Let Me Rise Above as I Lay Me Down

I lay my life down in your arms, O Beauty and Peace,
So be gracious to grant me rest and on life new lease

Crown me with your love in this forlorn town of humanity,
And drive away the insanity as I now lose all of my vanity,
And bold let me enter your fold for there is rest, I am told,
And there mold me and make me like you, ever so divine

And as I walk these paths and talk with pilgrims who balk
At the idea of any tranquility with hostility and no humility,
Let me not be ensnared in their claptrap, but rise above
Such fray to your love this very day along life’s terrible way

I lay my life down in your arms, O Beauty and Peace,
So be gracious to grant me rest and on life new lease

After such great turmoil graciously grant the best of rest
In your numinous nest, and to be gone with soul festering;
Let me find merciful safety in your hands and loving bands
While the sands of time slowly fall through the hourglass
Of heaven leavened with passion that shall not pass me by

I lay my life down in your arms, O Beauty and Peace,
So be gracious to grant me rest and on life new lease

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Curse of the Flesh

I could never imagine some greater hell on earth
To test all of my worth than having rest and sleep
Kept out of reach, but this too shall teach and pass

Alas, my body is racked with pain making insane
What was wholly taken for granted for all of my life,
And it cuts like a knife, deep and hard for this bard

And do I cry for mercy now? Yes, as I humbly bow
To the only Power that can face my body’s rebellion
And overcome some sweet day I do hope and pray

So much time seems to have passed and yet not long,
For it is only months that I have been sore plagued,
Gnashing my teeth, anxiety crashing in on me, I see

But it feels like an eternity, this my curse of the flesh

Calm Me, O My Beloved

Calm my heart, relax my mind, and rest my soul
From the battle’s high toll this moment in time
With chimes of heavenly peace that never cease
Even in the crease of pain and let me gain entry
Into your train of serenity, my dearest Beloved

Let me feel you near to me and disperse all fear;
Dry my tears and let me hear your song over me,
Sung in harmony with choirs of angels on high
To soften my cry of anguish here on earth below
Where low lays my spirit now . . . Oh, be not slow!

Holding On One More Day

Holding on for one more day along this way called life,
Waiting for you to come to me once again, my Beloved;
Thinking back knowing you show no lack of concern,
Though I burn inside with all my pride turned to ashes

And when will you come to me again, I urgently wonder
As I desperately blunder forward moment by moment
And humbly lament my predicament? Oh! Come quickly!
Come quickly to my rescue and give me life brand new!

6: The Short Story of My Blog

Singing Noble Themes? 

JDNMaybe; maybe not. It startled me somewhat to learn that I’ve actually been blogging on WordPress for six years! Whoa! That’s quite awhile, to be sure, and my life has definitely changed over the past half-decade.

As I told someone last year ~ at the time a fellow blogger ~ don’t look at the numbers or you’re bound to get discouraged. Well, that’s not always true, because I know of some fellow-bloggers who’ve actually scored a big hit in the Wide World of Blog just within two or three months of blogging. . . But, then, I dare say there are other challenges, concerns and reasons for discouragement when your still-rather-young blog is a big hit, too.

Mine was not, and I won’t dare to say it is even now; it took me well over three years to hit 200+ followers but, then, I wasn’t really trying to ramp up my blog to hundreds upon hundreds of followers, either. For me, blogging was (and still largely is) cathartic, so I was writing openly and publicly to heal. Yes, that’s right; even though I wasn’t, for the most part, addressing personal issues . . . for the first three years or so.

There was a period of time — how long, I don’t remember — when I stopped blogging, and that was a bad mistake. Little did I realize, until I started blogging again, just how important blogging was/is for my mental, emotional, and spiritual health, which all, in turn, affect my physical health. Who would’ve thought???

“Sloughheart” Leads to Brighter Days

JoySerious3Inspiration ended my desertion; it was the beginning of the “Sloughheart Series,” which did, in a creatively indirect way, address deeply personal issues. “Sloughheart” never became popular, mind you, but my entire perspective on blogging changed. No longer was it simply cathartic; it was challenging, as well. This is when I noticed my numbers (yes, I looked) going up just a tad. This is when I also nudged over 200 followers.

But, you see, this is when blogging became fun! I was having a real blast in blogging, yet at the same time it also became more serious. Does that sound contradictory? Believe me when I say, you can engage yourself in something rather serious and still have loads of fun. I really didn’t know this until I set about the “Sloughtheart Series.” In some ways, the Reverend Joy Brighterday saved me. Honestly. 

Well, that’s not all that surprising. I purposely built her up to be the Christ-figure, even giving her the middle name of Immanuella, meaning “God with us.” She spoke to me, strange as it may sound. What was caught deep, down in the recesses of my soul came up, out and through Joy Brighterday, so that I began to hear my innermost self speaking in this central character. Eventually, I realized that to greater or lesser degrees, I was speaking to myself in and through all of the various characters. 

Eventually all endeavours come to an end, and so for the “Sloughheart Series.” After this, I began searching through old poetry and felt inspired to revamp some of those old pieces, thus giving them new (and better) life. This more than at any previous time was when my blog started picking up new followers and scoring more “likes” and interactive commenting.    

“Success” vs. Success

When poetic inspiration really grabbed hold of me and I began writing entirely new pieces, the numbers began climbing exponentially. (And this included an engaging mytho-poetic series that was both challenging and fun.) Well, not to belabor the point, but why am I saying all this? I would like to think that, perhaps, I’m helping someone . . . another fellow-blogger, maybe; encouraging while passing down some learned-wisdom.

Yes, of course, everyone cares to some extent about how well they’re doing — or, I dare say, at least most people — so, too, for me. However, I truly believe it is when blogging is, first of all, a passion as well as fun and, at the very least, healthy (if not healing, as well) that one can look for “success.” Even then, however, you should not look at your own success over and against that of other bloggers or you most surely will become discouraged. Why? Because you can always find someone, or some other blog, that looks and sounds and feels more “successful” than your own.

Conclusion . . . Not “the End”

I wish I could say that it’s been a happy six years, but I cannot. This is not due to blogging here at noblethemes, though; it’s simply been some extraordinarily rough years, actually beginning around 2010, just before I started blogging. Now, finally, I believe I’m coming around the corner, so to speak, and feeling (and doing) much, much better . . . for which I am eternally grateful. And so I can say, with as much confidence as any mortal can, that this may be the conclusion of this blog-article, but . . . it is not the end. 


Note: The original version of this article was first published in January 2016.

There is a Font

There is a font I know to which I go
With all my sorrow, worry and woe,
And I do so without fanfare or show,
And I do not think but to take drink,
And then to rest myself on its brink
As I lazily blink neath the bright sun,
Then softly slumber unencumbered
By cares and how all the world fares
If only for the spell of a timeless time
Till bell chime bids me return home,
Yet the font will ever be there for me
. . .
There is a font I know to which I go
With all my sorrow, worry and woe

Serendipity: Healing

So silently slip into peace and rest,
For the best of Life is yet to come
Some sure and certain, unending day,
Some say; home…

Can you see across the lush, rolling green hills
On far horizon, shimmering lake of serendipity,
Where plays barely audible symphony of reality?
Beautiful sound and imagery…

Pound of your heart keeps rhythm and rhyme
With angelic serenity where rests your
Soul identity, and with no brevity of life;
Font of plenty…

Healing


Note: First published in January 2016

Path to Serenity

There is a path to serenity and plenty of room to travel
Though the road is gravel and pain is a part of the gain

This inviting pilgrimage is rough
Your choices are certainly tough
And shrill sounds surround you
With dæmons around you, too
But in the end you’ll be all new

With right dignity there is an epiphany in the cacophony
Just hold your head high and fear deny even as you sigh

This golden cup comes with perspiration along the way
And temptation to exasperation but the goal is worthy

This inviting pilgrimage is rough
Your choices are certainly tough
And shrill sounds surround you
With dæmons around you, too
But in the end you’ll be all new

A brand new you . . . in serenity
A brand new you . . . in serenity

There is a path to serenity and plenty of room to travel
Though the road is gravel and pain is a part of the gain

Time to Heal

Now, you are more than tired and weary inside;
You can’t take life in stride or abide another day,
But you can’t stay where you are . . . not this way,
But you can’t seem to change your position either
And so your condition remains all the same
While life keeps burning you with its flame;
You feel broken and no token sympathy can help;
Lying down at night sometimes you feel like dying;
You need time to heal in peace, and quiet serenity;
Yes, without any pressure, you need time to heal
Time to heal . . .

When They Just Do Not Understand

Don’t blame or try to shame when they just don’t understand;
Yes, there are hands that will help and hands that will hurt,
And you’ve gotta be careful to guard your heart
Or they’ll tear it in parts and think they’re smart;
They don’t know what it is to be sick inside ‘cause it doesn’t
Really show all that much on the outside, so they push it aside
As if it’s really nothing, but they don’t know;
They don’t know about crying uncontrollably
While trying to get ready for the day some way;
They don’t know what it’s like when the mind just shuts down,
No, they frown and tell you to pick yourself up by the bootstraps
Even when you don’t have any bootstraps and you’re trapped;
They’ll tell you to ‘get on the ball’ even when the ball is lead
And it’s fallen on your head and put you to bed entirely unfed;
Yeah, they know a lot and maybe you thought they’d understand
But they’ve never sought understanding because they’ve had
An easy commanding of life without much demanding of them;
So they cannot understand the ghosts that haunt your psyche,
And taunt you by night like a blight that simply won’t go away;
No, they do not know so they show no compassion
As they look at your ashen face from such low base;
But you can’t blame them; this is no game, so you just move on;
Move on beyond the dull-witted and ignorant and callous . . .
Move on to the Lover who will cover you with love and dignity!