Always An Urgency

We talked about the human condition,

how certain tendency

would remain years later,

the same,

decades of programmed imagination,

falling into the same pattern

some unforgotten imprinting of our soul.

 

Yet tonight as I stand here

on the same ledge of forty years ago,

I wonder what really has changed,

oh there is the picture that I once did create

together not alone,

altered forever now

with only speculate conclusion.

 

Tonight I wonder of deception,

the loss of meaning,

the further resounding defeat of purpose,

when two people no matter

still become lost in their own travel,

having let go of the other

until just a glance inside the wake

of every cresting wave,

when then they do disappear

no longer seeing …


© Thom Amundsen 2/2020

The Humanity of Letting Go

I feel things,

since living dark realities

a childhood

without scars,

yet, somehow beaten,

the foundation of

a quiet turmoil

always is that centering

point of personal fear.

 

In our society

we question judgment

public scrutiny,

filling the airwaves

is a certain attractive

seduction

meant to take our minds

away from our own

persecution.

 

Those silent moments

when the mind

allows the heart to breathe

there’s a sudden tightness

strangling physicality

that does have a pulse,

a reminder,

a constant of the human condition

within the framework

of some individualized society.

 

I cannot seem to walk away

from the burdens of my past,

yet,

the minds around me,

voices mouthing advice

seem to forget

or perhaps overlook,

this reflective nature

is the fuel

of a precarious

walk along the edge.

 

I would wonder

how long this loneliness

can exacerbate

my owned recall

of every single

tumultuous

moment in my life

when all

circumstance

overwhelms

a more seemingly sane

stance.

 

I would take a chance

on letting go,

if only I understood

the purposeful nature

of forgiveness.

When Yesterday

When we start to think about

our yesterdays,

we get scared, well some, me, suppose

the words need only be self-directed,

if validity

is the goal of my game.

 

I contemplate my day before notions,

those of consequence and reward,

I try to recall the best, when especially drawn

into the abyss of the mess.

 

A hundred years ago, my embellishment

landed me in places I couldn’t defend,

only wished I had found a way to mend

the indifference,

self-righteous patterns of wanting everything,

my way, my game, my gamble, my favorite

addiction.

 

I lost at every step, remembering when leaving

fearing skid row might be my home address

in six weeks or less,

less the confidence, less the support,

lest I drag my ass out of the gutter and realize

there is a life ahead.

 

However, there is always the readiness,

not choice by personal desire,

but the savior whomever that might be in our lives,

the one and only,

Grace,

the epitome of letting go,

realizing we cannot, and will never need to do this on our own,

alone.

 

Yet today, I do think about my yesterdays,

and wonder if I might ever step away,

to enjoy the beauty of this,

namaste.

 

Lost Generation

Letting Go of Control

We do so often choose to realize

far too late,

the consequence of our dreams

~

While stroll sweet surreal in disguise

we often relate

yet fully unaware of our screams

~

Much later of course when commitment

has taken hold

we’re left to only wonder alone

~

Were it simpler to define our resentment

might then getting old

be less severe without needs atone.

~

The other day blocks of wood fell to earth

when some drove by

a few decidedly helped out the aged

~

We are never told to act as if simple girth

become the reason why

ignorance bemoans the world’s ragged

~

upon our soul as we strive to move forward

we wish for time to release attitude toward.

My Bluesy Sunrise

I was looking for that trigger, that motion,

that inspiration, that somehow would let me again,

I wanted to again and again,

I wanted to play my keyboard,

like the ivories that evade me,

my fingertips in a rather svelte state of mind,

wanting to tap the notions, let me unwind,

allow my senses to become an expressive

journey to the eyes of the souls around,

those washing their hands of tension,

in the morning sunshine, basking in an energy

sends them reeling with discovery …

~

I wanted to feel that again,

in a matter of moments I might leave myself,

to let the words come alive,

my tappings,

not just the physicality,

but somewhere, some distant mechanism,

some issue of lost control, with a patterned delivery.

I want to speak to that discovery,

a way to help me find the music

in my mind and express it with benefit.

I only wish I could feel the way I do,

when I can see you standing by my side.

~

So now we have that figured out, I mean,

the real sense of why I have chosen to talk

about this personal discovery. Perhaps we

might then journey together hand in hand,

let the tension of disbelief and fear, strengthen

rather than deprecate our chances to survive.

That energy that exists when I crawl away

from my sedentary selfish ways, that sense

of belonging inside a world with dreams and ideals

That’s the place I want to be today and every day,

instead of wondering just why I hadn’t known.

~

Perhaps then tonight, when we reflect upon our day,

can we feel a little solace in again, finding the way.

If Letting Go Were Methodical

The things we see,

we rely upon like a sea

of emotions flooding our shores,

waves that toss our lives across

a horizon of indifference.

Yet why so important than if in one sweep

of fast moving passion,

our lives than become scrutiny,

theirs, not ours, them, the people,

outside of our comfort zone.

Those are the enigmas we’d rather not have to deal with

today,

or any day for that matter,

but the immediacy is clear.

We have to suggest a methodical manner

toward finding a respectful attitude,

one that includes yet lets us depart

from all interactions with the pools,

schools of jelly fish together remain an obscure

delight, a visual procession of beauty,

yet one alone,

distant in the murky sea of illusion,

that perhaps might indicate,

a haunting reality follows every hope and dream

toward letting go,

for their beauty always remains near.

Addicts Hold On

© Ester Rogers

© Ester Rogers

We do hang on while figuring out how to let go. I am often trapped inside a need to please everyone, and when I cannot, I obsess about that one difficult situation, generally that one person who I cannot fix. Why should I have to fix anyone anyway; I usually end up realizing I have to repair my own misgivings, generally my own faults. What happens though is that along the way I forget to come home, and I remain adrift in a sea of turmoil. I suppose that is when the term letting go comes into play. I wish I had a better handle on that method of resolution.

Someone told me once my thinking was that of an addict. Well, I do know clearly I am an addict, but I struggle with how that interacts with my obsession with needing everyone to be my friend. I know I have moments of clarity when I can come to terms with the fact that there are people that may just not like me. What an epiphany right? That I might actually be a person whose behavior or beliefs does not match up with every human being’s demeanor that I cross paths with, right? Boy that’s a mouthful of sanity trying to break free I think.

Tonight I am in that sort of lost mode of not being able to handle a situation with my drama program. Maybe I am going through the stages of grief. I have a student that clearly has challenged my authority that I have given many chances to take a new direction who simply refuses. I can easily account for their demeanor being angry and sullen in a meeting where I spoke only of the need to have positive and proactive members involved in our coming spring production. They are talented but there is no way I can possibly bring their negative energy into the production. That attitude will clearly sap everyone else’s ability to focus on the end product of producing a solid show.

So I am struggling, and trying to let go of my indecision to go forward with my instincts rather than cave into my spineless need to save everyone. After all that is what it is right? I remember when I first began teaching theatre I used to say to the kids every spring that next year I will come back with a rebuilt backbone. I guess I am still searching for that surgeon. In the meantime, the life of an addict in recovery continues with slow and cautious steps trying desperately to not lose my footing.