Musing

CROSSED THE RUBICON

~ peppyulyett ~ Leave a comment

No more shall we be woe-begone,

not since we crossed the rubicon!

Habeus corpus – no unicorn?

That horny time is purged.

The test is always by the fruit,

and moral tales we shall impute.

Our time of ripening (from deep roots)

will sap the bitter urge.

Laughter transports poignancy

and gives the message buoyancy.

A vision, in ascendency,

helps scale the learning curve.

It’s not a stage we’re going through –

we’ve got a solid platform to

reach up, reach out, and show them truths

where light and love converge.

I had thought that being under the umbrella of a spiritual institution was important, but found toxicity there which in turn hindered our creative expression. Not how it should be of course, but there it is. During this time someone ruefully joked that a unicorn must have been slain to account for the gossip there. In fact this mythic murderess was cleared; the ‘body of evidence’ proved unsubstantiated. Not so for someone else in the end though.

Standing for truth and justice sapped our energy, but once done we found a new lease of life. Our puppetry is physical, visually dynamic, and fun, and always with a moral message in the content – so the audience has something good to take away from it. It is part of what has been healing for us as we move on. This poem was written to celebrate liberation from that hard time, and mark the longed-for independence for our performing arts work.

Sleeping Snooty

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Mirror, mirror, on the wall

who’s the one who’s so enthralled

by abusing those who see

past his self-centred deity.

It’s served you well to spin the story,

and yet it’s lost you so much glory.

A little prick – and how do you sleep?

No conscience, you shrug off deceits.

But the greater wheel of justice turns,

what comes before a fall confers

a yarn much spoke of as a warning

to others for whom truth is dawning.

Cognitive dissonance can be a particular problem in the church, where locally and institutionally the impulse is to protect the reputations of those in it’s employ, no matter what. It is its foolish and fatal flaw. It is of course an inherently fallible place – as the saying goes, ‘it would be alright if it weren’t for all the people in it…’ (and I was there too).  And yet truth will often out, in its own good time. It is not always love that covers sin, but many deceits – pride being the most powerful. As we reflect, may we better acknowledge what is in fact ugly and distorted, yet also see the precious facets of hope and redemption within it. Let’s change the picture shall we?

 

EMBEZZLER

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When the good book has been cooked

the flock is fleeced, we all have hooked

into a deficit of Kingdom riches,

squandered as the truth unhitches

from a place of right accounting.

Bottom line – the plunder’s mounting

from one man’s debt and diminution

(rather than make restitution).

Bullying and spiritual abuse are rife sadly. Church has, ironically, not proved itself a safe place for many who are now de-churched because of its complicity and cover-ups. Insecure individuals may wreake havoc in the souls of those who trusted in faith, and the institution is more paper tiger than roaring Lion. It impoverishes us all. But only for a time… watch with interest.

Elephant in the room

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We walk into my padded room

and – yes – there is the pachyderm.

Of course it’s there, all grey and trunky!

‘But what the heck is smelling funky

from that corner?’, folk exclaim

as they exit, in disdain.
I stay perched upon the stool –

I will not run, or lose my cool.

I’m well aware that the steaming stench

makes teeth and hands and buttocks clench –

for fear of clearing up the mess,

for fear of what shit’s in their heads.
Out in the garden, folk relax,

and smell the roses, just kick back.

They may poo-poo my hefty creature

and be repelled by its excretia;

But the soil out here is fertile now

after years of work with my compost, and my trowel.

Step up

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What stands upon your landing?

What fear looms dark astride

your courage? Come, step up – you’ll find

you’re armoured beyond pride.

‘Are you man enough?’  The question empowers as much as it taunts. No matter what steps we face, what edifice lies before us, defiance of our own disquietudes – by faith in what is beyond us – is both crushing and courageous.

Man enough?  

We are more than enough and never enough. We are only ever enough when we embrace that we have had enough of how our prideful fears constrain and restrain us. The sacrifice is only really in giving up ourselves in the truth of our helplessness, for the possibility that our downfall will be overcome by something greater than the sham we’re futilely projecting.

Whatever scary monsters lurk around the corners of our minds, man!- they can grow when we daren’t look them in the eye. Come on up, you have it all within you you know. Take the step. Enough’s enough.

Yew and you

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Rooting from a broken branch

regrows the yew.

Steadfast standing sentinel

needles you.

Tumoured overgrowth of pride

pricks anew –

sap me once again, my friend,

you’ll regenerate too.

The yew tree is well known in churchyards. It stands for longer than might be expected. It has unusual qualities;  bearing needles yet not being coniferous, arcing into new life by apparent brokenness, being feared as poisonous yet providing treatment for certain cancers.

It stands within boundary walls but firmly outside the door. It stands and it endures and it thrives. The fruit borne has prompted dire warning -‘ stay away! – Do not be consumed by a toxic harvest! You’ll be buried by those berries!’ But a more appreciative inquiry of its worth will lead to an antidote for the metastasising mass within us.

Fears must be overcome, and the healing properties within tapped into. Walk out the heavy door and face the dark silhouette that looms over in constant view. Hidden within, it has a means to new life to bestow and share with you.

Arbour ardour

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Much work against

the grain has lent

a bite so spent and worn.

Yet spits again

sweet dust and then

fuel for the fire is formed.

My husband spends many an hour harvesting wood for our wood burner. He will not fell a living healthy tree, but rather transforms what is already diseased or fallen into logs to heat our home. He has a deep respect and love for both trees and the wood – he tracks the grain with his fingertips and breathes in deeply the fragrance exposed by the rending of a trunk.

The chainsaw is a powerful tool, and it needs maintaining to keep it sharp and effective. Oil lubricates the action, and the occasional attentions of a sharpener hone the teeth. It’s use can seem a brutal reduction of a once majestic structure, and yet it is a process that re-purposes, and so honours, all it has to give.

Sometimes I hope that cutting across the way of things, when the sap has secretly stopped flowing, will eventually be seen to change and re-invigorate a structure I have much loved and respected.

And new shoots may be discovered in the spring season, arcing up from the old stump.

Space

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Contracted space inverted –

we may enter but we bring

the choice to be expansive,

space of possibility brims!

 

I’ve been grateful for those close to me, who have transformed a place of constriction within my heart and mind into one of expansion. I, of course, must also be mindful of how my demeanour and assumptions affect the spaces I move into.

Stories of contrasting characters in situations of conflict have risen before me many times in recent months. David, Saul, Solomon, Joseph, a tyrant king and mysterious mystics have all laid out their patterns – within and without. Attitudes and atmospheres intertwine, and outcomes may be redirected and reframed. Overcoming the instinct to simply defend our own interests is aspirational, but gritty realities can be so deceiving and constraining. What is beautiful and alluring though is the wonder of what might be, beyond the moment’s limited perspective. It invites us all to be courageous and generous.

Expanding my boundary has been promised to me. My capacity to cope with the discomforts that imposes on me is ever pressing back. The extent to which I choose to allow the possibilities is open before me. I hope I will step into that space more often.

No shadows

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No shadows, no shining,

‘neutrality’s’ prime on

acceptable likeness-

not character – chosen.

It took a number of attempts to get a photo that passed the criteria for my passport renewal. There was so much rejection, followed by further attempts to conform! It needed to be ‘me’, but only within certain parameters. What I recognised was that sometimes security is encapsulated in too narrow an image; in community we may demand this of ourselves and others, and it is a false idol. I am made in the image of one so multi-faceted and free. My snapshots will reflect that wild truth, and will take me far.

Line drawn

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Line drawn,

for which I mourn.

Light of dawn

pierce like a thorn,

draw grace there-from.

I made a decision recently which hangs heavy within me. In the news this week, again, has been much about toxic cultures which flourish and perpetuate because of bonds of silence and cover-up. It is only when someone finally uses their voice that restorative justice has a real chance, and healing may truly come, in time.  It is a daunting thing to do, but may be a catalyst for change that would not otherwise come. It strangely protects.

I do this while very mindful that compassion is needed for all parties. ‘Hurting people hurt people’ isn’t always true as imagined – and it isn’t always the most obvious ones with sole purview on this playing out. I ache for the hidden wounded ones who need immense understanding and care. I ache for a tending of their wounds too. I yearn for the patterns and undercurrents to be changed.

I await the gasp and wince from the harsh prick of enquiry. We may bleed some more, but I will keep vigil for a flow of good purposes to begin seeping through.