A New Year Comes

The New Year Comes

“For last year's words belong to last year's language

And next year's words await another voice.”

― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

            The new year is almost here.  I’m ready for a change, to go with the new calendar on the wall.  Soon, there will be a new month, a new year, and the rest of winter.   But, I’ve been adrift, not quite able to put words to this feeling, this restlessness for looking at life in a new way, with new words.

            A new friend and I meet, sipping coffee milkshakes, as he tells me of his life and his hopes for the future.  He is full of optimism, and hope for a new beginning.  His life is changing, much for the better, as he distances himself from chaos and anger, to curiosity and new vocabulary. 

            He thinks I’m wise, and I can teach him much.  Truth be known, he is my teacher, my spiritual guru today. Like him, I need to free myself from old patterns, old demons, and look ahead. I need a new vocabulary, and fresh eyes to see the world unfolding before me. 

            “I want to explore so much,” my friend says. 

            I could easily define him as a failure, a cast off, for something he did several years ago.  His family has rejected him, and society has sent him to prison.

            He’s a prisoner, I thought, but really, he’s free now. He’s been released, and can now truly live his life.  One person’s idea of prison is another’s university of life. 

            A paradox. Yet, he feels free now, for the first time, to be who he wants to be, to stretch himself and move ahead in his life.  For the first time, he is with people his own age, making friends, going to school, and learning to write. He’s waking up every morning in a place where he is not beaten, screamed at, or kept away from the world. He’s escaped from the darkness of his family’s chamber of horrors, and has come into the light, joining the world as a real person. 

            He searches for words to express himself, and the words for his waves of emotion, all new to him.  This coming year is a new beginning for him, a gift to be opened and cherished, with words and emotions he has never known before. 

            We discover we are both gardeners, in every nuance of the word. Like me, he’s browsing the seed catalogs, and placing his order, dreaming of the coming springtime, where one plants and brings forth new life. He yearns to nurture the garden of his own soul.

            “Who am I?” he asks. 

            “Anything you want to be,” I reply.  “You can choose now.  The world is yours to explore.”

            And, not just for him, I realize.  It is my choice, too.  I, too, am in this world, and I also can make those choices and have those opportunities. We are both gardeners and poets, thinking of spring. 

            And we are both prisoners, of our thoughts, our old perceptions of the world and how we fit into the mold of what others expect of us, how they think we should act and think. 

            Like my buddy, I too can be free, and move on towards the coming newness and freedom of the new year, and be who I really want to be. 

12/28/2015

Neal Lemery

Bringing In The Light

                                                Bringing In the Light

            I take so many things for granted.  And, I often think there aren’t many miracles in life, in the ordinariness of the day. That is, until we pay attention, until we make room for them to happen. 

            In the rush of daily life, I almost let this one slip past me, unnoticed.

He asked me to help build the campfire so he could get it just right.  Everyone was depending on him. It had to be perfect. This was his task, and he wanted to do it perfectly.  He’d never been asked to do this before.  It was the most anyone had every asked him to do.

Only men built fires, and wasn’t he just a boy?

We gathered his chosen sticks of wood, dry and perfect for his fire.  He picked up the kindling, methodically splintering it over his knee. Even the paper was torn just so, all arranged, ready for the match.

            We had to wait, a friend had to get the matches. We had some time, and I asked him about his campfires past, who had built them, what happened around them.

            It was small talk for me, until he spoke.  His voice got quiet, his eyes wet, his hands shaking. No, this was big talk, big stuff, big wounds.

Only a few campfires, only a few of the only good times in his past, what he could remember of them.  Most of childhood was just a fog; he couldn’t remember.

            He thought this fire would fail, it would not burn, and everyone here would think he was a failure.  It was the old familiar story, it was the ending that he expected. Wasn’t that the story of his life?

This was his fire, his first fire he had built. He wanted to say his dad would be proud of him, but halfway through the words, he choked, looked away, not able to say that, that dad would be proud.

            The matches arrived, and I handed them to him.

            “Light your fire, son,” I said. “You can do this.”

            There was a spark, a small flame that grew, catching the paper and kindling he had laid so carefully, his most important task ever in his young life.

            I asked him to blow on the small flame, to make it grow. And he did, a smile breaking across his face. 

            The fire, his fire, was ablaze, catching the big sticks, sending flames up high.

            “Good job,” I said.  “You did well.  I’m proud of you.”

            Those words, ones he had never heard before, filled the air, filled his heart.  The words he had never heard, until now.

            He nodded, not saying a word.  The fire crackled, as we let those simple words sink in, letting him really hear them.

He built the good fire, the fire everyone liked. Soon everyone crowded around to feel its heat on this chilly morning, to cook our lunch, warm our hands and our hearts. 

The others, the builder of the fire, and I sat around the fire, sharing our lunch, a few stories, our friendship. 

“Great fire,” they said.  “Thanks.”

He looked down at his shoes, and then at the fire, taking it all in, feeling the warmth of their praise, their thanks, warming his heart on this cold winter’s day.

His big smile lit up his face, and added more light to our day together.

            A miracle, in the coldest, most ordinary of places.  But that’s where miracles happen, when its cold and lonely, and you think your life isn’t all that special.

            We just need to be ready to let the light in. 

                        Neal Lemery, 12/6/2015

Thanksgiving, 2015

                  Finding Thankfulness and Gratitude in My Life

            “Thankfulness is the beginning of gratitude.  Gratitude is the completion of thankfulness. Thankfulness may consist merely of words.  Gratitude is shown in acts.”

 –Henri Frederic Amiel, Swiss philosopher

            The harvest is in, the garden has been put to bed, and the weather has turned cold.  The days are growing shorter; winter has arrived. It is the season of a comfortable chair, a warm blanket, a mug of tea and a good book. 

            It is also a time of being thankful and grateful.  At Thanksgiving, we gather around the table, sharing food and companionship.  It is a time of quiet celebration.

            Thanksgiving is a quiet, contemplative holiday with few expectations.  Simply being together and sharing a meal is all that the holiday seems to require of us.  Oh, and the obligatory giving of thanks. In the rush towards the consumerism and frenzy of Christmas, it seems easy to slide right by this time of giving thanks, and plunge into the next holiday. 

            And, when we do that, we forget to pause and reflect, and to be truly thankful.

            The real holiday, the real celebration this week is a time to go inward, to truly appreciate what we have in our lives, and how we are to live, to truly be children of God.  Thanksgiving is all about love, in all of its dimensions.

            This year there is much to be thankful for: the necessities of life, purposeful work, time with friends and family, health, and being able to serve, to be of service.

            People in my life this year have achieved much.  One friend is moving into a new home, his first, very own, this is really mine, home.  A year ago, he was adrift, unemployed, unsure of himself.  Today, due to his hard work and his belief in all of his possibilities, he has a rich, purposeful life.

            Another friend is casting aside distractions and old misery, and healing old wounds.  He’s taking charge, doing healthy things, putting his life in order.

            Another friend passed a test in school.  He conquered his fears, his self doubts; he has conquered his sabotage of a future of rich possibilities.  He is ready to move on, and he has shown to himself that he can grow, and learn, and be successful.  He has climbed his own mountain, and can believe in himself.

            I am recharging my own creative energies. I am writing a serious book that gives voice to those who are less fortunate. I am immersing myself in creating music and art, and being an advocate for others.  I am pausing to look at the beauty of the world, in this very moment, to appreciate who I am and where I am going.

All this is scary, terrifying work.  What if I actually accomplish what I dream? Are there really no barriers, no limits to what I can accomplish, if I put my mind and my soul into the effort?  I might be successful? Me? But, then I will have to take on even greater challenges, and be responsible for my effort. Really? Little old me? 

            Yes, me.  I am the one.  I am the one who can change the world, one little step at a time.  Changing the world is really my job.  And, I can do it. 

            We all have our obstacles.  And we are all capable of success, and believing in our strengths, our possibilities. 

I am a citizen of the world and I pay attention, I learn, and I try to apply my energies and my awareness to being an instrument of positive change.

We live in troubled times.  Yet that has also been true in years past.  Every generation has faced that challenge, and had to answer that question, can I really accomplish my dream?

I choose to be an agent of change, and to not retreat into silence and indifference. I believe we are called to respond and to act, to be proactive, to be God’s instruments of change.

Maybe I can’t wave my magic wand and achieve world peace. But, I can move in that direction.  I can bring myself and my work into a state of constructive peacefulness.  I can work to nurture that energy into my family, my neighborhood,  and my community.  

I can make a difference.

I can join with other like-minded people, and consistently do good works. 

Each of us is a peace-maker.  Peace making has to start somewhere. 

“Let there be peace on Earth and let it begin with me,” the song says.

We all have our story.  Be a listener, and hear someone speak their truth,

perhaps for the first time. Let everyone’s story be told, and be heard.

Each of us can do an act of kindness and compassion.   Pay an act of kindness forward. Buy a stranger a coffee, help an elderly person with a package, talk to a friend, visit the sick, the lonely, the imprisoned.  Maybe bring a meal to a sick neighbor.  Volunteer. 

Strike up a conversation while waiting at the grocery store check out.  Ask the clerk how they are doing and listen to their answer. Hear them, deeply and compassionately.  Hug a friend who seems upset, lost, without hope.

In any of that work, there is kindness and compassion.  You are giving of yourself, and you are showing others how to be human, how to be kind and loving.

            “Be the change you want to see in the world,” Mahatma Gandhi said.

            Our example, just something simple, can change one person’s life.  And in that, we change the world.  We make our planet just a little better. 

            Isn’t that the Golden Rule? Isn’t that what the prophets, the scions of great religions have preached?  Isn’t that being an instrument of God’s love for every one of us?

            Each of us is special, unique.  We are here for a reason.  And, isn’t that reason to show love and compassion, to be kind, generous, thoughtful of others?  By our example, we show the way, we demonstrate how people should really live, how we really are the children of God. 

            Today, I give thanks, and I am grateful.  And, in my own, small way, I am making a difference, I am changing the world, one small act of kindness at a time.

                                    ---Neal Lemery, November 24, 2015

Really Listening

                                                Really Listening

I listen to the quiet between the words.  In that interval between the sounds of us talking, the true, deep meaning is to be found, if only I am gentle with myself, and the speaker, moving into the space of the depth of true understanding.

If I listen to myself and to you, truly listen, then I will hear your true voice, and mine.  I will hear the message that I need to listen, deeply, intentionally, and with love and understanding.  In that lies my intention. I will connect with the heart of our true conversation.

Yes, the words have meaning, and stories are told from the words, and then some.  More.  I listen to the sentences, the rhythm of the speaker, inflections, the rising and falling of the cadence of the words.  I am led gently down the path of the storyteller, and shown the meaning of the words.

What is really being told here, I wonder.  There is more, there is always more.  My task is that of the explorer, the miner digging for the gold in the midst of the rubble, the ordinary chit-chat that often passes for conversation. Herein lies something even greater. So, truly listen.

Go deeper, I am sensing.  There is more to this than just what I am hearing, what is being said.

Underneath this, there is more.  I can feel it deep within me.

There are many layers to this tale, and I listen harder, taking in the silence, strewn among the spoken words, wanting everything that is revealed. I am seeking the message of the silence, exploring its vocabulary, its nuances.  What are you really saying here? And, what am I being called to really hear?

We feel the silence now; the spoken words uttered.  There is tension, the tension of the anticipated, the expected, the comforting patter of more words, more sounds. 

I am on edge; we both are.  This space between these words is new, irritating, literally dis-quieting.  I find myself yearning for a word, a phrase, to keep the banter going.  Part of me is reticent, to not really listen.  Do I prefer banality? Being on the surface, and not going deep.  Can’t I stay here, gliding on the mere surface of our conversation? Then, I won’t have to ponder the silences, and hear in my heart the real meaning of what your heart is saying.

Now I hear your breath, and mine.  There are other sounds, too.  Clothes, papers rustling, air moving, the ordinary background noises of whatever kind of place we are in, the place of normal, everyday conversations, the detritus of our daily lives. 

Yet, when I go deeper, beyond this ordinary sound clutter, my mind literally opens up, expands, so that I can take in all that you are expressing to me, the stuff beyond conversation, beyond the plain words of everyday conversation.

My senses broaden  ---  feeling, seeing, hearing, touching, and yes, even smelling all that you are offering me, in this near vacuum of experience between us. Yet, it is rich and full, and not vacuous, a contradiction.  Or is it? This is rich territory, and, so often, new to me.

If I would only truly sense what you are offering me, I would understand so much more.  You have so much information, so many ideas to express to me, if only I would be open to you, truly open. If I do this right, my senses, my intuition, the entirety of my entire array of sensory neurons would be on fire, overloaded with all that you are telling me.

You share with me in so many ways, ways that we both would agree would be of such enormity that neither of us would be deemed to be competent to assess, even measure.

Henri Nouwen wrote: “Somewhere, we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening, speaking no longer heals; that without distance, closeness cannot cure.

He calls us to visit that “somewhere”, which is beyond our daily, mundane experience, and open ourselves as far as we believe we can go, into new territory of our existence, our humanity. 

He calls us to embrace the silence, and truly listen, to stake out that space between us, and let us be able to reach out to each other within that emptiness, and finally grow.

Now, I can’t reach any further out and listen harder, for the harder I work at this, the more difficult it becomes.  Another conundrum.  But isn’t that life?

The more I try, the less I succeed. No, I need to be now, just be, in all my humanity.  I must listen more gently, easier, more fully with all of my senses, with all of my feelings, on the edges of my soul, my very being.  On the rim of my existence, I must stretch further, letting the experience become in and of itself, beyond mere thought.

In that, I will truly listen to what you are telling me, and I will, at last, hear you, in all of your wonderful mystery and beauty.

                                                --Neal Lemery

                                                11/11/15