Free

I forget to be grateful for these freedoms--

to speak my truth,

roam at ease,

love at will,

and disagree.

These would not be possible without democracy.

May we not take this for granted.

May we be acutely aware of the gift.

May we deluge the future with our voices and our votes

for the freedoms fought and died for by so many.

May we remember and carry the cause forward.

Thanks to Rebekah Crilly for these words and this reminder.

kastilwell

Letting People Be Wrong About You

I asked myself why this quote caught my attention.

Its because it sits hand in hand with the instinct to please others

rather than attuning to and following our own inner compass.

Isn't having to endure the disapproval or condemnation of someone, 

especially someone you care about, or someone with 

actual or perceived authority over you, 

one of life's most difficult situations? I know it is for me.

I would say it's a super power to develop the peace and focus

to hold your own with grace and dignity in these circumstances.

This is why I have tremendous admiration and respect for those

who have to endure society's scorn and derision.

Living as the recipient of that prejudice requires one to develop this power.

I am in awe of their prowess.

It stands in sharp contrast to those who are born into circumstances of  power

who use their privilege to domineer and tyrannize those they see as "less than".

kastilwell

 

If You Knew

 It's a puzzle to me

but somehow I'm programmed

with a strong wall of denial

that results in taking people and circumstances

for granted in the mistaken notion

things will continue on as they are.

No one will get sick or die.

No permanent harm will come

to anyone I care about.

This exquisite life I'm living 

will remain this way forever.

You can see how naive and inaccurate this is.

It's my shield of bliss against the inevitable.

Every now and then I get a glimpse,

a forewarning, a fragment of reality

so harsh and jangling I am propelled

out of my cocoon of oblivion and

come face to face with how

fleeting and fragile everything is.

The utter majesty of it all levels me.

The extreme largesse of being here

with you and you and you,

makes me speechless.

kastilwell

Feel It Completely

What is nothing?

Nothing is really something.

Pondering this has made me realize the truth of it.

My hands might look empty but are they?

Isn't there something within these "empty" palms?

To begin with, air isn't nothing.

Try living without it.

Absence is not empty, its actually filled 

with something feeling like a presence

palpable yet not quite nameable.

So, the next time we find ourselves

feeling nothing.  Let's give it a go.

Sink into it and feel every corner.

Next time we're feeling an absence,

the "goneness" of a someone

lets feel it to our bones.

It's the heart of paradox.

An exquisite, often painful,

always beautiful mystery.

kastilwell

 

And Yet

Doesn't this hit the bull's eye

for getting straight to the heart of things?

I can so identify with every sentiment 

even though I do not want to.

Doesn't it feel like the war is already here?

The one inside where

you operate on high alert,

while trying to go on living in peace,

enjoying moments of joy and beauty,

doing what you can for justice and our Earth.

While the one on the outside blares threats,

and lobs grenades of destructive verbiage

pounding at our counteroffensive

of dignity, decency and fairness.

Yes, we are cauldrons,

with banked coals of anger

burning in our vulnerable chests.

Yes, we are tender loons,

learning how to live in this

godforsaken reality

with caverns of priceless treasure 

hidden beneath heaps of rubble.

May the rubble be washed away.

May the treasure become visible 

for all eyes to appreciate rather than plunder.

May the forces of goodness hold the line

gain the advantage point,

quell the insurgency

and vanquish all opponents of dignity.

kastilwell

  

 

When All The Others Were Away At Mass

I take great delight in the

juxtaposition of peeling potatoes

with a priest going

"hammer and tongs

at the prayers for the dying."

Why must humans remind other humans

of their wrongdoings at the door of their departure?

As if the person approaching the door

isn't already exquisitely aware of them?

It's rather comical in a sad kind of way.

The love and intimacy conveyed

in the simple act of peeling potatoes together

brings tears to my eyes.

That's what matters as we each move toward our own door.

kastilwell

 

A Love Song To My Fear

At first I was confused (and unsettled) by this,

thinking the poet was speaking to a lover.

I understood when I saw the title at the end.

I choked up, moved by the genius of it.

It seems to address the longing

so many of us carry around with us.

A place where our self rejection,

failures and shortcomings disappear.

"wrapped in grace, I eat my fill"

(and don't gain weight I think ironically)

Kidding aside, its a masterful rewrite.

"I am held"

kastilwell