Sloping down and then back up, like a speeding truck, I am searching for your love. Transubstantiate, lift then push, then go all out, a mystery solved, doubts soothed, memories calmed, nightmares called what they are. Do you dream at night? I do. I fly through the sky on my back, steering with my feet. Trial size.
Tag: relationship
Both Ways
Sharing smothered thoughts,
Restricted feelings abound.
Hesitation rules the imagination,
Hiding from the truth,
Although it tortures me.
Yearning for stability,
Some kind of consistency.
If only I could have it both ways!
Family Friction
Two of a kind,
One that used to be,
And one that is now.
Time in a flip,
The old are young,
And the young are mature.
Then, darkness falls.
A deep depression and
A bit of dementia.
I tried to barricade
Myself in a room
In your house,
But it was your room,
Your house.
I had become an outsider.
We had grown apart.
The jolly trickster that
Was my grandfather
Had become an unhappy
Old man.
And I had hit a wall,
Fallen into a deep pit.
We butted heads
Until we made it home.
To the end, you were true.
And I would not appreciate
Your love and loyalty
For many years, long
Past your time to die.
As I sat in the car,
Listening to the 21-gun
Salute, I remembered
The stories you used to
Tell me about the war.
And I realized that time
Had taken its toll on a
Wonderful man, a man
That provided for a wife
And family and then
For another generation of
Five grandsons, all of whom
Adored you.
I know that despite
Our differences, you look
Down on me from
Heaven…and smile.
Loving
Sometimes people float into
Our lives, and they stay a while.
You don’t know how long
They will be there.
Sometimes you become friends,
Due to common interests,
Or common experience.
And sometimes that friendship
Blooms into something more.
Sometimes you really care
About each other,
And sometimes, you fall in love.
From there, at least for a while,
Things sometimes go nicely,
But often, one or the other
Brings the sting of pain
Into the relationship.
And from there,
The relationship is tested.
Can the love withstand
The pain, or is there
Reason to break?
Such is the path,
That some tread lightly,
And some go through
Full-force, future-be-damned.
Either way,
Sometimes love is fickle,
And sometimes love
Turns into war.
One never knows
What to expect,
When one falls in love.
Carry on Tuesday #110
Sometimes I Freak, Part III
Sometimes I freak when I go to church. When you step into a church somehow you feel like you should be on your best behavior. That’s not really a Godly feeling or sentiment, since I believe that God accepts us exactly as we are, wherever we are, but that is how I was raised. In fact, growing up, my mother was ruthless in spurring me and my brother to get ready and stop goofing around on Sunday morning. What was important was looking good by being on time, behaving well, answering questions intelligently and in a spiritual way—basically, putting on a front. Lord knows my family was falling apart at the seams in every way, with my grandmother passing away, my parents’ separation and eventual divorce, and my mother’s undiagnosed mental illness. All was not well in the Bowman household. And those feelings come back to me today as I step through the doors of a church, any church, even one as positive, inclusive and accepting as mine. I wonder what deviant thoughts people suspect me of (well, actually, I am quite the skeptic), what deviant acts I am guilty of that separate me from other Christians and from God, what rebellion I am in that alienates me from the same. Going to church is something I want to do, but at the same time, I do struggle with these things every time, and it compromises my experience on the whole.
Sometimes I freak when I try to pray. Yes, God and I are not on the best of terms—haven’t been for a long time. In fact, except for when I pray with others—my wife at the dinner table and the occasional attempt at a weekly prayer partnership, my male prayer partner, something I initiated this year as an attempt to get closer to God because of my lack of an intimate relationship, and the occasional prayer with my Sunday School class and with the congregation in the sanctuary—I am not on speaking terms with God. I know after that enumeration of instances it doesn’t sound bad, but I guess I am a perfectionist, and I realize how far I am from any kind of daily routine which would bring me into any kind of genuine intimacy with God. Being alone with God is a frightening experience for me. Feelings of emotional and physical abuse from childhood along with visions of an angry Yahweh of the Old Testament conjure a being to be faced that is not the loving, caring Jesus that spoke to the disciples in the upper room that fateful night and told them that when we see him we have seen the Father, because he and the Father are one. When it’s just me and God (and I have to admit it is always the vengeful Father that I envision in my mind, not the gentle Jesus), I just freeze up. Gone are the soothing thoughts of “come to me ye who are weary, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light”. Instead it is a booming God that stares down at me and demands to know every sin I have committed and has come to punish me for them in some crazy sadistic way that makes me cringe and from which I yearn to escape. Not a great relationship, obviously.
Sometimes I freak when I open the Bible. I’ll admit, it’s intimidating. Yes, there is a lot of wisdom there. Yes, I believe it is divinely inspired. Yes, I believe there is potential for healing, instruction, direction, inspiration, grace, forgiveness—all that. But you know what else there is? God. He is there, waiting, behind those words. For what? I don’t know. But the potential scares me. I have read the entire Bible many times over, and if there is one thing I know for sure, there is power behind those words. And the thought of being overpowered, perhaps in a scary way, is what keeps me from those words. I have been overpowered, many times, in absolute terror, and I have run from figures of authority, figures who were supposed to be trustworthy caretakers, symbols of love and support, that have turned on me like a viper lunging for its prey. Is God like that? My intellect tells me no, but my heart, and my body, are not so sure. After all, if humans, blood, family, can be tyrannical, how much more can God? And there is something else—God is all powerful. Do I want to surrender myself to an all powerful tyrant? Do I want his thoughts to be my thoughts? No, not by a long shot.
Stumbling along the sidewalk 