How To Talk To A Flower

The Real McCoy    by Glee 

Pretty pink flower

Torn from your branch

You endure my grasp.

I chose you,

Not so carefully,

To be my alter for today.

Then I saw your

Dark spots

And remembered hidden bugs emerging

From blossoms previously picked.

With fortitude

I sought to change

The outcome this time ‘round.

And turned you upside down

And shook

And shook

And shook.

A petal fell

To stay my violent hand.

Oh, my regret

To find you weren’t as strong

and fresh as I had hoped.

A second passed…

I see I've made you weak

And imperfection glares at me.

Guilt rises like floodwater

As I focus my eyes

On the black remains

Of your life before you blossomed.

Those tiny scars

Embedded in your bright pink flesh

Are not bugs at all

But evidence

Of your growth and change to come.

You are an imperfect vessel of love. 

I judged you hastily.

And injured us both ever after.

Forgive me.

Learn more:  Bole: Willingness To Feel-Opening To Understanding (Youtube: 8 minutes)

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Very Nice People

When I was in Junior High, my estranged father called to talk to me about God.  He detailed the atrocities of the Christian Church and its followers.  I was enlightened as to the dichotomy between seeking the truth and having faith.  It was explained to me how keeping safe in the mind throughout life would require a great deal skepticism to avoid being brainwashed.  Brainwashed, my father said, was the worst kind of defilement of one's freedom.  Walk your own path and know that at the end of it lies a clear understanding of the world around you that will induce a state of awe and inspiration.  Then he showed me Carl Sagan's The Cosmos.  It was actually quite spiritual and Carl seemed like a pretty nice guy.

I had asked my mom about God at age seven.  She said I would have to find out about God on my own, but that she believed.  She was not sure about her chosen spirituality.  As a result, we were an interesting mishmash of "everythingists".  I truly enjoyed fishing for religion with Mom.  She did it whole heartedly and seemed to hope she would find the perfect spiritual home for all of us.

Ultimate respect was given to my brother and I in this endeavor.  When I was ten and my brother was twelve, my mother scheduled a visit from some Mormon missionaries, who came to our house and tried very hard to explain the father, son, and holy ghost using finger puppets.  My brother and I had spent an hour making iced tea to share with our visitors, as we were latchkey kids and my mom was still at law school classes when they arrived.  They did not accept our kind offer and went on to tell us why they could not drink caffeine or Coke.  That, coupled with the finger puppet story, was just too much. They were not making any sense to us at all, but they were very nice people.

Today, my mother is a very satisfied Mennonite.  And a very nice person.

For more information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evangelism  or http://www.carlsagan.com/