Regret Is a Two Lane Road

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Linking with The Sunday Muse for Muse # 16 and Imaginary Gardens for The Tuesday Platform

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Life is an adventure in forgiveness. ~Norman Cousins

All the places I have been do not whisper in my ear like a shy child

It is the places I have never been but should have gone

That tap me on the shoulder in the middle of the night

Demanding my undivided attention

Regrets are like that

Cousins of a certain loss

Yet strangers

Divided like the lines on a road

Branches of the same tree that head in different directions

One is the grief of mistakes made

The other the loss of opportunities that no longer are ahead

That we should have grasped whole heartedly when we could

For the regret of our mistakes is a sorrow that can be forgiven

Sooner than a country mile

But forgiving ourselves for words unspoken or visits to loved ones never taken

Is a heartache that holds a certain agony

That can be a life long journey to let go.

Note:

My maternal grandmother had agoraphobia, and the only time she left her home was to vote.  As a child I never really realized the abnormality in it.  She just never went with us, and we would bring back dinner for her sometimes, even though she thought that you had to be careful about restaurants cause the food could be tampered with.   As years passed, and I had a home.  I settled into a routine of my own, and though I had gone on several trips out of state as a younger adult and into my 30’s I found myself having a certain anxiety with trips that went very far out of town.  I decided that I had agoraphobia on a grander scale.  I could leave my home, leave my town, but the minute I am heading on a long trip far away, I am in a mental episode of anxiety.  I think I have shared this before on earlier posts, but I felt this important to share again because it has caused me much regret when it comes to who I have visited and where I have gone. It seems I have really held myself back and stifled my own chances of seeing great things, or visiting those I hold dear.  The saddest part is, there are several people that I have lost the opportunity to see again, and I only have my own fear to blame.  This is a hard road to take when you carry that kind of guilt.  I can only say, I am working on it.  May your roads ahead be full of opportunities taken.  That is my wish for us all!

The Art of Forgiveness

Courtesy Google images

Life becomes easier when you learn to accept an apology you never got. ~Robert Brault

The Force of Feathers and Chains

artwork by Jeanie Tomanek

 

The Mag #184

 

 

"God loved the birds and invented trees. Man loved the birds and invented cages."

  ~Jacques Deval

 

 

 

There is a force that feathers know

 that ride together upon a wing in flight

 

and so to do links of a rusty chain
that hold down and lock up tight.

 

There is a might that bricks know

when holding up a sturdy wall

 

and so does the metal ball and crane

that can make the building fall.

 

Sometimes the chains that bind us

are bound by our own hands

and in turn the liberty we so long for
becomes too heavy for us to withstand.

The soul possesses all the muscles
to carry a thousand pounds of woe

yet it also holds the skill and power
to courageously let it go.




Many years ago when I was going through the separation and divorce from my first husband, I left the home I had known for eight years and took off with a packed up car and a discouraged teenager heading to the home of a dear friend I had gone to church with years before.  We stayed under her comforting wing of hospitality and encouragement for about 6 months.  It was a difficult time of change for both me and my son.
  During that time there was a simple story her son shared one day that has always stuck with me.  It holds a profound truth in its simplicity and has crossed my mind many times when I have felt stuck in a situation.  He had a dog that he loved very much that he kept mostly in the back yard.  Whenever he would wash his car, he would bring her out in the front yard and tie her chain to a tree while he scrubbed down his ride.  Eventually, the dog got so used to the routine, that she would simply sit by the tree knowing she was chained to it, and watch him work on the car.  He admitted that as time went by he got complacent and would bring her out front on the chain, but instead of tying her up he would simply place her by the tree with the chain and go about his business.  The dog was so used to being chained to the tree, that she did not exert any force or effort to try to break away to even realize that she was no longer bound with the chain.
  I cannot tell you how many times I have thought about that story and realized how relevant it is to certain situations people face in their lives.  We get so accustomed to the obstacles that we have holding us back, that we settle like roots of a tree and stagnate where we stand.  Assuming there is no way out or means to make a change.  Then like bad fruit we become bitter and angry with the yoke we must bear, never taking the time to comprehend the fact that it is only us that can make a true difference.  Only we can make the choice to walk away, change the circumstances, or simply lay down the burden.



To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you. ~Lewis B. Smedes

 

 

 

 

 

 



Between Hurt and Forgiveness

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"He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass."

~George Herbert

Linking with Poets United Wonder Wednesday #11 Bridge


It is a precarious cliff
 in the middle of suffering's bitter ache.
No railing to brace the fall
 nor smooth trail to truly take.
 Desolation is one's comrad,
in this place of shifting ground.
Where blame wanders on all sides
 and grace cannot be found.
There is only one path
 that leads to a true retreat.
It is the bridge of forgiveness
 that sets hurt soldiers free.

Somewhere In Your Life

"All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on." ~Havelock Ellis

Hi my name is loneliness I am somewhere in your life but if you dry your tears and simply look above

you will see that in your life there is love.

Hi my name is fear I am somewhere in your life but if you uncover your eyes and walk out into light's beam

you will see that in your life there can be peace.

Hi my name is discouragment I am somewhere in your life but if you pick yourself up and open the closed door

you will see that in your life there is hope.

Hi my name is doubt I am somewhere in your life but if you walk out on a limb all the way

you will see that in your life there is faith.

Hi my name is bitterness I am somewher in your life but if you open up your heart and let go of the pain

you will see that in your life there is forgiveness to take it's place.

Linking with One Shot Wednesday

Also Sharing with lovely Emily at Imperfect Prose

The Mighty Things

"He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass."   ~George Herbert

It takes courage to live with someone who would harm you night or day,

and even more to just walk away.

It takes love to nurture a child, and hold him through life's trials,

and even more to let go when it is time.

It takes strength to convict a molester, and bring him to justice for his sin,

yet even more to forgive him.

One Shot Wednesday

Also participating in Imperfect Prose with Emily.

The Use of Big Words

arrogance
idolatry
jealousy
larceny
infidelity
negligence
felonious
polygynous
corruption
hupocrisy
guilty

Repentance...

....FORGIVENESS

A Net Full of Butterflies

Think Tank Poetry Promt #4

I can hear it in your voice, the angry words you can't forget.  A heartache's anthem is echoing over and over in your head.  But can you remember when you were just a child, it was easy to hear the magic in the song.  You could dance around all day no matter what went wrong.  Just close your eyes and try,

for a child sets anger free like a net full of butterflies.

I can see it in the tears that you never cry, you are not as strong as the shield you hide behind.  But can you remember when you were just a child, and it was easy for the tears to fall like rain.  When you were upset it was written all over your face.  Just close your eyes and try,

 for a child lets pride go like a net full of butterflies. 

I can feel it in your touch you just can't let it go.  You are holding on to the past lke a trophy of plated gold.  But can you remember when you were just a child, it was easy to forget the troubles of yesterday, leave them all behind and play the day away.  Just close your eyes and try,

for a child tells betterness goodbye like a net full of butterflies.

A great site for poets that blog Poets United 

A Certain Kind of Strength

There is a certain kind of hope that comes from emerging empty handed from tribulation's fire, knowing you have survived with nothing more to loose and surely everything to gain.

There is a certian kind of grace that comes from crossing the threshold of forgiveness, to know the difference between being it's giver and the vulnerability of being it's grateful receiver.

There is a certain kind of strength that comes from reaching out, not to pick up the heavy burden, but instead to humbly lay it down.

Opening The Slammed Door

Imperfect Prose with Emily take a look you will be blessed.



It is strange what one forgets, and what one chooses to remember, like sifting fresh milk for cream, the liquid falls through while the thick cream remains at the top, tart and strong, ready to be used for another purpose. It has been over 30 years since her death, though the memories of my mother are faded, they are also frequent. Her brief life a constant reminder to me of life’s frailties, for I lost her long before her death to mental illness.
Being a child I was ignorant to the lack of normality in our lives. All I had known was seclusion and her fits from grandeur to gloom and despair. And though I can no longer recall her voice, I can still hear her words, and feel her silences, like echoes from a deep canyon.
Ever since I was grown with a child of my own, I have been all the more aware of the oddity of that time and the vacancy of the relationship I had with her. I had spent many of my younger years hating her for the way she was, and holding on to the bad memories like a shooting gun. It wasn’t until I was an older adult facing my own mistakes and weaknesses , that I came to better understand the frailties of her illness, and how in that time of less awareness, she was left helpless to succumb to its affects. How different her life might have been with help and the right medication.
The last time I saw her, I was nine years old. It was my first day of fourth grade. I do not recall anything about school that day, I can only remember she had been very ill and ended up in the hospital while I was gone. My father picked me up early and took me to her. I recollect feeling the usual sick in my heart feeling I would experience when she was admitted. Uncertainty has a grip that can shake you like a mixed drink, and it doesn’t let go until its drunk. It is a sensation that one never gets used to.
That day has been relived in my mind countless times. My brother, my dad, and I were all standing at the end of her hospital room, when suddenly something was very wrong. What happened before that moment, I could not tell you, but the rest I can see as if it were a new movie I just watched. She tensed up with a horrible gasp and then went limp. My father yelled for a nurse, and then it was mass confusion, just like on the movies. They rushed my brother and I out like cattle, to a waiting room that it felt like we spent the rest of my childhood in. Somehow, I ended up in the front lobby, where my father asked me if I wanted to go home or to Grandma’s house. My reply was simply a question, “is Mommy coming home?” He paused with a look of suffering that must have aged him 10 years, and then told me softly that she had passed away. Without even taking a moment to blink I chose Grandma’s house, and then calmly waited to leave. It took years for me to realize how unusual my reaction was, and come to terms with the bitterness I had towards her. Sometimes it is easier to hold on to the anger than to let go and deal with the loss of someone special.
Now I sit here at my desk sorting through the memories of what was and what should have been, contemplating my words, like the solutions to world peace. I don’t want to be remembered for my weaknesses, nor be the excuse for another’s, and I suppose my mother did not either. If I venture back to our old home near Milam Road, to the old metal swing set facing the west, I can recall a certain summer day as a very small child. I slipped from the swing, and in landing on the ground the metal seat came back and hit me in the head. I just sat there crying, until my mother quickly picked me up in her arms and rushed me inside, slamming the screen door behind us. She then hurried to put ice on my wound. I don’t know why it is one of the few good memories I have my relationship with her, but I do know it is worth holding on to and remembering over and over again.