Don't Walk Too Fast...

Don't walk too fast.
I don't run.
I can't run.
The light is green.
The light says, "Walk."
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
The light is with me.
You are not.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
I amble from strain--from pain.
I tiptoe toward not hurting.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Don't zoom past me on your motorcycle.
Don't rush to judgment.

Don't walk too fast.
Toughen my skin???
Understand that they do not???
I do.  Yet...
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Yet...Understand???
Know???  They can.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Yet, understand???  At another time--in another world.
They will--they must.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Toughen my skin???
No.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Numb my heart???
No.
Don't walk too fast.

Don't walk too fast.
Toughen my skin?  Numb my heart?
No.  That is the price of my words--the price of my quest.
Don't walk too fast.

Crossed Wires...Jangled Nerves...

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

When you were born,

your umbilical cord was wrapped around your neck five times.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

The corded gifts that keep on giving—epilepsy…cerebral palsy.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

You have excess electrical activity in your brain--epilepsy.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

Epilepsy is like a thunderstorm in the brain.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves.

I can do it myself, Mom, don’t you know, I can do it myself….

Can’t you see, Mom, I can’t do it myself, I need your help.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

The faster I walk, the more I trip.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves.

Your cerebral palsy accelerates your aging process.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves.

The harder you intend to use your left hand, the more it will shake—intentional tremors.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

The more hostile I am, the more intense my tremors.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves...

The more data you throw at me, the slower I compute.

Crossed wires...jangled nerves...

The more instructions I hear, the more I must write them--

the more Velcro from my ear to my brain I need.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

The more instructions I hear, the more I must write--

the more Velcro from my ear to my brain I need.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

The less I write, the less I remember.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

The more I write, the deeper I think.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

The more challenges I am given, the more I want to surmount them.

Crossed wires….jangled nerves….

The Mermaid Chronicles: The Right Way

Upward this mermaid's arm rises,
Right wrist bent, fingers tight-fisted.
In the pool, this mermaid moves.
With bent right wrist, her left-bent elbow lowers,
They break the water's calm.
Through the waterway,
Her forearm rows forward.
Upward her right arm ascends airborne.
Rightly, she aims upward.
Straight to the sky she stretches.
Seeking no splashing,
She strives a straight, uplifted stroke.
Yet, with right wrist bent, and elbow left bent,
All she may do is sway.
Downward her left leaning elbow lowers,
Below the water's top, she skims.
She stirs, and showers surrounding swimmers.
Yet, no mind the gulped water--the blinding showers.
Her firming forearms, beefing biceps, and circling shoulders,
Will triumph.

Zoomer Chronicles: Much Too Close

To all drivers, stop and think.  Before cutting off wheelchairs in crosswalks, please think of the consequences--the potential consequences.  The people. The injuries. The lives.  All that might be affected--yours, mine, and others.  I am a careful wheelchair user.  I live in downtown St. Paul.  This morning, while crossing an intersection, I was cut off by a van.  The driver decided that my fastest pace was too slow.  The driver took my life in his/her hands.  I stopped.  Though stunned, I stopped.  My wheelchair stopped.  Thankfully, my wheelchair stopped.  I shudder to think what might have happened.  Did the driver ever shudder?  I will never know.  Long gone before any license number was in my view. With no hostile intent I ask, "How much time do you save by cutting in?  What consequences might befall you--befall others--if you do not honor the lights, and override the crosswalks."  I, for one, want to share the road with you for many intersections to come.

This Mermaid

An hour's time, this mermaid swims,

No laps counted, 

Just an hour's time.

On her back she turns,

With eyes gaze upward to the white-lit beams.

Arms are raised--airborne--with a student's hands.

Shoulders rotate,

Biceps are built, not with bulk,
But with the sinews of this swimmer's strokes.

Forearms forge,

As oars they row,  

Feet flutter--ankles in unison cycle--

Through the pristine pool's waters.

From one end to the other,

This mermaid endeavors.

No laps counted,

Just one hour's time,

This mermaid swims.

A New Beginning...

     This week, I joined in welcoming a priest new to our faith community--Cabrini.  This celebration was a first.
     In 1982, I accepted an inviting admonition, "Don't leave your mind outside the door of the church."  Contrary to the admonition, and to my desire to abide by it, I did not know what I was doing intellectually.  I was petrified of being discovered a fraud--a fraud for not being able to articulate what I was seeking.
    I have been blessed by involvement in four communities in 29 years.  An interloper.  A parishioner.  A member.  An engaged witness.
    A college campus faith community.  Deemed too liberal--radical--by some.  Captivating to me.
     Raised to value pacifism, I found a community--a weekly celebration--in which, "Peace be with you" was the ever faithful invitation extended to all who entered.  I sat.  I questioned.  I wondered.  I graduated.
    The only "parish" church--a very traditional, old French church.  At home in spiritual geography.
    The priest memorable to me--an Irishman with a welcoming spirit--Father Philip McArdle.  Though at home in geography, never did the spirit of that church community reside in my heart and soul.  I single and 20ish.  They married and 70ish.  Yet, what I treasure of that time was Father McArdle's endearing words, "Children of God." No tones of condescension tempered his words.  "Children of God" were filled with a spirit of wonder--loving wonder--unjaded by adult cynicism.  Long since forgotten details of my differences with Father Philip.  The gift.  The differences.  They were present--they were real.
     Moved by differences, I joined the thoughtful tradition of John Henry Cardinal Newman.  For 11 years, a member--the Newman Center.
     Students came and went.  I listened.  The Gospels--all spiritual readings and reflections I was fed.  Established traditions cradled others, were still new to me.  Priests came.  Priests went.  Yet, no sense of welcoming any priest new to our community pierces my memory.  I was an attendant member, not a faithful worshipper.
     I entered the Catholic Church long after Vatican II closed.  The Church I entered was far different than the Church others close to me left, or so I sense it was.  I never walked in their shoes--never donned their Ojibwe moccasins.  I was churched a Universalist--a parental evolution from pre-Vatican II, less engaging worship to a more intellectually-challenging fellowship.  They left, I entered.  They seeking intellectual challenge.  I answers to long-held, inarticulable questions.
     Friends faithful to the Church--the hierarchy, the dysfunctions--left.  Yet, leave?  A spiritual cavern beyond my surmounting.
    The hierarchy closed my thoughtful haven.  Some balked.  I searched.  I found.  Welcomed, I found a new home.
    Cabrini.  Celebration.  Faith.  Engagement.  Passion.  Cabrini.

    Eleven years hence, hierarchy visits our home--my new home.  No closing.  A transfer of priests.  A priest new to my home of faith.  Others knew of him.  Yet, none of us knew him.  For the first time in 29 years, I welcome a priest new to me.  Together, I join others in welcome. 

    An interloper.  A parishioner.  A member.  An engaged witness.  A new beginning....What next???  An advocate. ... Whatever it may be, a new beginning...