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Poet Commentaries

Adopting Forgiveness

Three nights in a row I awoke because of dreams.  They happen regularly.  They emanate from my experiences with adoption and my worry for my kids.  I know I must write and all of a sudden writing becomes a chore.  

If I pen poems from what has been learned and gained from my experiences it is easy.  They are of that spot of sunlight on a meadow or that one dark puddle in my path.  The timeline is distorted, the path just before or after does not need to be laid out and what I am wearing, what is in my pockets and the look on my face is hidden.  

In fact to me presenting this story in a form other than poetry is repulsive.  In the short verses I have written I have only to present the story in the first person.  There is grace for this.  I only have to speak about scars not open wounds and surgery.  Dark as my poetry seems to me at times it comes from the position of an overcomer. Ironically it is this position that I find myself in that makes a more detailed write repulsive.

Why?  Well an overcomer smiles when there is no reason to.  A rule with my children is that their stories cannot be told until two years after they happen. It is surreal how even though I know better I want to knock that smirk of their face as they tell me “they damaged my car” or “smoked that cigarette”.  One should only tell these stories with their tale between their legs amd their head hung?

It is also difficult because it is impossible to become an overcomer without understanding forgiveness.  Note.  No one who says it is not their problem, hide their problems or sees only the faults of the other person is an overcomer.  No one who whines about the past and makes it an obstacle for today’s joy or an expected joy tomorrow is an overcomer.  

Note. Forgiving yourself should be extremely tough and knowing it is just as critical to be forgiven by others, there are always others, is even tougher. People do not deal well with this.

I will start poetically about the concept of forgiving one’s self.  Ah, how to do this without actually presenting myself naked; without specifics that embarrass everyone and help no one.  Well for now I have liberty and only need to draw comparisons.  Should I be talking to you one on one the rule of transparency changes and the burden is harder.   

Can you imagine the difficulty I would have forgiving myself if I struck and killed a child with my car because I was texting?  I would need to be forgiven not just for my sake but for the sake of the parents of that child, for my family that surrounds me and for society as a whole. This seems impossible and it should.

Would it be difficult to forgive yourself if you were a surgeon who had someone die whilst you were performing what seemed like a routine operation?  Could you forgive yourself if you were a judge who had no choice but to pass an unfair judgement?  Could you forgive yourself if you were this surgeon or judge who had to perform the same procedure daily because it had to be done and there was no one else?

When you adopt you are that driver, that doctor and that judge.  The difficulty is that you are all of those because of your level of empathy and it is this very awareness that makes you lovable that also makes you vulnerable.  To some extent you will be the type of person who turns the car on yourself, self harms and is their own very worst judge.

In this short write and likely in the included poems I will not have embellished joy and encouragement; in fairness I did not describe in detail the train wreck either… who can do that in one write.  I will be turning on commenting on this site and you are welcome to give feedback  You can also write me at fragranceofsage@gmail.com

Note.  The poetry does touch on what I have written.  I do not claim to be the best poet but I do know the concepts I write of are important for people to work at understanding.

 

[ Loving Act 1 ]

Loving Act 1

A wicker basket,
empty now except
that pretty pink towel
crumpled on the bottom.
I bring it to the basement
and place with the others.

(they do not stack
like tupperware)

Loving Act 1 Scene  2

The home filled,
burgeoning with laundry;
we are mangerless.
Outside the constant sobbing
muffled through
pink and blue cotton
I kick another wicker basket
to the road.

Loving Act 2

Wicker stocks sore
basket weavers calloused
I reconsider a manger

Loving 4

Wax puddles at my feet
arms hang limp at my side.
The undertaker weaves my basket
and leaves me at Jesus’s door.

On Safari

I stand in the middle
of two bucks fighting
knowing it makes no difference
which cup they go in

The motion sensor triggers
in the presence of beggars.
It emits a frequency
outside of human hertz.
The squelch of lips,
the scrunch of brows,

and rolled eyes.

Rodents kept from garbage,
Rabbits averted from the Burning Bush.
Loiterers moved on,
their awkward funny walk
keeping beat to Classical music
that trips up saunter.

I know one cannot burrow
for the rabbit
and that that last carrot
is gonna be mine.
I too have no time
to incessantly
turn around Lemmings
or to wait while
mosquitoes finish feeding
but I can drive the safari
with my window rolled down.

I can break a tip off a carrot
and coax one feral cat to purr.
I can learn the rules
“Make yourself big for bear”
“Act demure for wolf”
“it’s and its”

 

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