warmth you possess

and desperately needs

S H A R I N G

The Result:

W I N T E R

isn’t another Season

It’s Another REASON

to become

what we never could

WITHOUT IT:

W A R M E R. . .

B R I G H T E R. . .

and in some

beautifully

innocent

w a y

reaches within us

and takes us to

that small child

and the World of Blinkless

w o n d e r

where it’s always warmly lit

no matter what the temperature. . .

S E E

B E

F R E E

t h a t

in the Warm Cold

The Man on The Moon

ChuckBehrens — Mon, 19 Dec 2016 12:00:01 +0000

Are you more of a

V E R B

o r a

N O U N ?

There are lots of Seasons

There are lots of comings and goings

There are lots of Beginnings and Endings

There are lots of Starts and Finishes

There are lots of things that none of those things can compare. . .

L O N E L I N E S S

being just one of them. . .

Loneliness is the only season that lasts all twelve months—

no vacation or holiday.

H O W E V E R

I F

Loneliness were a Disease,

YOU’D be the Cure. . .

I F

Loneliness were a Destination,

YOU’D be the Road from it. . .

I F

Loneliness were a complex Math problem,

YOU’D be the Answer. . .

I F

Loneliness were an Ocean,

YOU’D be it’s Shore. . .

I F

Loneliness were a a Sunset

YOU’D be its Sunrise. . .

I F

Loneliness were a Sentence

YOU’D be its Reprieve. . .

I F

Loneliness were a Verdict

YOU’D be its Appeal. . .

I F

Loneliness were hunger

YOU’D be its Banquet. . .

I F

Loneliness were Thirst

YOU’D be its Oasis. . .

I F

Loneliness were poison

YOU’D be its Antidote. . .

I F

Loneliness were Antarctica

YOU’D be its Equator. . .

I F

Loneliness were a man on the moon

YOU’D be his first Visitor. . .

Y O U

are the Great answer to

Loneliness in all of its forms and guises

I F

You’re more of a

V E R B

than a

N O U N

by just

s h o w i n g u p

instead of just shaking your head and

t a l k i n g i t a b o u t i t . . .

The man on the moon would really like

T H A T . . .

people much,

m u c h closer would, too;

Every Season should have an Ending

after it’s Beginning. . .

Loneliness is the one Season

you can have Effect of

not just ending. . .

but actually making it

e x t i n c t. . .

Are you more of a

V E R B

or a

N O U N ?

SOME ONE

is looking for you to

S H O W T H E M !

F O C U S

in on

t h e m . . .

Make half-way around the world

t o u c h

a w a y