The Poem You Write | Charissa’s Grace Notes

From a couple of years ago,
the notion is that humans are meaning makers,
whether on purpose or accidentally…we cannot escape being Poets.

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It’s in the spaces between the words,
in the moments you do not do,
it hides in the silent sound of what you say
*that would be what you utter not*

When I describe it, it twists a bit
and stands akimbo and aloof
and sings of itself above your ears
it’s there…the poem you write yourself.

To set your pen to page and speak
your “Let There Be”, it gives a shape
but that leaves so much shaped behind
*the space your body takes in water*

when you dive in and swim, and the space moves and disappears…
Source: The Poem You Write | Charissa’s Grace Notes

Like A Runaway Train

Sometimes I think about the future.
I think about the time coming, roaring
down on us like a runaway train
in the silent frozen landscape
of history not yet born.
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In that time, perhaps these halls
these empty rooms occupied by
the outpourings of my wakeful soul
and bright quick mind and visions of eyes
that see beyond around the bend
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will be wandered by real people with hands
hungry to touch, and know, and join with
my desperate lonely shouts and dances,
my perhaps pas de deux with Vincent and
his swirly starry nights hidden for years
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Because right now?  The halls are empty, the rooms
cold and dusty, and the cover-sheets of familiarity
and current contempt so casual drape
masterpieces and treasures and living
songspaintingspoemssculpturesintheair
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I refuse to give in to the abandonment
thrown at me in glances that brush, stare
and walk by an embarrassment of riches
and I console myself with the comfort
of delusion and daydream that time
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will finally thunder thru this station
brakes blazing sparks flying
iron rails red hot with inertia interrupted
and smoking with steamy melty insistence
that here there be dragons and dreams
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and worthy immortal thoughts
of forever and forever
higher up
and
deeper in
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On Restoration and Wholesomeness

Constance, I recently read something online that perturbed me greatly.

“I firmly believe what someone in one of the posts above has said- a human being can never be wholesome again after an experience of this sort. My grandfather, a resilient, hard-working man who faced adversity and difficult migrations more times than most, was never truly whole; he was bitter, angry, mad. He succeeded in life by cheating and deceiving others much like what had been done to him. He was not a caring husband or father and left many questions unanswered. I sometimes wonder if one can really cleanse oneself of evil. In the words of Primo Levi’s ‘Shema’…

Consider that such horrors have been:
I commend these words to you.
Engrave them in your hearts
when you lounge in your house,
when you walk outside,
when you go to bed,
when you rise.
Repeat them to your children,
or may your house crumble
and disease render you helpless
so that even your offspring avert their faces from you.”

WOW…powerful writing, no?  Moving, rending in the soul…tumblr_nlfdl6quMU1rel1ijo1_540

…and yet.  And yet…REALLY?

Is it true that one can never be whole after an experience of this sort?  A person was bitter, angry, mad, and “succeeded” in life by doing to others what was done to him.

Here is what is disturbing:  what this person chose to do, based on what happened, is the root of the bitterness, anger and madness.

There is never a point where we cease to be culpable for what we choose…because we are always choosers.

Otherwise, explain to me how other human beings who suffered identical horrors and worse emerged and became whole again and wholesome in life…Victor Frankl, Corrie Ten Boom are two that come to mind.

You are not in control of what happens to you…you are in control of how you choose to happen in return to it!tumblr_mxg4a0SSTf1shqs68o1_500

Otherwise, here is your alternative:

At what point do you cease to be responsible?  Like for instance, you are beaten up in the body, but not hit in the face…are you culpable for what you choose, or are you now not responsible, being beyond the pale of wholesomeness?

If you suffer the loss of a parent but not a child, does that make you not responsible?  Or more responsible?

It’s a sliding scale and no one knows where to draw the line…because the fact is there is no line!

There is only you…and your choice in who you want to be, live to be.

I am gonna tell you sumfin:  no one can sully me by doing evil to me.  Oh, they can beat me, they can rape me, they can hurt me with words…but I am a strong tower inviolate, so long as I know that I am a chooser and this is mine forever.

A diamond covered in bull shit does not cease to be a diamond…and a person buried in horror can still choose to be shining and human.tumblr_nmhqwiXuLT1rebxsto1_1280

Do not seduce yourself with some rinky dinky scale of wrong, and pick a point somewhere on it that says “on this side of the scale, I am responsible, but because of these other things, I am no longer responsible because I cannot ever cleanse myself of evil”…

…cleanse yourself, no…but be cleansed?  Yes.

Are we not humans?  Are we not free?  Even midst the horrors shall we sing of our love.

Charissa

PS:  My dear Dani over at Blooming Spiders writes an article about a person who experienced lots of hard and horrible things, and what happened as a result of choices:  made and unmade.  Go check her out…you won’t be sorry!

❤ you, DDH!!tumblr_nmynbt9rGm1u19ezpo1_400

 

Eternal Continuum (Part One)

“What does it mean to be human?”

That’s like asking
what does it mean
to mean something!

Plumbing depths of humanity
and falling past microscopic random flaws,
thru macroscopic cosmic starbursts,
thru eternity’s barrier of sound and senses,
to find yourself again placed heretumblr_norohiwnQL1sppftyo1_1280in perfect setting

like golden apples in rings of silver pure
between micro and macro verses…
placed intentionally and sure,

well, the implications are far-reaching and intricate,
and I wonder at the cure for

a mind untamed
a soul intellectual
inhabiting together
a body become
an appetitive beast
a divided creature furtive
and creeping corpulent
and crepitating with
crepuscular compassion
and cruelty
all at once.380712_400888633273055_1393352173_n-620x

Is the dividing line
of mind and body
the line dividing
good and evil
that cuts through
the heart of every
human being?

and what is that?
Being human?tumblr_np0l2kYa261qkb10mo1_1280

Victor Frankl on Meaning

We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread.

They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.

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Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly.
Love, Charissa

Ghosts

“We were dead before the ship even sank” she said.
Thin tendrils of pain wreathed round her face
unnoticed and they left scratches unseen.
The Dutchman walked the decks in her eyes, and
in her voice was the echo of wailing and tentative tongues
trying to tell themselves they were sailing
on the ship of the dead.

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Her hair crowned her soaked skull, a holly wreath
presenting her own crown of thorns and those claws
dug in to her waxy and pale fishflesh and clung
like limpets and mirrored the
cold and enflamed tendrils of grief.

tumblr_mvudcgUyT21qllucco1_1280“One by one we fell, overboard” she droned, as if hypnotized
by the drumming of the waves,
the thrumming of the engines,
and the humming of the wind
in the torn and tattered sails.

“Gone, given up by the ghost we gave up the ghost”
she murmured.

“We fell into the vast
and bottomless sea,
and the ship Sailed
unheeding on into
the long and everdark night.”

I thought on these things
as my feet were burning hot
in the bright and gritty sand,
and my face baked in the grip
of the gleaming sun
and the taste of salty strain
and the happy ache of
love’s labors in my bowed back…
and I was fiercely glad
that I had never taken that voyage.

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