Burdened By Bullies

Bullies typically target both the weak and the strong;
Anyone not seen as normal is perceived as wrong.
Normal is defined by looking at the crowd;
Only what the majority accepts is allowed.

The problem is that, in wild animals, this is protection,
But in the body human, this is only a form of rejection.
We don't have to define ourselves by who is other,
But we continue to torment even those that we call brother.

Why do we frame everything in life as competition?
Isn't building unity part of the Scriptural mission?
Why does one have to be wrong for another to be right?
Why do we insist on making everything a fight?

All the greatest of the prophets and saints were persecuted;
Where would we be if normal people were substituted?
There would have been no Buddha, no Moses, or Abraham
And forget about ever seeing the the path of the Infinite I AM.

We would have had no Ghandi, Martin Luther, or Mother Theresa,
All of these gave their lives in seeking to be the teachers
Of peace, and love, and compassion for those considered other
From the leper, to the prostitute, to the unwed mother.

We are called upon to stand together straight and proud,
And to give our lives to making sure that only justice is allowed.
Peaceful resistance only works when there are many united,
Not against others, but as the Sacred Body Human instead.

If Jesus Was My Next Door Neighbor

If Jesus was my next door neighbor, looking in my window, what would he see?
Would he find me being the blessing to others that Our Creator meant me to be?
Or would he find me sitting alone, feeling sorry for myself
Instead of looking for ways to spread my gifts to someone else?

Lunch and the Light

A bit of my beliefs for which I'll probably be burned at the stake,
But I'm sure it's not the biggest risk that I'll ever take.
I don't think Jesus was made to die by his dad;
I think people demanded his death to prove the commitment that he had.

He walked along the earth preaching joy and elation,
Instead of concentrating on the negativity in creation.
Many did not like this brash, young Jewish man
Messing with their version of earth's domination plan.

What made his words so scary to those who live in fear,
Is he changed the focus of what we should hold most dear.
He said that we are equal in the glory we were created to be.
And that after death we cease to be counted as he or she.

I believe The Light of Creation shimmered until it broke apart,
And that this Holy Light gave all creation its start.
I believe we are destined to, once again, become
Part of the light of Love that we were spun off from.

I believe we destroy this earth and each other with our greed,
Thinking that The Infinite Light and Love won't fill our need.
Like there is only a limited amount of Light and Love to go around,
So we, even in Eternity, want to grab a piece of ground.

Good parents aren't happy as long as one of their children has not;
They seek to distribute evenly every good thing that they've got.
Is our Infinite Creator any less loving than we?
Why would there be more for you and nothing left for me?

Some Christians think that salvation isn't for Muslim or Jew.
Did Our Creator not know what family each life was sent to?
Do we think there's need for more kindling for the fires of hell,
So Our Creator continues creating those who can never in Heaven dwell?

Aren't we all spun off the same Creator's energy,
The final destination, back with Our Creator to be.
If Jesus is my brother and has returned to his roots,
Won't everyone become one again in our glory suits?

All who seek Love and Kindness, it seems to me,
Are parts of salvation as it was meant to be.
Some of us see Our Creator in one manifestation,
While others see The Spirit in many parts of Creation.

So let us stop the argument of which is the true God;
All was created as part of the path to Infinity that we plod.
I'd love to see what you see, and share my vision of God with you
Eye-to-eye we'll sit, rather than sitting in a pew.

I'd like to have a lunch with you that I lovingly prepare;
It's hard to remain angry as we, our blessings, share.
So, come one and come all to my very large dining table;
Let's celebrate our visions of The Light with all that we are able.

Not a Wicked Woman

I wish The Spirit moving in me was calm and quiet;
Whenever I discuss scripture, I seem to spark a riot.
It's not that people think that my beliefs are wrong;
It's just that most like their religion with a gentler song.

I've been told by many not to share my voice,
But it seems as I get older, this is not a choice.
My daughter once said to me that's the job of a granny
To hand out opinions, of which I have so many.

Why is it for some The Spirit whispers when mine roars?
I don't seem to have an inside voice when my spirit soars.
It's very hard on babies and those who are convalescing;
To these folks, my energy doesn't feel like a blessing.

I know that most of us have been been told all our lives
To never speak of politics or the faith on which we thrive;
But the country seems to speak of almost nothing else
I simply want a more peaceful way to express myself.

There are many still thinking that a woman who is good
Will happily sit in silence while the menfolk set the mood.
I have really tried this, but it doesn't work for me;
The more I try to stifle, the more words fight to be free.

I wake up every morning and I ask the Holy Spirit
To heal my heart and my head, and control the words I spit.
It sometimes seems to work as I would like it to do.
But when passions are sparked, my words rise a decibel or two.

I know I'm not a preacher, nor an official teacher,
But I share the same Light as every creature.
And I want to shout this new knowledge in word and song
That the people who think me wicked may have always been wrong.

Parenting Places

Now women say that when you have a babe at the breast,
Sleeping when the babe sleeps is considered best.
But back in the days when I had my first,
This was the time for a housekeeping burst.

It was important to create a castle for your man,
Cooking and cleaning til things were spic and span.
And then to be sure that the babies were quiet
When he came home, or there would be a riot.

Putting on lipstick and combing one's hair;
He had better not find you resting in a chair
If you didn't please him, he was perfectly free
To find somewhere more peaceful to be.

Now, as I sit with my recovering friend,
I remember how different things were back then.
I clean when and what's needed, but no more;
No one ever got sick from an unswept floor.

I don't know that things are necessarily better;
Some have no one home to tend their litter.
It would be nice if there were official block parents;
It could even make for good economic sense.

Any parent who was the parent in charge,
Would be enforcing the neighborhood's laws.
Now that there are many stay home "mister moms"
We would probably pay them fairly for their time.

We could even have grandpas and grandmas paid
To soothe the babies when they are afraid.
Those who haven't lost their energy yet
Could teach skills to the younger set.

This is what old time schools and churches did
Before our communities became so big.
Community schools would be perfect spaces
To create these safe parenting places.

Core Competencies

It's not that I'm jealous, it's just that I didn't know
That wife and mother was a path down which I should not go.
I was taught that this was all that women could achieve;
It was in the kindness of our masters that we should believe.
The best gift a girl could have was her body and her face;
And a sweet disposition could win her the husband race.

But for those of us not beautiful or suitably sexy,
There were few options that our daddies could see.
The convents and the streets were no longer in need;
There were already too many in them for the men to lead.
What good families did with these drains on them
Was to give them to anyone with money like the men.

For the mistakes of wrong vocations, who must take the blame?
How many parents are there who still hang their heads in shame?
At least we see our children and their children have a voice
For exploring their gifts before they make a life's choice.
Not every woman is meant to mother, nor every man to be rich;
All jobs still need to be done, but the roles we now can switch.

It's too late for me to start over, as it is for my man.
We reached our core competencies in the past generation's plan.
I am simply grateful that our children must no more live the lies
By which our parents and their parents, their true gifts disguised.
All future generations, in all countries with liberty
Can seek The Spirit's guidance in what we each are meant to be.

Frosting and Physical Therapy

I can now add to my resume that I frosted a cake for the first lady of a state. The governor’s mansion’s chef, my buddy Holly, has been having increasing difficulty with her torn rotator and bicep. The motions required for spreading frosting required one of her more painful positions. I was honored to be called to her rescue. In the bargain, I got to hang out in the kitchen while the new governor and his wife ate their supper. They were delightfully friendly to me. It’s nice meeting public people in their private worlds.

I’m now waiting for Holly’s shoulder to be rebuilt. Because of her pain, her surgery was rescheduled for an earlier date than originally anticipated. This may make my chauffeur services unnecessary as she goes to Florida to accept her recently deceased husband’s industry award for his work in establishing safety standards for the residential window cleaning industry. Oh well, at least I’ll still head away from snow country, back to Louisiana, until the spring thaw in Coker Creek.

My major worry, at this point, is that Holly’s supposed to do daily post-surgery exercises to regain her range of motion. This is the second time that Holly is having her rotator cuff repaired, and she has told me how brutally painful the exercises are. She really may need a drill sergeant, and I’ve been informed by her that I’m an enabler. My daughter once told me that I want my children to grow, but don’t want them to go through the pain of growth. What’s a mother (or friend) to do?

Maybe I’ll call our Coker Creek friend Charlie for tips on being a “physical terrorist” as he was the impetus for our friend Jim actually exercising his new knee. It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.