Silent Screams (and other odd sounds)

This is what I'm thinking RIGHT NOW. It may not be what I'm thinking tomorrow.

Category Archives: Random Thoughts and Feelings


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Bumps in the Night

...Of_Nightmares

Vivid images flash; one more intense than the last.  The heart rate increases;  pounding out of the chest and bounding into the ears.  Small droplets of moisture begin to form around the curves of the lips and between the breasts.  Slowly at first and then more rapidly the mind begins to fire electric charges across its synapses allowing the brain to connect the sharp images to emotions.  The final electric shock fires harshly across the gray matter and bolts its victim upright.  Tears mixed with sweat burn the eyes and flow over the soft flesh of the cheeks until they reach the chin, dangling momentarily before falling onto the  heaving chest mixing with the sweat gathered there.  The surrounding air breezes across the deep rising and falling of the chest; a slight chill over the damp flesh as the sufferer begins to take in the surroundings.  Slowly the eyes adjust to the darkness, making out the surrounding images.  The poor wretch shudders as if to shake the images from both body and mind.  Ever so slowly, the night terror dissipates, the heart rate lowers, the skin dries in the morning air. The respirations return to a slow and steady pace.  All is calm.  Or is it?

While nightmares of the Zombie Apocalypse or the Walking Dead may be easy to dismiss from the mind; not so of the nightmares of the “things” that could actually be or come true.  It is the bump in the night of being jilted by a lover or experiencing the death of a child or even the fear of being involved in a devastating accident that linger into the day and disrupt the waking thoughts.  It is those nightmares that can raise the heart and respiratory rate during the day that are not so easy to shake off.  Yes, those are the worst.

 

 

 


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My Mere Presence

My eyes survey the room for a face familiar
That I hope not to find.
How would I greet them?
What would I say?
I’ll take the chair in the corner,
It’s comfortable but stiff.
I can hide there quite nicely
and
just look away.
Read my book in earnest,
Or pop my headphones in my ears.
I can ignore the whole world
As well as all of this.
My mere presence mocks them.
Bald heads fill the room.
Some covered, some scarred.
Empty holocaust eyes piercing
With lacrimal glands restrained,
Wanting to steal the very life from within me.
Sallow flesh covering emaciation
Hanging loosely from brittle bones.
My skin in contrast, is tan and firm;
My eyes clear and bright.
I am out of place in this land
My mere presence mocks them
They are a family of strangers.
Thrown together by similar destinies
All different; yet all the same.
Touched by the malignancy of life.
Each with their own set of hopes and dreams;
Most of which will never be realized
Each wanting to tell their own story
Of who they are; who they hoped to be.
Each talking loudly with soft quiet voices
Saying “Don’t forget me, I was here.”
Still, my mere presence mocks them.


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America the……

Headlines stripped from pages tattered and torn,

Not a damn thing have we learned.

Echoing a time past that man swore would never come again has reared its ugly head taking a stronghold in a country on fragile ground.

His rancid words like golden bile fill my throat; burning the tender flesh from within. If my eyes are closed I might even feel that fine gray ash drift from the furnace and touch my eyelashes; sticking to my cheeks as I cry for what was and what I thought would never come again.

But some of America smiled and embraced all that this self-proclaimed wise man had to say.  They breathed in every vile word spoken from his pursed lips.  Did he not have wealth and splendor far greater than most of us could gain? Didn’t his silver pen give him the right to make all he spoke true? And some of America bowed to his wealth and his words while others dropped to their knees in honest prayer.

A country, born on the ideal that all men are created equal, is on the verge of making all that our forefathers paved, seem lame.  Who would have ever thought that the poem of greater than 200 years inscribed on our icon of freedom “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door,” is slowly being morphed into “two legs good, four legs better”

But some of America smiled as those “yearning to breathe free” were suffocated by a man whose mantra belied his words, “Make America Great Again.”  Once again, the white Anglo-Saxon people will rise as it is meant to be and those with alternate skin colors, religions, and beliefs are herded into encampments which we are told will make us feel safe but really is intended to keep their spirits from soaring.  My soul screams out, “save from the native Americans, aren’t we all immigrants born to mothers and fathers who left a homeland to make our lives better?”

I am not looking for a revolution. I am seeking a resolution.  My mind can only imagine a country moving towards an evolution of all that is diverse, living harmoniously in what used to be a great country.  But a trump card has been played and many have laid down before it, eating all that has been spewed before them.  Perhaps this belief that the King of Spades has laid at their feet is merely a reflection of what many people have held in their hearts.  I shudder at the thought.


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Young and Impressionable

I used to proudly light my sparkler
On the 4th of July
And wave it back and forth to celebrate
The freedoms all of us shared
But I was young and impressionable

Rosa_Parks_Booking

Then I met Rosa Parks
Who was riding on a bus
And all she really wanted
Was to rest her tired feet

I used to wake in the dawn’s early light
So proud to be a part
Of this great country we call Americia
That spread from sea to shining sea
But I was young and impressionable

220px-Matthew_Shepard

Then I met Michael Shepard
Who was sitting on a fence
And all he really wanted
Was to live his own life

I used to believe what our leaders said
When they proclaimed these wonderful words
God has made all men
With equality and love

Please, please let us rejoice
Rejoice for we are truly blessed
Because it is in God we trust
He will take care of this mess
But I was young and impressionable

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Then I met a Muslim woman
Who wore a hijab upon her head
And all she really wanted
Was in her own way, to practice her faith

I used to believe that the Promised Land
Was in my own back yard
And all were welcome to enjoy
The milk and honey that flowed from within
But I was young and impressionable

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Then I met the Reverend King
Who had insight and grace
And all he really wanted to do
Was to mend a fractured country peacefully

Now you tell me things are different
And I tell you things are the same
You say we are more compassionate
But our actions remain unchanged
You wave your colors and shout out loud
“Don’t you dare stomp on my flag.”
But in the same breath it’s still okay
To kick a nigger or a fag

american-flag

My hair has turned from black to gray
And I am less inclined
To follow blindly behind your parade
As you wave your precious flag
So please don’t wave your flag in my face
And tell me I am free
I’m only free if I live my life
The way YOU think it should be

 

 


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Listen to the Music of your Emotions

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Recently, I’ve heard more than once, “I’m feeling some kind of way.”  In my experience when people say to me they are feeling “some kind of way,” they elude to the fact that what they are feeling is less than comfortable.  While I have never used the saying, “I’m feeling some kind of way,” I certainly have experienced the inablilty to label an emotion causing me discomfort.  How can I expect the discomfort to leave if I am unable to put a name to the emotion?  I have to name it to be able to tame it.

How do I name an uncomfortable emotion of which I am uncertain?  How do I put a label on an emotion when I don’t even know what I am feeling?   For me, I have to listen to the music of my emotion. I have to allow myself to explore it, research it, investigate it and then own my discovery.  I have to settle into the discomfort of what I am feeling and experience it.  Yes, this is uncomfortable, but for me a necessary part of my healing process.  I have to really listen to my mind’s eye and get in touch with what my mind is telling me. Only after self reflection can I label the emotion of which I was so uncertain.  Then and only then can I give it a name…anger, fear, saddness, self pity, jealousy….or whatever the case may be.

Why do I need to name it?  It is only when I know what “it” is can I do something about “it.”  It is only when I know what emotion I am feeling can I take it apart and separate what is my perceived truth from what is the real truth.  When I don’t examine what I am feeling, it is easy for me to lie to myself about what is “the real truth” in any situation.  If I lie to myself, I can not hope to ever heal from an uncomfortable situation with any type of permanency.  Once I see the emotion for what it is, then, and only then can I do something about it.

Okay, so I’ve felt “some kind of way,” I’ve settled into the discomfort, I’ve examined it, and now I’ve named it.  Now what?  What can I do with this emotion?

  1. I can keep the emotion.  Keeping the emotion for an extended period of time is my choice.  I can choose to waller around in my dis-ease.
  2. I can blame others for my emotion.  It is easy to blame someone else for “making me feel” hurt, angry, sad, lonely or…..  The unfortunate thing about blaming another is that it doesn’t really help me.  I can’t change what others have done to me or what I perceive others have done to me.  This choice only serves to drop me lower into the depths of an uncomfortable emotion because it presumes I don’t have a choice.
  3. I can ignore my emotions.  I can pretend this uncomfortable feeling doesn’t exist or doesn’t “really bother me” but this only serves to push it down into my subconscious only to surface at a later date with vengence.
  4. I can own my emotions.  I can look at what the effects of these emotions are having on me and those around me.  I can look to a Power greater than myself to teach me what I am to learn from this experience and to heal me from any discomfort I may be experiencing.

I don’t always like the music I hear but I do know that I have to listen to the music of my emotions before I can begin to understand, heal, and feel good again.


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Forgotten Gratitude

File Feb 29, 9 44 13 AM

Sometimes life can feel so oppressive that even taking a breath can feel difficult.  Sorrow and pain consumes us on all sides so rapidly that it seems that it is all we have ever known and there is no end in sight.  It is at those times when even a small problem becomes too heavy for us to bear; a small problem becomes the exact thing that “breaks” us.  Our burden, we think, is too heavy.

During those times, since I can not make sense of what is going on at the moment, I have to look at something other than my problem to find serenity.  I can get lost in my problems; consumed by them as sure as a fire consumes the oxygen that we breathe.  I can get so lost in my difficulties that I can’t see anything except “poor me” or “why is this happening to the people I love?”  It is in those times of desperation that I have to look at the things that I am grateful I have; however difficult it may be to find them at that moment. Today, I need to look for those things I have forgotten to be grateful for.

First, I am eternally grateful that I have a God who loves me despite of myself.  My Higher Power does not fit into a box but is universally encompassing.  When I turn to Him for comfort, He is there.  When I tell Him that I hate him, He understands that too because He knows my heart is screaming out from pain.  When I turn to Him and apologize for my words, He takes me in His arms and comforts me without resentment.

There are so many other things that I sometimes forget to be grateful for.  I am grateful that my eyes can see.  I am able to look at my children and see them in all their glory.  I am able to look out my window and see the change in the seasons.  I am able to see the colors of the rainbow when it appears high in the sky.  I am so grateful that I have the vision to experience all these things and so much more.

I am grateful that my skin has felt the soft kiss of a loved one, the wind as it whirls around me, the cold of a snowflake as it lands on my nose, the water of the shower as it sprays down on me, the slippery sensation as soap glides across my skin.  I am grateful that I have the proprioceptors to experience all these things and so much more.

I am grateful for the scar on my chest that tells the story that I have had two heart attacks and open heart surgery and have lived to tell the tale.  I am grateful that others have seen that scar and have told me it is my “beauty mark” that God has given me.  I am so grateful that I have had this experience because it reminds me that life is fleeting and I need to live each day fully.

I am grateful that I have hands that have held my newborn children. I am grateful that my fingers have felt the warm tears of those I love as I wiped them from their eyes.  I am grateful that I still get a chill when my husband takes my hand in his and walks down the street with me. I am grateful that these hands have performed CPR on people who have survived and I am also grateful that these hands have held the hands of others while they took their last breath.  I am grateful for these hands have experienced all these things and so much more.

I am grateful for my sense of smell that has experienced the scent of a rose, the smell of a newborn, the clean smell of the air just before a summer rain.  I am grateful for my sense of smell because it has warned me of potential danger from smoke and fire.  I am grateful for my sense of smell because it has allowed me to experience all these things and so much more.

I am grateful of my sense of hearing because it has more than one time made my heart leap with joy as I listened to my children laugh.  I am grateful for my sense of hearing because it allows me to listen to barking dogs, birds singing, the ocean waves, the soft sound of rain as it falls as well as the thunder.  I am grateful for my sense of hearing for these experiences and so much more.

I am grateful for all the people who have helped shape my life:  my husband who has taught me about forgiveness, kindness, mercy and love; my children who have taught me unconditional love, patience, as well as to give without wanting anything in return; my family who accepts me despite myself and my few friends who keep me in check and tell me the truth no matter how painful that truth may be. I am grateful for those who have hurt me and hurt those I love because they have given me life lessons which makes me try my best not to hurt others.  I am grateful for all these people and so many more.

I am grateful that life is dynamic; neither the good nor the bad last forever.

I am grateful that I can breathe.

Just breathe.

 


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Is Hate the new Love?

imagesD9HTWOUP“Hate one another as I have hated you” has become the new “Love one another as I have loved you.”  Somewhere along the line, the doctrine of Christianity had become muddied with what is and is not biblical.  If memory serves me correctly, the Old Testament showed us what the letter of the law was and the New Testament shows us what the heart of the law is today.  The Messiah came to fulfill the law; a law that humans could never keep perfectly, but Jesus, being perfect, was able to perfect and fulfill the whole law for us.  He was beaten for that law, was crucified for that law, hung on a cross for that law, had nails driven into His hands and feet for that law so that we, as mere mortal humans, could be set free from the heavy burden of the law.  He took that law to the cross with him giving us the perfect heart of the law which is, in fact, Jesus Himself.

In the Old Testament, God laid down 10 commandments in stone that His people were to follow.  In the New Testament, God took those 10 commandments and consolidated them into what he said encompassed all the commandments – love.  Today, there must be words between the lines that I can not read.  Somewhere in the Bible it must say, “We should love everyone except those who have different belief from ours, except those who have a different sexual orientation than ours, except those who have  a different socio-economic status than ours, except those who are fat, skinny, addicts, old, young, mentally ill, or to put it more simply, we should love everyone except those who are just plain different from us.”  It must say that in the Bible because that is what so many “Christians” are spewing.  Long forgotten is the loving kindness Jesus spoke of when he went to the cross to die for all of us who were then sinners and yet he loved us and sent a prayer up to His Father asking Him to forgive us because we know not what we do.

Why do I write these things?  I write them because I am saddened by the hatred that spews from the mouth of many who profess to be Christians.  A true Christian is a follower of Christ, I don’t remember Christ spitting hatred on those who were already in sin.  If I am not mistaken, he sat and ate dinner with those very people who are appalling to those who profess their Christianity.

 

 


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Goodnight Misses

“It was 2 months yesterday since my brother last experienced her warm breath on his face but if he closed his eyes he could almost feel it now.  Her dark face was so expressive.  She looked at him with love and adoration even when he didn’t want anything to do with her, but she would wait patiently for his mood to change because she loved him that much.  She knew that all she had to do was give him “that look” and he would respond to her lovingly.  She knew she had that power over him – that power that not many had.  He longed for that look now, just one more time.

For the first time yesterday, he shared with me the picture he had taken of her and placed lovingly in a frame; the picture I imagine that has a special place next to his bed. The picture reflected perfectly the love she had for him and as he looked at the photo momentarily before handing it to me, his reflection could be seen in her eyes.  A shared love.

As I touched the framed picture I remembered my own love.  The giant man with the red hair.  I clearly remembered – no felt – the heartbreak of the last time I felt his warm body next to mine or looked into his eyes.  I dare not close my eyes now or I too, like my brother now, would be overcome with a rush of emotion that I didn’t want to feel; that I wish I had never had to experience.  My love has been gone years and my pain, at times, is just as great as the day he left this earth.  His sweet Lucy has been gone two months; his pain is fresh, cutting deep to his soul.

In the beginning, when all we think of is our hurt and anguish at their departure, we lose sight of how they filled our days with joy and laughter.  When we are once again able to remember through our pain and tears how they loved to cuddle against us in the summer during unbearable heat or didn’t want to cuddle in the early morning chill, the pain intensifies.  Our thoughts scream out, “when will my thoughts bring pleasure instead of this unbearable heartache?”

My brother and I spoke of Lucy as I held her picture in my hands.  As I stared at her picture, he told me she loved to cuddle in the morning when she first woke up but when she went to bed in the evening, she wanted little to do with him.  She wanted to find her own place in the bed and curl up to sleep.  He smiled when he said he would “smack her on the ass and say ‘Goodnight Missess.'”

I handed his picture of Lucy back to him.  Gingerly he took it from my hands, touching it as if it were almost sacred.  His gaze was intense as he studied her picture as if he were seeing it for the first time.  Behind his horn-rimmed glasses his eyes turned soft and filled with unshed tears as he gazed at her picture before relinquishing it from his hands.  As he placed her picture on the table beside him her turned to me and gave me a forced smile.  Without words, we both knew what each of us was thinking.  To me, the pain was evident on his face, was my pain as evident?

My brother, like me, has lost a life that invaded his very being and soul – this life was a part of him.  His love for Lucy was strong and real.  His grief for her bringing him unexpectantly to his knees.  From most of the world this grief will remain hidden because it is not human, it is a bond that exists only with man’s best friend.


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It’s NOT Color; It’s Behavior

In light of the recent George Zimmerman verdict the issue of racism and discrimination has once again made its way to the fore-front and reared its ugly head.  The opinions of many are being plastered over almost every social media.  Once again lines are being drawn attempting to separate what should be a cohesive nation.  “United we stand, divided we fall,” is just as true now as it was when John Dickinson wrote it in 1768.

“Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all,
By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall;
In so righteous a cause let us hope to succeed,
For heaven approves of each generous deed.”

Sadly enough, even after 200 years, the concept of brotherly love and kindness is lost on so many.  Discrimination is alive and well in America.  The trials of both George Zimmerman and O.J.Simpson caused racial uprising.  The “race card” was seen in both trials just at opposite ends of the spectrum.  If racial injustice was seen in one trial, then we must conclude that it was equally unjust in both trials.  I did not sit in on the trials of either Zimmerman or Simpson.  I was not privy to the details that the members of each jury sat in on but I have to believe that the jurors did the best they could with the information they received.  I may or may not agree with the verdicts but as I stated previously, I was not there day after day listening to the witnesses.  I was only given the bits and pieces the media fed to me.  Realistically, I can not make an informed decision on either trial; the only thing I can do is offer my opinion just as everybody else can offer their opinion. 

Now, there are many statistics one can find concerning white on white crime, black on black crime, white on black crime and black on white crime.  What is the real purpose of stating those statistics?  I can’t help but wonder if the reason those statistics are readily stated is to instill fear and keep our nation separated.  The one statistic that all races share is this:  most victims of crime know their assailant.  That’s right.  Black or white, generally the victim knows the perpetrator. 

Amazingly enough, many of those that cry out that they are the victims of discrimination (black, white, yellow, or polka dot) are the same ones who discriminate against others with an “acceptable” form of discrimination.  In many social circles it is “acceptable” to make fun of or shun people who may be “different” than the main stream.  Fat people are discriminated every day.  If you are fat and black or fat and white, you are an equal target to negative comments and snide laughter.  Although this country wants to say that “gay is okay” our actions indicate otherwise.  Dykes and lipstick lesbians as well as Queens are still faggots and easy marks for ridicule without people being “appalled” at the name-calling.  These are but a few examples but the list goes on. 

We, as a nation, must move beyond playing the race card and institute the human card for all of mankind equally.  As Bill Cosby so wonderfully states:  It is NOT about color; it is about behavior.  This statement is true about all people!

Honest Bill Cosby Tells
US Blacks The Truth
5-21-8 

‘They’re standing on the corner and they can’t speak English. I can’t even talk the way these people talk…
Why you ain’t
Where you is
What he drive
Where he stay
Where he work
Who you be…
And I blamed the kid until I heard the mother talk.
And then I heard the father talk.
Everybody knows it’s important to speak English except these knuckleheads. You can’t be a doctor with that kind of crap coming out of your mouth.
In fact, you will never get any kind of job making a decent living. People marched and were hit in the face with rocks to get an education, and now we’ve got these knuckleheads walking around.
 
The lower economic people are not holding up their end in this deal.
 
These people are not parenting. They are buying things for kids. $500 sneakers for what??
And they won’t spend $200 for Hooked on Phonics.
I am talking about these people who cry when their son is standing there in an orange suit.
Where were you when he was 2??
Where were you when he was 12??
Where were you when he was 18 and how come you didn’t know that he had a pistol??
And where is the father?? Or, who is his father?
People putting their clothes on backward, isn’t that a sign of something gone wrong?
People with their hats on backward, pants down around the crack, isn’t that a sign of something?
Or, are you waiting for Jesus to pull his pants up?
Isn’t it a sign of something when she has her dress all the way up and got all type of needles [piercing] going through her body?
What part of Africa did this come from??
We are not Africans. Those people are not Africans. They don’t know a thing about Africa .
With names like Shaniqua, Taliqua and Mohammed and all of that crap, and all of them are in jail.
Brown or black versus the Board of Education is no longer the white person’s problem.
We have got to take the neighborhood back.
People used to be ashamed. Today, a woman has eight children with eight different ‘husbands’ — or men or whatever you call them now.
We have millionaire football players who cannot read.
We have million-dollar basketball players who can’t write two paragraphs.
We, as black folks have to do a better job. Someone working at Wal- Mart with seven kids… you are hurting us.
We have to start holding each other to a higher standard.
We cannot blame the white people any longer.
It’s NOT about color…
It’s about behavior !!!
 
– Dr. William Henry ‘Bill’ Cosby, Jr., Ed.D.