Skyleidoscope

Falling through time
I tumble and float
With rhythm and rhyme
In a pink overcoat

The wind is a bluster
I drift through clouds
Of coconut custard
While thinking out loud

Alice met Hatter
After she fell
But what did it matter
By the end of the tale

What is the purpose
Of my little trip
No fuss, no muss
Light sail, loose grip

Ice crystals bright
Sparkle and glow
Prism-bent light
Creates a rainbow

Sliding down red
I slip into green
Making my bed
On rivers unseen

With lollipop dreams
And the moon on a stick
All this it seems
Is a fanciful trick

Now morning is met
I greet this fair day
And I shan't forget
Skyleidoscope Way


may 24, 2oo8
judithpiper

***

Sometimes I like to right fanciful poems. May 24, 2008, was one of those days. Around our home, we tend to make up words regularly too. ;-)

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Open Hands

***
At times I don't feel good enough
to approach certain folks of rank
who in my eyes seem holier
where my voice begins to shrink.

In their presence I am small
yet they have been kind to me
but seldom do they let me see
that side of them that's dirty.

I cannot hide my filthy side
it's part of who I am
through it I find redemption
the need to hold a hand.

Perhaps we would be holier
if we allowed with candid face
our dirtied souls' exposures
and open hands that offer grace.

judithpiper
april 30, 2007

***

Hmmm.....

I don't really feel like explaining this now. Perhaps it needs no context.

***

Reasons

*****

silence
of nonexistence
deafens

I despise it with a passion

hush
of hypocrisy
murders

I pray I never bow again

If left unchecked they breed a rage
unjustified
to the blind audience

rage
unchecked leads to
violence

And the dazed, nescient crowd wonders
"How?"
"Why?"

silence
there's more than meets
the ear


judithpiper
july 3, 2007

****

The book "The Subtle Power of Spiritual Abuse" has a photo on the front cover - a man and a woman both with their index fingers over their lips... "shhhhh." The photo doesn't show their eyes.

That's how (or one way) any abuse can continue...the hush rule. "Don't tell." It's a "private" matter. Secrets.

Yet underneath all that silencing is an abuser in control.

It happens in social groups on a continuum...at the office, in families, in social clubs, in churches, in internet chat rooms and online forums. In The Way it was known as the "lock box."

When someone escapes that power, the mindset can (will?) continue until the abused directly addresses the mindset and restructures thinking patterns. It's not an easy task; it's hard damn work.

The person may (most likely will) go through a phase of bitterness and rage. If that phase isn't addressed properly; the rage can erupt like a volcano into violent reactions, words, and deeds. It may quiet, but still boils underneath. Unless it is dealt with properly, the violence may escalate when the right catalyst comes along.

*********

Mile Post 168

***
The Saddle
Evening view

To the east dips the valley
To the west rises Buffalo
Astride the mountain's back
High upon The Saddle

Blustery gusts
Wind swept
Open face
Arms upstretched
Hands wide
Breezes swaddle
Magical still

Bid farewell to day star
Greet hello to orb's reflection
To the west dips Sun
To the east rises Moon

Another day
The Saddle

judithpiper
july 5, 2009

***

A place I frequent along the Blue Ridge Parkway, mile post 168. Buffalo is the name of a mountain.

Glimpse from the Saddle Overlook
Buffalo Mountain

Free Me from this Bitterness

****
Sin of lies revealed
Conscience eye left with choices
Denial - hidden reality
Justification - double standard
Exposure - surface truth
What to believe, what to discard
In this world run by lies

What rests beneath these fabrications?
Labyrinths of circumstance
Crossroads of life's decisions
Heartaches of trying to survive
In this world run by lies

The great judge inquires
Eyes filled with deep compassion
His voice resonant with virtue
"What is the plea?"
In this world run by lies

Heart engaged, I search my soul
Honestly I do not know
Some counts guilty
Some counts innocent
In this world run by lies

Poised with sobered kindness
Timbre rich with mercy
Gently smiling he replies
"I understand, I've walked the path"
In this world run by lies

His tender grace floods the soul
Cleansing streams cascade my cheeks
He carefully atones each stain-filled tear
Absorbing the bitterness in my heart
Boundless bowels of forgiveness
The only exit
In this world run by lies

july 19, 2007
judithpiper

****

Within a few months after leaving The Way, I got involved with an ex-Way online forum, Greasespot Cafe (GSC). It was a scary step, to post on that forum. I had never in my life posted anything on the web. (That sure has changed now. Ha! )

GSC was helpful for me. I was able to read about others' experiences, connect with long time friends from decades previous, read about the side of The Way that The Way kept (keeps) hidden from its followers, decompress and share some of my own emotional upheavals, and more. It was the first place I began to have a voice.

As time went on I began to feel that perhaps some of the same black/white thinking, us/them mentality was prevalent at GSC as was in The Way. I would push those kinds of thoughts aside, after all this was an ex-Way forum.

Close to a year with my involvement on the forum, I had a major disagreement with the administrator. I also began to learn of another side of GSC. A web of toxic relationships, censorship, and even scapegoating began to emerge. At 1-1/2 years of involvement with the forum, I found myself caught in the web. The experience was painful (an understatement) and I realized that the GSC forum was no longer an emotionally safe place for me in which to participate. Was I wrong? Was I right? What were my thoughts? Was I deceived again? Was I a perpetrator? Was I lying? What was true, what wasn't true? I had thought this was supposed to be a place of support for me after exiting The Way.

There were many layers and more than one answer to all my doubts, questions, internal turmoil.

One GSC member in particular caught within a GSC web, I felt was a victim and a perpetrator. I felt anger and at the same time compassion. I felt for the individual trying to put myself in their shoes.

Thus this poem was born.

Maybe someday the relationships I had there can/will be healed. I just don't know how to approach them yet; I still feel unsafe, except perhaps at a distance.

For me the only out is acknowledgment and forgiveness.

Otherwise a bitterness can devour the soul, again murdering the heart.

***