Am I a Man?

The following is a guest post by my daughter. It is a two-voice poem and is in response to the novel "All is Quiet on the Western Front." The voice alternates between the main character, Paul, at the start of the war and at the end of the war.

Am I a Man? 

by Dana Q

Photo: Album cover "The Young Veteran" Ted Bee

I am a man

I was a man

Who has a loving family

Whose family no longer knows him

I am a young man

I am a man aged by loss

Who loves to escape into fiction

Who can't escape from his reality

I am strong and capable

I am weak and wounded

I am a man who will fight for his country 

I am a man who was beaten by war

My friends and I will fight together

I am the last to die of my longtime friends

We will always protect each other

I tried to save them but I couldn't

Together, we'll be heroes

Alone, I am forgotten

My life has just begun

I don't know why I'm still alive

This Side of the Pit

photo from merseawildlife.blogspot.com

My hand emerged

From the rain soaked ash,

From the muck.

This time, it didn't plead or yearn

And sink back in despair.

This time it stretched, breathed,

And landed firmly on a craggy rock.

It smiled. My hand smiled.

It knew what had just happened.

It didn't know ahead of time

it was going to grasp the rock.

But it knew now,

the way only hands can know,

The inevitable unfolding of events

That was sure to follow.

The force that caused

My hand to fiercely grip

Next made my arm to flex and coil.

This arm that hung dormant for many lives

With no resistance,

Now surged with ambition.

My body follows

Rising up.

Emerging from the deep.

My leg lifts a foot.

My foot finds placement on the rock.

The solid rock.

How free. How firm. How present

Is the rock.

I stand.

I stand!

I stand on solid rock.

I stand solid on the rock!

I walk and

Almost don't look back.

But I want to remember

What it looks like from this side of the pit.

In Which Heroes Are All Dead

And the heavens opened
And half of all the people were swallowed.
The other half.

And half of the remaining ran
Forever. They didn't stop.
They're still running.

And half of those that stood
paralyzed, eventually decayed.

Others sat down and cried
until their tears were salt ran dry.

Some started counting rocks.
They don't know why.
They sort and stack and rearrange.

I was standing, watching, when I finally woke.
I saw it all and did nothing.
I'm still standing. But awake.

A few, I see, dance.
I want to dance, but I stand.
Their dance is not of joy, but to chase away the fear.

Silent movies play in my head
In which heroes are all dead.
But I'm awake. And here.

Clothed or Naked?

I dreamed.
"We are more comfortable clothed in a lie than being naked."

Glory or Death

[Glenwood Cemetery, Houson, TX, bookloversinc.com]

Secret lives, secret hearts, I see
Unfolded and enlightened.
Angel eyes of wisdom and purity have
Brought me grace and weariness together.
Even angst against a holiness.
Dawdling in the temporal seems to
Strip time from a greater good,
From destiny,
From almighty eternity itself,
As if that were possible.
Indeed the lens has flipped, revealing
A mission of mining eternity
From this very mundane.
Oh, for that to be my destiny!
Is anything mundane,
Really?
From One perspective,
It's all either Glory or Death.

Something Stinks

[Photo from Animal Planet]

I was "skunked" in my dream, and maybe in my real life too. 

There was a man named Skunk. Apparently for some reason, that really didn't involve me but had more to do with protecting himself by redirecting suspicion, he had registered my name and entered slanderous rumors about me in a validity database. The original intent of this database was for the proper authorities to privately approve or deny any claims submitted. Unfortunately for many, soon after Skunk's entry, the database project was dropped and all the open cases were declassified, unprotected and available for public viewing. People swarmed the database considering it to be a new authority on dirty laundry. Entries were unable to be deleted, unable to be refuted, unable to be defended. No recourse, no recovery, no reason. I had been "skunked."

Have you ever been "skunked?" I've been feeling skunked lately. Thus the dream, I guess. However, this dream really made me think about how I should be responding to being skunked. I did a little research on skunks to help me think it through. Two main themes that stood out. 1) A skunk is really a pacifist. It just wants to be left alone. If it feels threatened, it will give multiple warnings. Only if those warnings go unheeded, it will spray. 2) Something stinks in my life.

In the dream, I was the one "sprayed" by Skunk. It was not because of me, but I suffered the consequences. A spray is a protection. The skunk's desire to live within his own shelter. I could have been sprayed because of a perceived threat by Skunk, but I will suffer whether the threat was intentional or not, real or not, because I did not notice the warnings, or recognize them as warnings. Perhaps my reputation will suffer. Or maybe my confidence. But now, "something stinks" in my life.

But what has changed? It is only other people's perception of me that has changed. It's not my perception of me (unless I take it on). God's perception of me definitely has not changed. In its most basic reality, this skunking is just a tiny bit of misunderstanding. Maybe more from some people than others, but nonetheless, just misunderstanding. And misunderstanding is really nothing personal, nothing malicious.

I realize that in my life (vs. the dream) I have been taking on this "skunking" as persecution. Persecution being an ill-treatment, or an actual "acting out" of a desire to "put down" the person. Persecution?! Get over myself! Just because someone doesn't "get" me, or is misinformed about me, does not keep me from having confidence and faith. Misunderstanding is just that. Someone's understanding misses the mark of reality.

And then, I have been taking this perceived persecution as a righteous reason to be angry. Angry?! Another step in the wrong direction. If I was indeed being persecuted, I should be counting it a blessing to be worthy of it. You see, I believe that those who stand firm in their faith, and truly desire to live a Godly life, will suffer persecution. So, as I said, if it really is persecution, I should be taking it as affirmation of my faith, not be angry at those doing the persecuting.

I've been skunked. 

Not the first time. Probably not the last. 

I have decided to respond with "Oh well!"

Urgency in Slow Motion

Does your life ever feel like it is a long drawn-out slow motion event of catching someone’s eye across a crowded room, connecting at some cosmic level of knowing and urgency, trying desperately to reach them in an act to save the world (or perhaps yourself), but only being able to see them from your peripheral vision from then on?

Hm. Mine does. Sometimes.
Is that weird?