Look what I can do!

Little Girl

I was walking along the Greenway near a street named Mira Vista, and there was this little girl about maybe three or four years old on a small pink bike with training wheels coming toward me. Her father was some distance back. She started picking up speed as she approached and shouted gleefully, “Look what I can do!”

Wow, this sentence stayed in my heart. Life is full of the expected and then the really unexpected. She was facing the challenge of riding a bike and feeling very proud of herself for doing it. She didn’t say to herself, “Well, I’m not that good yet. “or “I hope I don’t fail.” She was in the moment, lavishing the victory, and telling her dad and the world, “Look what I can do!”

Every time I don’t acknowledge myself and my actions in going toward what I love or I have one of these critical voice self-criticisms of my own actions, I will remember her and her joy, and say to myself, “Look what I can do!”

Pastel Shades of Blue

ballet dancer

Pastel shades of blue
painted on the panorama ‘fore my eyes
Oh, Magenta, red, and aqua rainbows
fill the sky just like some rhyme –

Am I dreaming songs of love?
Am I always wondering why?
Is it truth or is it passion
that fills my heart and overflows my mind?

Open now and hope forever,
My heart is on the line:
a deeper shade of color,
and this dancer spinning to some unknown time –

I can be this heart within
and I do answer for my own time
as the poet lives within these wings
and this dancer with the mystery unwinds–

Absences

candle-2

Sometimes these absences
of intimacy, of friendship,
of support,
burn in my Heart
like the flame of a candle.

And my soul reaches out
in reply, saying
“There is love.”
Be at Peace. Be Grateful.

“Often people’s identities, that wild inner complexity of soul and color of spirit, become shrunken into their work identities.  They become prisoners of their roles.  They limit and reduce their lives.  They become seduced by the practice of self-absence”.

John O’Donohue – Anam Cara

Memoir to My Father

boy-and-father

To My Father
(Perhaps this poem is about seeing
the Fullness even in the Emptiness)

I stare now at this cup
half full and half empty
like a funny Zen poem
looking for the plenty.

I listened to the sermon:
“He’s in another place,
and won’t be here now with you.
Go to school and wash your face.”

Learned to learn real good,
to write, to run, to talk.
Feelings all tapped down
except on lonely walks.

But friends were there to play
Sing a song or play a game.
I managed the routines,
though my heart found other ways.

Though I learned well not to cry,
When I found you had to die.
My heart knows well the time
when your love was by my side.

Touch My Heart With a Song

young-girl-with-accordian

It was a dark night. I was feeling detached and tired as I listened again to my still small voice within; it said,” Go in and sing with her”. I picked up my guitar and songbook, and went in and asked her if we could sing together. Her answer was an affirmative “yes”, though I knew she was shy and embarrassed about her own singing voice because in growing up her family had poked fun at her singing voice.

Nonetheless, I started with a rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In”. She had shared that that song was the last song in a funeral orchestration that her best friend had put together for her own last rites. That song was heartily sung by everyone in the service, sending her friend rousingly into eternity. I was moved by that story recounted to me by her and her other friend when they returned from the service.

After that song I followed it with a song I had written specifically for Nancy called “Nancy’s Song”. She loved it and I sang a few more songs out of my songbook with her. All her agitation and moodiness (she has dementia) melted like butter with the music. After a few songs she began to talk about experiences with her family growing up, and I recounted experiences with my family, growing up in Detroit. It was heart to heart conversation. It was truly breakthrough in relationship at least for the moment.

This story and experience illustrates what music is to me. First it is a tool I use to free myself from my logical, left brain. Music can often free us emotionally and from stress. I believe that music is both an avenue from and to divine spirit or consciousness. I don’t limit this to one particular religion. Lastly, I believe music connects us to our own deeper self, to each other, and to Source or to God. This is what music is to me.

This is what I love, my passion. What is your passion?

Self Acknowledgement

Man with Guitar

2017 is just in its infancy, and I’m embarking on creating a new music CD, and what’s coming up is this inner voice of holding on and self-criticism which is saying that what who I am and what I’m doing “is not good enough”. I say to it, “Enough”. It’s been a challenging time caring and working with someone, but I’m on the other side of that assignment, and it feels good and I can acknowledge myself and her for the time spent. Rather than the critical thinking and self-criticism from my early conditioning in growing up, I am practicing love, self-acknowledgement and acknowledgement of others more in my life this year. This will move me ahead on my music project and in my life this year.

Criticism has been a familiar aspect of the American social environment, especially in its blatant exposure in last year’s political race and beyond. I don’t believe criticism helps to heal or unite us personally or socially, rather it divides us up culturally, racially, economically, or in other ways. It lifts up one point of view and downgrades and attempts to discredit another. That is not what I believe or will stand for.