***I am loosely calling this “poetry.” I say loosely because I have no background in poetry—no classes, no lessons, no nothing. This is what’s called dabbling.
UNDERSTANDING
It was large and loud…sometimes the house was so loud. It, however, made no judgments. It could sometimes muffle words, but it could never stifle the pervasiveness of the message or the messenger. The force was sustained, even as the words faded. The house couldn’t stop it.
He could reason and change; and yet, though he is a very smart caring Dad with a big heart, he didn’t stop the loudness.
He didn’t seem to understand.
The words kept flowing—-fragmented sentences, tiny syllables, or proclamations as long as the Gettysburg Address. “Oh…I just…why? Damn it…why is the butter so soft? Why can’t we be like the families on TV? What are you thinking!! Can’t you clean the top of the peanut butter jar the right way!? Why? Where? How long? Why are your shoes off? Get out my light…I can’t see! Hand me the right tool!
He didn’t seem to understand.
The loudness and the intensity lingered beyond its supposed length of existence, like a giant cloud of angry black smoke that wouldn’t go away.
He didn’t seem to understand.
With a skewed internal mirror, he droned as if his song only had a chorus, no verses.
He constantly loomed large, cajoling and moaning about fairness, discipline, and correctness; about how he was not given enough help; about how he was being wronged by those around him; about how people didn’t understand his plight; about how people didn’t know the right way to do things; and about how he was being victimized.
He preached and beseeched, trying to control everyone and everything. And, when failure closed in, as it would have to under the circumstances, he would pulse with frustration and anger. His presence would shine too brightly, like high beams from an on-coming car that is only inches away.
He didn’t seem to understand.
Some adults can step outside themselves and look back through the eyes of a child, or a spouse. He rarely did.
He didn’t seem to understand.
He kept on and on…doing the correct things, sometimes delivering a valid message, often deeply loving, and often helpful. But, he never realized he could alter the delivery. The alternatives evaded him.
He didn’t seem to understand.
There were too few pearls of wisdom, not enough silent modeling. Instead, there were the too loud proclamations. They often seemed like falling bricks landing all around us. The thuds echoed way too long, like mortar rounds at Omaha beach.
He didn’t seem to understand.
It seemed that the house, as large as it was, could barely contain him. He was too loud, and he just couldn’t stop.
Why didn’t he understand?
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LOVE
LOVE is a four letter word, let’s start with that…start slow.
LOVE is seeing a person clearly. Seeing someone clearly is like looking in the corners of the darkened attic to see what isn’t easily seen; and then, really liking what you see there, staring at it wide-eyed, and being surprised how comfortable you feel looking at it. You’re surprised at how much you want to stare at it and play with it.
The “it,” of course, is a person’s genuine self, their relaxed self, their imperfectly perfect self. It’s the person you see after both of you have been encouraged by the other to come out from their hiding places in the corner.
LOVE is about swimming in honesty, splashing around in it, trusting that the other person has accepted what’s at the core of you, leaving you free to easily speak the truth, assured that your partner will accept it within the context the two of you have created.
Closeness is not a thing. It’s not something to aspire to. Closeness, like happy feet on the dance floor, most often happens while you’re not thinking about it.
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ROCKY LOVE
LOVE IS…
You changing your mind after thinking about throwing a hand full of small rocks at your lover because you’re mad at him.
You think twice and realize you shouldn’t throw anything at your man.
You feel fortunate your honey didn’t realize you had considered throwing rocks at him. After you’ve calmed down, you want to say something sweet and romantic to your sweetheart. When you’ve thought for a few minutes, you finally think of the perfectly romantic thing to say.
You break the silence, and say: “Honey, I want you to know that, though it’s possible I might consider it, I would NEVER throw rocks at you…I love you.”
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FLICKY GOES AWAY
Flicky didn’t like his name anymore.
Flicky heard it everywhere he went. People would call out to him… “Hi Flicky”… “How ya doing Flicky?”… “What are you up to Flicky?”… “Want to go get a grilled cheese sandwich with me Flicky?”
Flicky was sick, sick, sick of it. Nothing he could say or do would get people to stop calling him Flicky.
Flicky decided to go away for the day. As he was driving down the highway to the next town, he got a flat tire.
Flicky got out of the car and went around to the back to get out a spare. While he stood there opening the trunk, a person driving by stopped his car, rolled down his window, and yelled, “Hey Flicky, you need any help?”
Flicky was super depressed now. He decided to drive a hundred miles away. He felt better as each mile got him further away from his hometown.
Flicky finally decided to stop. He felt at ease, ready to spend a few anonymous hours in a strange town. He parked the car in front of the local movie theater and got out to take a walk around the block. A nice quiet looking couple approached him as he strolled along. The woman looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t imagine that he knew her. As he was thinking about who she might be, the woman looked at him, and blurted out: “Flicky, what are you doing so far away from home.”
Flicky decided to give up. His birth certificate said Walter…and that didn’t help. He had driven a hundred miles away…and that didn’t help. From now on he was going to have to simply be happy being Flicky.
(I wrote this after my friend Tracy had a dream in which people called her Flicky. I thought that was very funny.)
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HORSES
They are magnificent, majestic beings—strong, proud, sleek, and pure.
They once were unbridled, loose, fancy-free, sprawling and reeling over sun drenched plains in some obscure corner of an obscure place.
They are so perfect, so correct and erect. Hooves so hard they pound the earth as if the earth was made hard just so they could move across it; nostrils that appear like entrances to caverns; long fine swooshing tails; ears cocked to be ready to detect; manes which supply grace like silk linen on a naked wooden table; endlessly sloping backs; legs and chest supple and strong, all in proportion.
They have colors that shimmer, and names…just listen: chestnut colt, mustang, stallion, Arabian gray, appaloosa.
They were saddled long ago as people began racing and pulling them, jabbing and chasing them.
They were simply too rare and beautiful to ignore.
They are magnificent, majestic beings—strong, proud, sleek, and pure.
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ESSAYS
ACCEPTANCE
Their mind was murmuring, drumming, sending out a jumble of circling thoughts, all valid and coherent, but starkly unfocused. He was alone, eyes closed, fervently wishing someone special was there to help him turn his thoughts outward.
As he learned to relax, he stopped trying to sort through and harness his jumbled thoughts. He thought often of what someone had told him… that the wind doesn’t try to blow, it just blows. He realized the buzzing could descend and subside.
Push the boundaries, see beyond the walls that were dutifully built during a more fragile time. We can hop the walls, risking, eyes darting, hearts thumping, accepting the fears, feeling as free as a ship bound sailor on shore leave.
New knowledge is exhilarating and self-affirming. Creativity creates momentum. Pain and fear will pounce, but they can and should only be tributaries of a much stronger yet calmer naturally flowing current.
Know when you need help and maintenance, mindful that you own the factory.
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WATER
What is it? What is it about water? The flow? It’s ability to refresh? We know we need it to survive, but what makes us stare at it?
There only a few basic elements that tug at us, that ignite our passions. They include the earth, the sky, love, and water.
We’re hopefully conceived in love. We burst out of the womb, land on the earth, and are cleansed in water.
We consume water to survive. We stare at it when it falls from the sky, or from a cliff, or from someone’s eyes.
We love water because we know water.
The World According to Mike 
This is blogasmic! Just catching up on all your latest content. Neo-con Frank Gaffney told Ron Reagan Jr. that his father would be ashamed of him. I think that deserves a random thought from the resident blogger.