Oneirologist

“The naive judgment of the dreamer on waking assumes that the dream – even if it does not come from another world – has at all events transported the dreamer into another world.”
The Interpretation of Dreams
~By Sigmund Freud

you tried to take away
my wish fulfillment you
dissected it bit by bit until
it became broken into pieces
of quantitative analysis
sterile bits of soul laid bare
upon your theoretical
frameworks

I allowed you to strip me
leaving my subconscious
naked the entire time believing
in your precepts trusting in
your self-professed science
becoming a hypothetical
experiment

how could you have known
anything of my candy colored
absurdities my twilight bathed
inspirations my laurel hopes my
Amazon desires you did not speak
my dream language your muteness
sliced my emotions with surgical
precision

if only you had cared to know
something of my autumnal eyes
my emerald amulet my perpetual
shores my beating waves my cerulean
depths you did not feel my swells
your resolute bias steeled
cool

© Pamela Rossow

Tragedy’s Scream

The sounds of tragedy are everywhere:  howling wind, slamming water, splitting earth, cancer’s mutterings, growling of bloated bellies, clinking of bottles, jabbing of needles, mothers’ crying, and much, much more.  What do we do when these sounds become faint?  Distant?  Far away whispers of an event or series of events that happened to “them,” “him,” or “her?”  Do we keep our masks of indifference on, tuck our legs and heads in and retreat into our shells? Or do we allow sparks of empathy to combust within our minds?  This ignition affecting quick reactions of assistance to “our” global family?  What do we DO when we hear tragedy scream?

 

 

You Found Me

I’m supposed to be resting.  Of course, being on a computer isn’t really resting.  And writing isn’t resting.  I never said I was a compliant patient.  However, I am in bed (that must count for something).  With my laptop.  Writing.  “Stunada” as my Nonnie would have said.  Not in the “out there” sense but in the stubborn, sorta stupid sense (sorry Nonnie). I was recently talking to a good friend late one night.  We’ve both been on this crazy rollercoaster called “Life.”  We’ve had similar experiences, felt the same at times, and, at other moments, diverged.  Our relationship, though, no matter what we are thinking, feeling, or hoping, remains granite solid.  I mentioned a song (by The Fray) on my daughter’s iPod (yes, I borrowed it for a few minutes while outside getting a little vitamin D).  This song asks a lot of questions (yeah, yeah, I know, I can relate), is kinda dark, and, although I’ve heard it at least thirty times, it was the first time I really listened to the words.   I asked my friend if she heard it before (nearly everyone has) and if she knew what the lyrics meant.  I couldn’t identify exactly what touched me about it but I felt it draw me in, put a warm blanket around my shoulders, and nestle a steaming cup of tea in my hands. I didn’t feel alone.  I felt . . . comforted.  Music, as an art form, has that capability (one of the reasons I appreciate it so much). My friend sent me an email with a link to the lyrics as explained by the lead singer and pianist.  I didn’t care that the song was so popular it made it onto various countries’ billboard charts or what TV show used clips of it (even though it’s all true). It spoke to me where I was (where I am). In a place I’ve never been before.  Where, depending on the day, I question God’s existence.  Many before me have been here, many are here now, and many more will visit in the future.  I’m not sure of what my future holds.  It’s okay.  Even in this space, I’m banking that He hasn’t abandoned me.  That He still loves me perfectly (like no other can). That His silence is because, when He does speak again, I will not question that it’s Him.  I will be certain.

Not

Time to celebrate.  Definitely NOT because the Panthers’ lost, again.  Not because I’m sitting here eating a couple pieces of fabulous chocolate.  Not because I’m happy to be feeling better.  Not because I get to go see my son swing a stick and whack a puck tomorrow.  Not because I have awesome friends who I am incredibly grateful for.  Not because most of the Christmas dust is packed and put away.  Not because my nephew scored three goals in his soccer game today.  Not even because I have the most amazing family in the galaxy.  This time, it’s about me (not because I’m NOT grateful for all of the above [except for the Cats losing] because I am). I hesitate to say this because I have a long standing tradition of not taking credit when credit is due.  I get shy when compliments are given.  If sitting, I slump as far down as possible.  My darker, Mediterranean descent skin turns reddish when accolades are directed my way.  But, for once, I’m going to give myself a compliment and mean it (I’m learning). Way to go!  You worked you’re a$$ off and accomplished a lot in a short amount of time! Of course, there’s more ahead to conquer, but, you will!  There.  An affirmation for myself.  I think it’s about time we, as humans, start to build ourselves up instead of tear ourselves down.  I’m not talking narcissism or arrogance.  Just showing ourselves a little love (and cutting ourselves some slack when necessary). So, hey, here’s an affirmation for YOU!  YOU’VE done a great job (insert specifics)!   YOU should celebrate!   Pat YOURself on the back!  Here’s to YOU! Cheers!

Butterweed

she stood a child amidst
waving grasses a cupped
butterweed flower in her
hands slowly she closed
her eyes letting the
azure mist of the skies
drench her soul gently
she began to pluck each
petal a flaxen butterfly
fluttering to the ground
descending in a graceful
dance he loves me he
loves me not he loves
me he loves me. . .
she paused eyes
closed

Pamela A. Rossow

The Empty Grave

Dear friends:

 Easter morning is a special one.  Not just because it is a beautiful soflo day.  Not because of the Easter basket with my name on it filled with dark chocolate (and yes, I do love chocolate).  It’s more than this.  Goes a little deeper.  For the last few years, there have been many, many days where I have struggled to maintain belief in God.There have been temper tantrums and angry comments directed heavenward.  Numerous questions gone unanswered and instead of replies, silence.  This whole experience has been a new one for me.  Years of faith, grace, and belief preceded these last difficult years…and for those of you yet to experience them, dark nights can stretch into weeks, weeks can stretch into months, and months can stretched into years.  However, I’m not one to lie down and quietly take it for the team.  So, while despair has tried repeatedly to shove its way into heart, I boot it out.  When depression hovers threatening to engulf me, I reach out and grab hold of dear, strong hands that have helped me tread water and won’t let me drown.

In the midst of all this, I have wondered where God is.  If He is omniscient, all powerful, and all loving, how can he allow innocent children to be abused and neglected?  How can He watch as families splinter and fall apart?  How can He permit hundreds of thousands of people to die from lack of food and access to clean water?  Anyone who has known me well is aware of my tendency from early childhood to ask, “why.”  These “whys” have persisted into adulthood and hardly a day passes in which I do not utter that interrogative at least once.  What I do know, with great certainty, is that there are often no good answers.  Life can be a hell of a lot of climbing with very few “reaching the summit” experiences.  In fact, some of us have been camping out in the valley for years.  But, on a morning such as this one, centuries ago, something either incredibly disturbing or astoundingly amazing happened.  There is no gray area.  If Christ isn’t God and He did not rise from the dead as attested to in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, then what a morbid hoax.  If Jesus Christ IS the son of God and He was crucified, died, and rose, then it’s truly mind blowing.  As for me, I’m still in a “dark night era.”  I’ll continue to have days, possibly weeks, maybe even months or years where I do not see the hand of God at work in my life or around me.  Yet, Blaise Pascal is a philosophy friend who spoke a lot of wisdom.

“God is, or He is not.” But to which side shall we incline? Reason can decide nothing here. There is an infinite chaos which separated us. A game is being played at the extremity of this infinite distance where heads or tails will turn up… Which will you choose then? Let us see. Since you must choose, let us see which interests you least. You have two things to lose, the true and the good; and two things to stake, your reason and your will, your knowledge and your happiness; and your nature has two things to shun, error and misery. Your reason is no more shocked in choosing one rather than the other, since you must of necessity choose… But your happiness? Let us weigh the gain and the loss in wagering that God is… If you gain, you gain all; if you lose, you lose nothing. Wager, then, without hesitation that He is.

So, I’m wagering He exists.  That Christ rose from the dead, left the tomb, and revealed his resurrected self to a bunch of women.  Sound crazy?  On some level, yes.  Plausible?  I think so.  Again, what do I have to lose?  Life?  We’re all going to die anyway.  My sanity?  Some people would argue it’s questionable all ready (just ask my ex).  So, here’s to celebrating an empty grave.  This is my Easter.  There will be bunnies, baskets, and breaking bread with people I love.  But there’s also contemplation, meditation, and inspiration when I “virtually” peer into that deserted tomb with the women.  And there’s hope.  Lots and lots of it.  So much that it that it couldn’t remain wrapped up in linens.  It had to leave and head out into the world .

Happy Easter to my Christian friends.  And for those of you who are close to my heart and think today is incredibly disturbing, shalom.  And for you who are teetering on the tightrope between belief and disbelief, reach out.  You’ll be surprised at the strength of the hands that will help you.

Sincerely,

Pamela