The Departing

Some things so deep for me there are that no words come to mind,
No poetry, no journaling, no photographs sublime;
It's like my mind can't cope with it, away beyond its strengths
Until it's processed deep inside – such potency – at length.

It has not happened many times throughout my several days
The “Doreen Hit” at White Bear Res was one (for which I paid
One hundred and fifty thousand – cost up front to learn that one) –
It turned my set-world upside down and opened up such fun.

The ‘call’ experience back at U in fall of second-year,
Strange how no record gives the details of that time of fear
Of my not knowing where to go, or what You'd have me do –
You gave the word to ‘go’ ahead, and leave the rest to You.

There were those times at Sandy Lake and then Keewatin too,
When You stopped by and lifted me from lesser points of view,
And gave a glimpse of better things – to ‘stay’, and ‘persevere’,
‘Let go of things’, made my heart sing, and feel your presence near.

Buzzed out I've been on some such times, unable to give voice;
I went ahead and lived my life – though not exactly ‘choice’;
More like a Zombie walking round as work was deep within,
And at the end my mind returned and thoughts again with men.

Such ‘shut-down’ times are not so much where I would like to live;
I like to think about my life and interaction give
To those around who ‘hear your voice’ through me as I with You;
But without times of silence I'd just have my point of view.

Such silence is not something that I turn on, choose, or take;
It's more like nothing’s there for me to have, or seize, or make;
It's just an emptiness – it leaves me with a darkening void;
It's been that way since early times before I changed from boy.

In ways it's like a circuit breaker snapping off inside,
Which keeps my mind from burning out with mental neurons fried.
When things ease up, as stuff works through deep down inside of me,
The words return, and concepts flow, and different way I see.

I'm glad you give me smaller bites of food to eat each day
(Such larger chunks to think about get processed in this way).
So even though I ‘see’ a bit of some such larger piece,
You shut me down and let it process deep, and then release –

Me to a world in which I live in the light of some new phase;
Aware there's been a change within though shrouded in such days.
I get frustrated, I can't see it all as I go forth,
But maybe it is better walking blind the faith-full course.

As sun lights up this morning sky with pink on bluish base
I know that I'm emerging from such time of silent grace.
Assurance in the pink for me of splendour and of love,
Amidst the omnipresent blue of skylight up above.

You've helped me see, throughout the years, a deeper meaning there –
That ‘love’, for me, is pouring out for others tender care
Expressed as welfare-aiding, moving folks to better ways
Of doing life despite the strife, enriching thus their days.

And so for me, Your words to us to ‘Bide an hour in You’
And in Your love to spend our days, refrain from being fools;
Mean now to me the same – reversed – applying thus to me:
Your welfare, ways, and peace, enrich Your presence deep – I see.

O Lord, You know the depth of what this loss would mean to me;
And yet, for all of us, of course that time will come to be;
In little steps you edge us towards that day of silent tears,
As roads divide, and dark resides, till pink in dawn appears.

My mom once quoted someone saying, “Growing old is not
For sissies” or the timid, calling forth more than we've got;
I think of her – two dozen years she's walked her road alone;
Now lives each day in boredom stuck in seniors nursing home.

It's not her life is miserable, good times she has in there;
More that remembrance of those times is now beyond repair.
But ever present boredom now that memory is so short,
Stands out for her and seems to her what life is all about.

So we go in and try to make of her enduring days
A moment here and they're filled up with laughter, news, and praise;
It is not much, but some parts can't be changed what e'er be done,
Because she can't recall her times of joy beneath the sun.

She was the one who chose to trash her journals lest we know
What were her thoughts, remembrances, and struggles – lest they show;
So now her paper memory is gone, can no more add,
Which makes her life seem boring now, unfortunately, sad.

But truth and memory connect, at best a few quick times
Throughout our lives – some fleeting thoughts are captured in our lines;
But life is bigger than we know, or feel, or think, or see,
Your grace sufficient to the day – how e'er it seems to be.

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