Voices of Yesterday

In the pit we are thrown as a child and its shame follows us wherever we go. We can rise to be the most powerful person in the land and everyone must obey when we say, “You come” or “You go”.

But it only takes one word or one sight to bring us to our knees or flat on our backs. Perhaps we have crossed paths with folks from our dark past. Then in the pit we have returned; its memory in our psyche and in our heart has burned.

Be free young man, young man or whomever you may be. Let not today hold you captive to another time and place. You are much more than the angry and twisted voices of yesterday.

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Quietness

Quietness
in the presence of Peace
the gift akin to gold.

Nestled
within the shelter of Peace
the gift beckons to be unwrapped.

Settled
beneath the comfort of Peace
the gift penetrates the soul.

Rest
upon the promise of Peace
the gift is nothing but divine.

Listen
for the Truth of Peace
the gift uplifts the heart.

Quietness
in the presence of Peace
the gift not to shun nor deny.

Man Not Forgotten

Today, I visited the local convenience center to drop off my one bag of trash. Wednesdays are not my favorite day to go, but it was necessary.

An elderly man was across the way, unloading the contents from the trunk of his older model car. As I pulled into place, I realized that he was unaware of my car as it approached; it looked as if he was about to walk out in front of me … so I sharply stopped. So did he.

He waved at me, letting me know that he was aware of me and walked around my car on the way back to his car. I parked and got out and rounded my car to retrieve the bag of trash from my trunk. Most days, the employee(s) at the convenience center does this for me and I linger for a bit of chit-chat with them. They tell me about their kids and grandkids, their health and so on and on. You know what I mean. But on Wednesdays, the employee is not as … attentive as the other fellows. Oh well.

The elderly gentleman who was already making multiple trips across the lot, disposing of his trash in various and sundry bins, noticed me. He immediately came over to take care of my trash and to securely close the lid of my trunk. So I had a bit of chit-chat. I asked his name and told him how appreciative I was for meeting him today. He told me where he lived. He had a deep and comforting voice. He gave me a fatherly look, as if to say “come find me if you ever need anything” or “you be careful out here, young lady.”

And I am ashamed to say, I do not remember either fact, his name nor address. I do remember his face, his voice, his manner and his car.

I almost wanted to cry when I left that lot today. I have the same feeling just writing about him. You see, he was probably older than my father, my parents. From my perspective, I would say that I was in better health than he is.

He knew not who I was but he was taking care of me.

Because that is how men of his generation were, and still are.