BIRTHDAY POEM

If we held each other's hearts
Raw,
still pumping
Full of family secrets;
Tribal incantations;  the failure
of our genes;

If we held
each
Other's hearts
in quiet
in scarlet
in wonder
weighing out the Past, removing
Strings--karmic crime and poor judgment:
All Fear;

If we just
Held
Each other's hearts aloft;
trembling
as we faced the stars; the beams of
Angels and their ruddy paths;
the face of God
equally red; listening
listening
listening: then
Finally:

yes.

WHAT MAKES A MAN EAT ANOTHER MAN'S HEART?

Writer James Dawes, on CNN OPINION, gave his answers after viewing the virile YouTube posting of the Syrian horror. The points are well taken. Mostly, make someone powerless and have no self-image; give them radical religion which promises rewards in Heaven; put them into a lifetime of death via war and earthly catastrophes. Shake it up, good.

I would add ingredients to the mix: poverty. Poverty where death through starvation, degradation, mutilation and disease are constants. Poverty that is unrelenting; grinding from birth--if there is any life after birth.

I would also add: unceasing depression. Soul-sucking depression where one doesn't even have the chance to experience connection to another life-form. Depression that flings one into a pit of abysmal pain. Hell on Earth with no respite. None.

Hopelessness. Hopelessness from first consciousness. Hopelessness that has been genetically implanted: from the ancestors who also were without hope--to the parental units--if they are even known. All poor. All born into the Abyss. Ever deprived. Ever at war. Ever hungry.

Lack of education. Lack of human rights. Lack of shelter and clothing and protection from all the evils this world contains. Lack of contact. Lack of Light. Lack of Spiritual identity--Spiritual identity that has been replaced by Political tyranny or genocide.

A quenching of what makes a human being "be" beyond basic instincts; beyond simple urges and appetites; beyond lusts and hungers; beyond blood-thirst and hate and ultimate revenge. Beyond morality; beyond judgment; beyond mental health.

We know serial killers. We try to understand cannibalism via tribal studies and cultures where strength is gained from absorbing the flesh (or earthly remains)of enemies and elders. We are beginning to crack the puzzle of mental illnesses. However, the depravity of desecration of another human's body and the filming for posterity of this shocking act--this goes to another level.

It is not the Syrian people we hold responsible. It is not their make-up nor their training nor even their beliefs. It is something Evil created in unending war that has always walked among us. Stalking humans --the most vulnerable and wounded humans--since the beginning.

When we see this posting smeared across the Web, we must realize: however terrifying: we are witnessing a part of ourselves.    

INTERSTELLAR: for those who have forgotten or merely given up

Every atom in me:  poised,

Ready;

Polished in a crucible;

Fired;

Interior blasts from a long-gone-star:  who we ARE.

Luminous Generation;

Outflowing

Radioactive Soul.

Constantly cruising the Cosmos;

Seekers

seeking a single destination

To Light.


karen marie christa minns  2013

FOR ALL YOU MOTHERS OUT THERE

For all the childless ones: who have lost children or never had their own or adopted children or co-parented or simply stepped in when others fled: I salute you.

For all of you Teachers; clergy; Scout leaders; Coaches; grandmothers; Aunties; best friends; lovers; partners; godmothers; next-door-neighbors; doctors; nurses; social workers; first responders; care-takers; guardians; saints and angels: I salute you.

For all of you who have ever touched me; counseled me; held me; loved me; whipped me into shape; listened to me; spoke with me; spoke to me; spoke when I couldn't speak; rescued me; cuddled me; held me shaking and cold; gave me food or water or a warm place to rest; drove me somewhere; explained my visions; listened to my dreams; dreamt with me; pointed to the places I needed to travel; gave me funds; offered me loans; taught me; prayed for me; guided me; helped me guide others; worried about me; thought about me; spoke up for me; fought for my right to be; traveled along with me, by my side; had my back; put an arm around my shoulder; nudged me; prodded me on; allowed me respite; valued me; acknowledged me; made a difference in my life: I thank and honor you.

For all the Forgotten Ones: whose names I have not mentioned; whose lives filled mine, if only for a short time; whose kindnesses have faded in the corridor of my life; whose favors were kept hidden or accomplished in secret; whose silences went unnoticed; who felt unseen or unheard or unloved: I ask forgiveness. I wish for another chance to tell you: gracias. You HAVE made a difference: you have helped to nurture and sustain this life. I am grateful.

For all the Hard Ones: who have challenged me; who have been challenged by me; who frustrate and anger and infuriate; who have made me sob or merely shed tears; who have abandoned me in times of absolute weakness; who have walked over me or past me or spat on my head; who have punched or kicked or cut or burned me; who have used me for their own purposes and then moved on; who have taught me to snarl, to growl to almost give up; who have stripped me of everything I own and then went after my Spirit; who have tried to bury me; who have tried to forget me; who have tried to erase me from this life: I forgive you; I ask forgiveness from you for whatever I contributed to making you so full of hate; I thank you for the lessons I would not have learned otherwise.

For all those who have gone on, ahead: I send greetings; I send prayers; I send lamentations and cries of loneliness; I send laughter in the form of memories; I send Light in the dark nights and beg your wisdom and blessings; I hope we will meet someplace else, again.

For all the Invisible Ones: the angels and saints and guides and Higher Beings; for the bodhisatvas and buddhas and multi-dimensionals; for the ghosts and aliens and animal spirits; for all LIFE that surrounds me, unseen but felt; invisible but valued: I give praise and thanks.

To the Highest Mother: keep my Soul close. Help me overcome the limits of the flesh. Guide me in making this life significant and unwasted. Bless me and my endeavors so that I can make a difference to those around me. Lead me back to your bosom. Thank you for all.

Happy Mothers' Day.       

BURYING THE DEAD

The news is filled with options: send him back; cremate the remains and scatter the ashes in an unknown location; force his people to take care of their mistake; make the mosques pay: tax the funeral home for extra security re-routed from public duty; throw him into a paupers' unmarked grave--no coffin, no rites or rituals, just a body bag in the dirt...it goes on.

Human beings show as many reactions to catastrophe as there are individual cells in a body. Cowards lash out, backing their frustrations with bombs. Children have access to guns, bringing them to school or playgrounds. Cars explode. Doorlocks jam. Bishops drive drunk. Children are forced into slavery; are tortured; are eaten. Women are mutilated through surgery or for a man's "honor" or to curb physical pleasure in their lives. Buildings crack and fall on trapped workers, or collapse and implode; bursting into towers of flame. The sea rocks onshore. Wild winds whip the landscape. The ground erupts, hurling molten rock or opens,swallowing everything. Even stars fall from the skies. Such is the history of this planet. Such is the history of its people.

This is the point,then: WE ARE ITS PEOPLE.

From the edges of every horrific event--from individual terror to entire genocides--there have emerged the heroes. The survivors. The beautific few crawling from the cauldron of evil to tell the story of "How To Make It Out Alive".  How to learn to heal. How to learn to forgive. How to learn to change ourselves so WE become better people. (Better at controlling our anger. Better at tolerating differences. Better at loving our families. Better at watching each others' backs. Better at recognizing and reaching out to those suffering quietly, in the dark and silent places we don't want to admit exist around us.) Better at honestly seeking something Beyond Ourselves--whatever/whomever that may be--because, frankly, we need the help. All of us.

Burying the dead--be they family,friend or enemy--is, simply, a righteous act.
It is who we are.
It is who we should always be.

IN MAY

Stone faces facing off
Lot to lot
in the hood; newly veiled now.
All peridot
and jade; brocade
of bursting buds, of stems,
pistil-whipped behind the fences
It's May again.

Ghost-stuffed birthday-time full of
Cherried promises: of apple pear blossomings;
Convocations,declarations,motivations,annunciations, matriculations, altercations.
Weary vets,
Their salutations
Ringing home, remembering  remembering  remembering
The Dead.

In May
The trees lean back; their supple legs throbbing;
Green barked and full
of buds and sap;
Laced
with jade; or leaf-veined emerald;
Shading, equally
Picnic and tomb;
roofs of wood
of petal
of moss;
They come  back
In May.

karen marie christa minns 2013