He was setting there, pondering the sky as usual. But something was wrong. I wiped my soiled hands across my jeans, as I pulled up a chair. He seemed older today, more tired maybe. Yet the kind of tired that seemed to pour from within. So I sat, letting the wind blow the rain under our refuge, across my face, through my hair, as I waited. His tears seemed to flow in unison with nature’s torrent. But I knew I could not comfort him, because he was a man who didn’t cry. Time lingered on, for the words I knew would eventually come. They belonged to us in a way. Forging our one and only lasting bond. Of course there was a great deal we did share in common. But this was one thing that I could do for him, that really meant something. “Take me up on the hill.” I stood silently, still pretending not to see, as he wiped the tears away from his eyes. I went for the keys as he filled his tiny picnic bag, the way he always did. It was red, his favorite color. He hobbled out to the car, through the pouring rain.

Halfway there the heavens opened up, and I was forced to pull over. It’s a blessing he whispered. She was speaking to him, in words I could not fully understand. Rain would always be special to our family, but they were the two who knew so perfectly why. Something inside me longed to hear, to tune my soul a little closer. But it was not for me. No, today I was the silent observer of a scene unfolding; a scene that for some reason I was unable to penetrate, yet it would always be seared against my heart. Maybe because of that I understood a little bit better, in my own way.

I wondered to myself, if they ever really needed words. For it was and probably always will be a wonder to me that such a love could exist at all. But I had seen it, and witnessed it again that day, as he knelt in the mud, the rain soaking us. I stood off to the side, studying the hills, those hills that surrounded and enfolded this place, as unmovable sentinels, protectors. He ran a trembling hand across her name, as gently as if he’d touched her face. Her beautiful face, with that smile that calmed even the harshest storms, and those eyes that seemed to reach into the most troubled corners of a your soul, knowing, understanding, and that smile always made your world right again.

She wasn’t a goddess. She was real, very, very real…

“No go straight,” he pointed. “This road.” And we drove on. It had changed a lot, although the years had traveled slowly. With a faint smile I recalled the barefoot me, who use to walk this way, so many summers ago. I let myself become lost in thought, as I knew he too was. On separate roads we traveled back in time, through fond memory.

We crossed the bend, where the tiger lilies once grew. But the road now cut away into reminisces, and only one still remained. It was here that I was a child. And here I use to come to gather the colors of summer, for her. How tall that last tiger lily seemed to me, as it stood there alone, a silent protest, against the sometimes cruel and unrelenting hand of change.

As the day began to fade across those distant hills, the color drained as shadows crept. I slowed our pace once more. He began to talk. “There’s where we use to pick the berries.” I remembered that cove. It was so peaceful and refreshing on a hot mid august day, always so still, and quiet. I use to love the way the twilight would play tricks through the growing darkness, as the fireflies would appear as if by magic to light it all again.

But now houses stood in place of trees, pavement cut the once soft ground. For change had taken yet again. Giving to some, but we weren’t among them. For all we had now, were pockets full of memories. We were the outsiders now, looking in to what had been, to what would remain, only inside our hearts, where the hand of change could never reach.

He didn’t want to go home, as I took that last turn. For home was where we had been, not where we were going. I noticed the tears well again, but didn’t see. He held his little red picnic bag abit tighter, turning his face to the window. I lifted my foot off the gas, coasting was about as slow as I could go. I watched from the corner of my eye, as he tried to form words that would not come. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “the creek is abit higher after the rain. Abit stronger maybe…” I pulled into the drive, and whispered back. “Happy Anniversary Pa…”

For a moment I closed my eyes envisioning that last tiger lily and I knew no matter what the tiger lilies would still grow…

So I tell you this, I am not afraid. Because no matter how we endeavor to smudge the truth from our sight it will remain to rise up and haunt future generations. You cannot deny what is. Your guns are powerful, your hate is worse, and your inability to accept truth condemns you.

For all our power we have learned nothing. We still are unable to see past race, class, gender, or religion, to the heart that lies within, the heart that beats the same as yours the same as mine. How simple is that?

For all our denominations and faith, or lack thereof, and all our so called liberation we yet remain the faithful slaves of a cruel and unmerciful world. While everyone is preoccupied contending so loud for themselves and this country’s due them the pitiful cries of true suffering is obscured and the plea for mercy remains unanswered.

Comprehend this, every race, every religion, and gender has been devoid of rights at one time or another throughout the course of history. The very same history we so strive to ignore and change. And reversing this plight to better our own circumstances only causes us to make the same mistakes we were meant to better ourselves from.

So let us pass the chain to our children to the future. How easy it is, to become the cowards of our own creation. And how difficult for us to stand up and say ENOUGH. So explain to me, after we have all finished doing ourselves in from blind rage, ignorance and fear, what then? What then?

In memory of the innocent, for you I weep.

Bearers of Light

Psalm 29:11 (NIV)

11: The LORD gives strength to his people; the LORD blesses his people with peace.

The magi were led by faith, in search of peace. Over two thousand years later, we are still seeking the same gift. It comes in many forms, and is the subject of many debates, but above all it is one of our greatest hopes.

It may feel an endless search, but what we seek at times in desperation is already close at hand. Unlike the magi, we do not need to travel great lengths to find this gift. Because inside each, and every one of us, it is already there. Slumbering waiting for the day we realize and awaken that promise.

It comes in many forms, forgiveness, understanding, acceptance; these are the bearers of peace. As through faith, we draw strength to achieve these goals, which will awaken our hearts to renewal. Granting a greater understanding of peace, of the life we truly seek. Bathed in the glorious light of that lone star, that shines on, even to this day, to help us, to guide us, so we may once more find our way, back to the stable. Once there, let us lay down all that keeps us from embracing the peace that is ours. That He may mend and purify, heal and make whole. So we are better able to share the light, the precious gift, with those around us. May they see in us a difference, a hope, so they too, one day, might find their way back to Bethlehem, where it all began.

In our own way, let us be bringers of peace, to a world so in need of light, that the darkest corners may be illuminated. We cannot begin to help others, until we first are able to see, let our hands light the candles, which are inexhaustible.

May we learn to forgive ourselves, as God had already forgiven. To forgive others, as He would have us do. Let us come to understand, that though life may not always make sense, we may not always know the answers to the questions we ask, but still we can believe, that it is all a part of a far greater plan.

We have been called, as the wise men. To travel each day, through this world, to work, school, or fulfilling our daily tasks. But we are able to make a difference when we let peace reign within our hearts.

Lord grant us faith that we may find peace. Guide our paths so we are able to walk according to your wishes, and hopes for our lives. That through each season, each year, we will be bearers of your light. As we rejoice over the blessed promise that spans all time, all lives, and all circumstances. Enable us to embrace this gift, which you gave so very long ago.

]]> http://myredtree.com/2008/12/19/bearers-of-light/feed/ 0 http://myredtree.com/2008/09/17/a-thought/ http://myredtree.com/2008/09/17/a-thought/#comments Wed, 17 Sep 2008 18:54:09 +0000 louchiere http://myredtree.com/?p=216 I do not have a great understanding of what we cannot see. I accept with faith as I diligently cling to hope. If we create through passions, dreams, and vision, letting it become a part of us, or rather what makes us who we are, like love, how could this die? For I believe, I may be wrong, or I may be right, but I believe as we carry on the love of our ancestors, as we inherit their characteristics, why then can’t we inherit their dreams, their memories?

For I may not comprehend the science of it all, but I do know there are many things in this world, that science cannot explain. For I have been places, and seen, as well as felt, I have known, what I have never learned. I believe the soul is an intricate piece of work, fashioned by our Creator. So if we give our lives for a purpose, if we hold to the hope, the faith, if we pass on a dream, how could something that brilliant die?

So this is for you, my ancestors, for you are my people, as I am yours. Be proud for yourself, if not yet for me.

I want to look up and see the clouds. Instead of reading about terrorists. I want to feel the sun, and touch the grass, and not think about the graves or the people dying. For today I am free. Free of my responsibility to this world, to humanity. Free of the burden the lack of hope.

Tonight, when I lay my head on my pillow. I want to dream, of birds singing, and the simple joy of setting beneath a tree with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The peace of heaven touching down, as a crescent moon bathes the sky. I don’t want to hear the screams, or see the hurt. For just one day, I want to believe. Believe that there is so much more. Found in the simple things, that we pass by each day.

For tomorrow I will hear it again, see it, and feel it. It will be a part of my life, of all our lives, as always. But maybe, if we just take some of that simple peace along with us, if we let it walk hand in hand. Just maybe someday, it will become stronger, and far outweigh the rest.

Tapping my foot as I waited for the clerk to pound the postage on my packages, I looked down, and there she was again. Nerve-racking little thing I thought to myself. But then I noticed what she was doing. There was a bowl of candy on the counter, and she was reaching to take some. I was surprised to see she helped herself to only one, and as she walked away, there beside the bowl remained two small, somewhat crushed, wild flowers. I’m not usually sentimental, but that was sweet.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, there she was splashing in the puddles, twirling her little red umbrella. A child’s philosophy on life is truly something to marvel at. Here she was enjoying the rain, that I was loathing, and in her way, she taught me something, that I took home with me. You can take, from this crazy mixed up business we call life, by all means, but you must also give. If only we all could be that innocent, or at least not be afraid to get our feet a little wet.

Let your mind see beyond what your eyes will naturally pick up. A tree can be a song, if captured in the right moment, your friend or relative can be a Mona Lisa in the right mood. You just have to realize what you’re looking for and how to see it first. Letting your camera then become the extension to your mind or imagination.

Once you know what you’re looking for, it never hurts to help it along by being a little creative. Set the mood with music, lights, or if you are outside, then timing. Let your imagination go, experiment, it is only through trial and error, that you eventually hone your skill. So don’t get discouraged! If it takes fifty shots, to get that one that speaks what your mind was trying to say, what your eyes envisioned, then it takes fifty shots.

Use what you know. What are your likes and dislikes? What are your favorite places, favorite things? Use this to your advantage. Only you may know the perfect timing or particular mood, that will draw out the art in your subject. That is also a prime key in making your work unique, and exceptional.

Lastly, broaden your horizons. Fresh insight and perspective are essential to any art. Taking the same photo over and over again, will still, only leave you with one photo. So explore, be adventurous, keeping the eyes to your mind wide open, enabling your creativeness to flow, by feeding it fresh material to churn over.

Your camera is your tool, to bringing “art” out in any image. It may be just down the road, or right in front of your eyes. All you need is the feel to see it.

I believe in an America, that weeps. Cry for your children, that never come home, for the ones you live on the streets, to out of it, or too broken, to understand anymore. For the sick, the poor, the rich. Forgive this crazy mess we call democracy. That somewhere along the line, we missed the point, we lost the pride, for what is pride that’s left to bleed?

History taught us, yet we became so smart, that we could not learn. We could not see farther than our own agendas. We grew fat and spoiled on what our ancestors build for us, forgetting the sacrifice. Missing the reason. Now we are the blind leading the blind, and wondering why, they cannot see, yet why can’t we?

Forgive us mother, forgive your spoiled ones…What have we done to you, your memory? You gave us freedom, yet still we take. You gave us pride, yet we have destroyed the foundation. You gave us power, that we might become mighty, yet we turn our might against you, against our own brothers and sisters, and for what? We never ask ourselves until it’s too late, and our Rome burns. How quick we were to set the fire, how slow to put it out. Because we are blind mother America, we are blind…Forgive us…

We protest against a government that at times does not hear it’s people, yet this liberty was achieved by war. No matter how wise the human race may become, no matter how advanced, history will undeniably repeat itself. For as individuals, we each have a voice that will either be silenced or heard. Through these voices, conflicts will occure. To change this is as futile as telling the sun to stop rising.

Through these events, it falls upon many to follow the strongest voice, by choice or otherwise. This is how civilization as we know it functions. What good can then be accomplished by proclaiming the inevitable futile? Does this cause the loss to be any less painful to the mourners? Doubtful…

Compromise is to agree to disagree, yet a hand is offered for the taking. We may not agree with war, we may not agree with death. But common decency, asks us to mourn with our fellow losses, and to be proud for them if we cannot be, for ourselves.