Brokenness – Stumbling along the sidewalk

A Reflection on Juneteenth

Crimes unimaginable

Sins unfathomable

Wrongs not righted

With an apology,

A soft word,

Or the stroke of a pen.

Pain to the deepest parts

Of the heart and soul,

The very fiber of one’s being,

A wound that doesn’t heal,

But rather cuts deeper

With every smile,

Every handshake,

On every pay day,

Every trip to the grocery store,

Every night at mealtime,

When they look at their children,

When they look at ours.

Privilege continues

Despite the lip service,

Despite the promises,

Amidst the meager gifts,

The dregs of easy charity

From the tatters of a bursting purse,

The guilt trip laid on thick

To the middle class and even

The working poor.

Those that lack for food,

Clothing or shelter,

Living barely day to day,

Not knowing where one’s next

Meal will come from.

And at the church the preacher

Says try harder, pray more,

Save your dollars

So you can send your little ones

To a good college,

Make them study,

Keep them out of trouble,

Tell them you love them,

That you’re proud of them

For that report card.

What do you say

When the white kid

Calls them the n-word?

What do you say

When you don’t have a job

Because you refused

To kiss your supervisor’s butt

When he would talk to you

Like you were nothin’,

Just a cog in his machine,

A disposable, replaceable,

Optional, neglectable,

Insultable, disrespected,

Used, abused, tossed out

To the street

Like so much garbage,

Black man?

Power

Wrong meets right.

The fight is strong.

Laugh, they will.

Cry out, they must.

Shout, at the top of their lungs—

Justice must prevail.

So many innocent lives

Have been crushed by the fist

Of the oppressor!

So many suffer

Because of the greed

And the arrogance

Of the powerful.

The powerful?

Who is powerful?

What is power?

Don’t you know that

The wind has changed course

On this hot, dry day.

The wind! The water!

The earth! The animals!

The birds! The insects!

The trees! Yes, even the trees!

Look at an old oak tree,

And tell me about power!

Look at a rushing stream,

And tell me about power!

Watch a lion kill its prey,

And tell me about power!

Is a gun, power?

In the hands of a six year old, a gun is just as powerful as in the hands of a grown man!

A gun is just a tool.

It’s what you do with a tool

That makes it useful.

It’s what you do with a tool

That makes it powerful.

And when a thousand voices scream,

That’s power!

When the people speak as one,

That’s power!

Don’t be afraid.

Be excited!

Be joyful!

Be glad!

For power has come to the people,

And they will not be denied this moment.

They have prayed,

And they have worked,

And they have suffered

For this moment.

Listen to the wind blow

Through the trees!

Justice has come like a mighty rush of wind,

And anything that’s old, anything that’s weak,

Anything that’s not tied down tight,

Is gonna blow away!

Those old tricks, old ways,

Cowardly words, weak attitudes,

Straw men beware!

The wind of justice has come to blow you…

Away!

Blur

Separations give us time

To appreciate those we love.

We get shocked, angry, sad,

For you will be there

Holding someone’s hand

That you never expected

Would ever show up.

The lost son returns.

The father is ecstatic.

Happy in his redemption,

The father wildly prepares

No amount is too much.

The son gets what he came for,

Then kills his mother,

And his sister and whomever

Sees the trail of blood.

He wants to cover his tracks

But the scene is too crazy.

The best is to leave,

Without any more tracks.

He tries to escape, without an alibi

That he can remember.

If I have to state my alibi,

It will be the same.

I have no idea when or where I was

At hardly anytime, as each day runs

Together. It is a very long blur.

How to do such a simple innocent thing

No one belies strength citizenry accent

And I am language I am light friendship

Is in my blood I wear my heart on my

Sleeve I worry about little things they

Worry about me take your time, they say

Be patient love yourself as a person that’s

Where they get me I don’t I have no idea

How to do such a simple innocent thing

In Whom Am I Rooted?

Roots are meant to hold a tree up,

But as they age, with more limbs

And leaves, the roots take on another

Purpose, as well. The roots begin to hold

A tree down, not because it might fly up,

But because the tree may topple over,

With all the additional weight.

So, my roots are important, as a part
Of my foundation, including

The people who have sought me out,

To give me support, to love me,

In my time of need,

My friends and family,

Reminding each other of all that’s been,

And the hope that exists

Based on all of my unique strengths.

So, I’ve had to take a couple steps back,
To relearn some life lessons,

And to venture out again

With newfound strengths,

Realizing I have gained so much,

Over the years.

And then there’s God,
A broken relationship,

From a long time ago,

A fearful one at best,

But one easily ignored, to a point.

As a child of God,

Now I’m listening to my life,

And now I seek him out,

As he has always sought me out.

In holy places,

Full of those who love God’s children,

I’ve heard God say,

“Do you want to be healed?”

And, then,

“Who do you say that I am?”

I ponder in my heart,

These very true questions.

For how long have I run from the truth?

And how many times have I denied,

Who and what he is,

God incarnate,

Come to take away the sins of the world?

For Just Being You

Possible clangs rule up and against

The things hanging in time,

The seconds you give yourself,

In between deep breaths,

Bracing for the last proverbial

Hiking boot to drop,

The one you already used

To kick yourself in the ass,

For just being you.

Strife steeple apple clarity boom

Stack swordfight against an orangutan

From the head clerk of the zoo.

The orangutan would only be

Supplied with a plastic spoon, so

Easy to cut a man’s skin off the

Bone, into an artery, sever a vein,

Something, damn it, there’s a walk in

Place for taking a piss. Ouch your sigh.

Life sucks. And I would agree.

Sometimes, maybe for most people,

Life does suck. Maybe if they turned

Every church in town, staffed, organized

And otherwise provided for it to function

Like any other mental health unit of a

Hospital, and then took on the insurance

And pharmaceutical rackets, you’d see

Healing right away.

Humanity: The First and Last Form of Capital

Capitalism is an ugly thing. Really ugly, at its worst. But you wouldn’t expect it, except when you see it in action in the poorest of countries, those we don’t care to help, in contrast to the way our Defense Department spends millions of dollars of our tax money to help, assist or protect other countries. At first, capitalism seems harmless, helpful, even wonderful. People just using whatever given resources they have, and then building something out of nothing. What happens, is that because each creator of a new business, especially once the business begins to take off, perhaps through their own ingenuity, hard work and lots of luck, they feel like they are an artist looking back at her canvas, and the end result is something beautiful. A religious person might say the creator and sustainer, can just sit back, make a few adjustments here and there, and let the god of capitalism bestow upon her one and only beloved daughter, the holy grail. And if this daughter does exceptionally well for herself, she will be able to shower the gift of salvation with all the true believers, the ones whom have been faithful with their talents, multiplying each for much more. Sounds like a beautiful thing, right? First, a story.

It all started out with a creator of an object. As the creator started to use the object, all were inspired by the god of capitalism, and the god gave it a blessing, that the daughter of god, would have dominion over her object, with a power to give a name to her creation. In her eternal wisdom, the creator gave such a beautiful name, it seemed to surpass even the beauty of the object itself. This miracle was required to save all of humanity, with this one, great and powerful gift. Her followers would then be given a greater gift, which she then revealed to them, was instilled inside their souls, a true reflection of herself, even though they themselves had not seen it. When she spoke these words, they knew in their hearts it was true.

Later, the creator called together her followers for a banquet, during which she explained she would reveal to each of them, what her purpose was on earth. During the banquet, she took out her object, and held it up to them once again, and they felt blessed and privileged to see it again. Suddenly, within their minds they saw a vision of a heavenly kingdom, which would be built upon this one object, and they knew that they were witnessing the god of capitalism in their midst. The creator pronounced that from this one gift, they would all be able to do as she has done, indeed, even greater things. She proclaimed that all that would be required from her children, would be for them to always remember her, as well as the object she had created and shown to them. Then she told them that she would have to leave soon, but that a great Comforter would come to them, bestowing on them all the strength that they would need. The followers of the creator felt a bit nervous with this announcement, but with this great Comforter coming, they still had hope, if they could only let it all settle into their souls. “How can we do the same thing?” they asked themselves. After the creator left, however, great success was achieved by many.

Capitalism was created to benefit the one with the capital, not the ones who may be the greatest asset to the business. This is because of a great hierarchy that exists. The farther down the totem pole you are from the owner, the least value you have to them, and, in turn, the further you are from getting paid what you are worth. This is the case with companies with a fast turnaround, because pay should be according to the value you have to the company, in general, excluding how much money you make for the owner. Hourly pay raises should be according to a quota, but that quota should include all types of work done, not just the kind of work that can be seen from an ivory tower, i.e., on a spreadsheet full of dollar amounts.

Companies who truly put their employees first, time and again, have the best chance of reaping the most profits, the least turnaround, more loyalty, more job security, best training programs and the happiest employees. But the first step is to pay them what they are worth. None of these things will happen without that. With it, they will be more interested and even excited about how the company is doing, because they will know that the company’s success is their success. If your employees don’t feel appreciated, and if it’s not reflected in their pay, you are not doing everything you can for your company, yourself, and your most precious resource, your employees.

Alas, Writing!

Writing is the most impersonal, insensitive, unfeeling, inhuman, damaging, humiliating form of communication ever invented. We don’t need education, ever, even as children. What we need is love, and there is no more powerful love, than physical love, not sexual love, but hugs and kisses, rubs and holding hands, that love found today between family and friends, sometimes, if at all. After physical love, we need a spoken form of love, another form of communication, an embrace that travels quickly to the heart. This form of love is possible, along with physical love, even as we are in our mother’s womb, by both the mother and the father. Tranquility begins long before we are born. The more peaceful and healthy our present and future family is, before birth, and after, is key to our ability to trust our mother and father, siblings, and later, other children and adults.

My prediction, as it seems that there are more single-parent and abused, abandoned and neglected children in our midst, is that mothers and fathers as physical and spoken communicators and lovers, are quickly becoming a dying breed. Eventually, there will be none. So, really, we’re all left with everyone else around, whom all have shared the pain, of being, thinking, and especially, feeling alone. We will need to help each other, but to resist the interference of family, friends and even doctors and therapists. They all have their particular roll in getting us back to healthy living, and because family and friends are as ignorant as most of the rest of us are about dealing with extreme pain, unhealthy ways of thinking and living come to the fore. The doctors and therapists are in a difficult position because they are all specialists. Psychiatrists deal with medicine. Psychotherapists deal with our thoughts, where they come from and where they are going. Art therapists deal with art. These are those who remain, and it’s because of how inhuman and industrial our world has become. So impersonal. All of us have shared pain in our lives. The pain of being, thinking and feeling alone.

So, back to writing. It is a gift, and a curse. I believe when the person who became ostracized from their community, because of pain that they and those around them believed they could not handle, he or she was ostracized, kicked out of their group because they had lost their handle on reality. They then started doing strange things, making strange medicine, drawing on the walls of caves, even developing an alphabet in an effort to communicate with anyone who would listen. When the alphabet was discovered, it helped their community, and an art form, meant to communicate, was turned into a science. And that’s when we really got in trouble. Science is okay in itself, but the lengths that people go to this day, just to present news or drama, to the rest of the country, is just crazy. News programs are more about drama than anything else. But that keeps people addicted to it. They’re terrified, that if they don’t watch, they might miss something. Next time, go outside and ask someone. Connecting with real people is always better. I don’t care how much you hate your family. They are the only family you’ve got. You can set boundaries and rules, to protect yourself. You can say you need to leave. Tell them you’ll try to call (or email) them back soon. As far as writing goes, it can be a useful tool, if your family refuses to communicate in any other way. Writing is calming to me. I feel like I am accomplishing something. And it is not as much in your face as calling or texting. Also, writing is smoothly indirect, and easier to say what you want to say. Some of us do our best communicating through writing. We feel safe, secure and protected, which we might not feel in person. Speaking in person, especially if we’re put on the spot, can be hard for anyone. Writing is just a necessary evil. As long as people struggle to be understood, there will be writing.

Loving Yourself Through Expressing Your Needs

(“Fear”, 1995, Watercolor)

When I spend time doing artwork, it is usually because I am in pain, very upset or both, but I am attempting to express my pain or strong emotion, and thus release it. One, I devised intuitively, back in September of 2015. (See below) It is a meditative, very pure and easy method. You start by drawing a combination of intersecting lines, lots of them, up close to and in between the edges of all four sides of the paper (all this is just the basics, feel free and empowered to improvise!). Make sure all these lines cross over each other, and, if you’re up to it, make the spaces between the lines relatively small. This allows for a large amount options for the next step, coloring.So, then you start filling in each area with different colors, if possible. If you don’t have many colors, just spread out each instance of color, but make them appear as randomly chosen as possible. Then, begin to fill in each area with a variety of color.

(“Tribal”, 2015, marker drawing)

The second method is drawing a vortex. My art therapist says these can work as a soothing mechanism. Often I like to combine a number of different sized vortexes in each drawing, giving the sense of emotional strain in life.

(“Moving outside”, 2015, marker drawing)

The third method is using a combination of the two previous methods, intersecting and overlapping, which creates even smaller spaces, because of all the many spaces, and then continuing to fill in random colors. I’ve never done one yet that looks just like any other, and it tends to display a beautiful, centering, or, because of the tension, a display of extremely complex possibly mixed portrayal of a conflict, inner or outer, mental, emotional, psychological, etc., combined with a soothing method of relaxation, distraction, focus, and A meditative state, which once you can learn how to balance your feelings. We just need to learn to balance in a healthy way.

(Compartmentalizing Your Breakage”, 2015, marker drawing)

(“Pushed and Pulled”, 2015, marker drawing)

(Coming Apart at the Seams, 2015, marker drawing)

Then, there’s the poetry, which I have been doing for a long, long time. I began consistently, when I was in high school, I had spent a lot of time listening to rock music, hard rock, and I had been in several years of chorus in school, then in rock and roll bands, as the lead singer. In high school, I started out trying to sort of mimic the typical teen love/angst/anger/yearning to be understood/to find my own identity/ and to dream of bigger things, situations, states of being, that I believed would be a better state of existence, both for me, and for the world.

Then, that got put on the back burner, but I continued to write. Poetry became my big thing, but I didn’t show it to anyone until years later, after I had dropped out of church and school. All this anger was coming up, and there was no stopping it. I let a friend of mine borrow my printed stuff, then my word processor died, so all I had were the hard discs. No telling where they might be. I might have even thrown the discs away. Hundreds of poems. Never got the hard copies back, rather.

Later I came up with my own form of poetry called Unpoetry, which breaks every rule. I still do it to this day. When I started painting abstract expressionist water colors, I was asked by my teacher if I’d like to take part in an exhibit in the Student Union Art Gallery. I had a ton of paintings, some huge, wall sized, and some much smaller. My exhibit was called “Abstract Splattings: Shredded Views. A series of my poetry was displayed beneath the paintings, in print and in Braille. I showed a few in a coffee shop, submitted a couple to a local arts and literary journal, and that’s about it. The journal printed two paintings, one, on the front cover, and the other upside down in the interior. Also, I showed a few in a long gone coffee shop, Epitome, whom never returned them and I think they hung them incorrectly, too.

Fast forward twenty years. No more painting, only poetry. Then, I was introduced to adult coloring books, then came up with my own style. I’ve been doing mostly marker drawings for about 5 months, now. I saw an art therapist for a while, showed her my book, then we discussed the Unpoetry. She saw me as trying to show lack of meaning through a medium full of meaning. We did a few pieces of art, but mostly talked.

Now, my focus is in nonfiction writing. I’ve become more aware of the world around me, the pros and cons of it all. I want to help change things. I used to be asked, “what would you want on your tombstone?” My answer was “He made a difference.” For so long I abandoned that thought. Now I’ve come full circle, and I’ve had new experiences that have shaped my determination and inspiration about certain topics, specifically related to mental illness. I want to advocate and be an activist. Maybe then, I can make a difference.