Storms

“What is rest?” I asked.

I heard no voice as my mind raced seeking answers!

“How do I still my mind?” I asked.

I had no peace as I wrestled to be still!

“How can I find peace?” I cried.

I found fear as my storm of despair raged wild!

Undone, I turned from deep within, to sense the storm I could not fight.

A voice said – “I am here! Peace – be still!”

Author – Bill Tidsbury

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Why?

Why in a world of so much grace -does desperation thrive?

When men can fresh design some human gene, “one small child” abounds across the globe, still caught in suffering’s bloody hate.

Billions in gold sit in bank’s deep holds, guarded darkly from any so bold to ask for food as babies cry.

Creative genius works to frame some new design to save the world, yet only those with cold hard cash are taken in within the fold.

Why in a world where many seek to protect mother earth from harm and filth, we find her children dying beneath the crush of arms bought from men whose simple vice is making gain?

Innocence is lost when a child seeks firewood outside a camp, while strong men guard with arms the post that politics says defends the weak.

Children sweat and chemicals burn while things extracted grant others multiplayer reality to fight boredom’s sorrow.

Mothers cry and fathers rage as one small child burns with heat, still waiting for the tender grace of one small dose of medicine – out of reach of poverty’s cage.

Why in a world where freedom lives and movement is guaranteed amongst a people strong and brave, do millions tread wrapped up in chains bound into servitude and violence’s pain?

A child dreams of living well, within a home with roof and chair, a bed with one simplistic cover – safety and peace that lasts all night!

A young girl dreams of a doctor’s voice guiding her as she learns to give the gift of life to others dear who wait for hope and healing hands.

A young teen dreams of discovery’s awe, as hope is opened for this earth’s redemption, while all around the tentacles of vice removes the dream and injects a shame.

Why, when so many can see the pain, do systems grind fine the ones who resist the lies?

Students stir awake and cry injustice, yet quickly lose their voice as promotion woos them sweetly.

Idealists convene to plan and scheme and then they silently diffuse their cries as we rationalize that people trapped in prisons hate, have only themselves to blame.

Living calls for action until I’m swamped by distraction’s fragrance that sings a dream that never grants discomfort.

Why?

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Integrating experience

Miracles have happened before my eyes!

I have felt body parts shift beneath my hand. When the unusual happens, our minds can’t comprehend. Yet there is that sense of wonder that answers a deep longing buried deep within. Our western mind is trained to query that which hasn’t been seen before. This western mindset denies that anything spiritual even exists!

Yet I have seen!

Others hear my stories and listen with quiet eyes. There is polite acknowledgement and yet uncertainty makes questions die. Why does curiosity die when something strange occurs?

We would rather live without wonder than challenge core assumptions!

So many lives are trapped with pain and questions chew within. Answers aren’t found in textbooks, when a spirit aches within. Hope is real and is found in a dimension close at hand.  To reach out and wonder is the first step in a journey of delight.

Yes, I have known!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Something bigger

Am I confident? Do I know how all fits in my  scheme sublime? Do I order this life and control all my days?

  • To organize and structure things unexpected and new. So I arrange unpredictable and frame times so small.
  • To make lists and shift things so life moves in step.  So I  rest confident knowing I won’t drop the ball.
  • To be practical and focused with clear goals I achieve. My enemies are buried I can stand atop my wall.

Why don’t I feel? Why can’t I see?

As I’m troubled by mysteries that cry faintly in dreams.

 

Am I curious? Does wonder intrigue me? Do questions open vistas to crazy things unknown?

-To ponder regarding the colour of blue, that shines in the sky and fills me with light.

-To sense a small child all twinkly and bright, inquisitive with wonder, chuckling with delight.

-To float in the ocean, and sway in the surge, of forces unseen and vastness of might.

Where is my place? Who am I ?

As i sense something bigger that baffles my soul.

 

Am I here in this realm? Am I there so surreal? Does my mind capture essence when spirit lives aware?

  • To perceive with senses that thrum and seem jolted, that shift vision to places where only angels dare.
  • To be drawn in, to be loosened while frames disappear, so that words become formless and brightness is so much more than glare.
  • To be known and knowing within intimacy’s embrace and feel love’s explosion taken past time and this “where?”.

Why am safe? Why am I laughing?

As I live in awe loving eternity’s surprise!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Ancient echoes

A man who falls and never rises is a man dead before his time. Pride really does come before a fall, and then a shattering encounter with frailty lashes us to die. So men wander spent and drunk, always dying, never dead. Caught between the living  hell of knowing and the oblivious death of stupor. Can hope ever live when faced with such a death?

A man swiftly sees a generous soul as a place to weep and wail; hoping for a small deposit to aid the journey down. Eyes that see in love, stop a hiding heart. Defences leap and distance quickly gains reprieve, while aching ears hear mercy and compassion’s hopeful song. Honour’s   call seems out of place. Can anything penetrate stupor’s haze?

Spirit’s song sings a deeper note than any drug can dare. Hidden treasures deep within hopeless castle’s depths stir to wakefulness. Ancient echoes of life’s full bloom, resonate within these dungeon corridors. A forgotten fragrance rises invading space and time as an ancient soul wakens up to life’s creative possibility. Can it be?

Tears pour down as memory’s journey opens wounds locked in silent agony. Hope comes uninvited to the fore. Struggle rumbles and whispers counter seditious lies that would hint life could once again be held as dear. In the balance, a future leaving legacy for dreams or the rapid slide to old oblivion. Who can win if one is weak?

Mysteries are part of darkness and this light. What seems dark can only be full of light if love’s transparency is loosed. Desperate cries that mumble unspoken grief rise before a fountain that so easily loosens deadly chains. Impossible is only found within the dark. Light plays wild and paints a dream of transformed joy. Can I believe?

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Facing the questions

As I meander in my journey, I am recognizing that all questions must be faced!

For example, the question – “Why do I crave something addictive?”- is at the root of many broken areas of life. Whether it is a chemical substance, an adrenaline rush or simply approval, if I do not find an answer, I will live in a shadow world – never realizing freedom. Always hiding, always struggling.

The challenge is to recognize those moments when the question comes bubbling up into my conscious mind as a gift of grace! The exact moment in time that it flows into my awareness is actually a moment primed for discovery! The moment has intruded in discomfort! It has grabbed my attention as circumstances have shone a spotlight on some aspect of my life that permits my eyes to see clearly, if only for a few minutes.

The questions when they float up into my thoughts, invite me to honesty. Each question asks me to face my fears and sorrows. Rejection, confusion, and intentional harm are part of life. Each event slices me open in many and varied ways. All of them unique, all of them painful! Generally I learn to run and hide, be angry, be busy, be dismissive, be arrogant, be strong, or be victimized. All of it, in a pattern of my own evolution.

The challenge is to let my journey teach me a courage that is grounded in hope. When I can not believe I really have a capacity greater than that which I have realized to date, I “have to” hide in fear. I can be so sure that I am on the brink of discovering my innate lack of significance! I will run away from this nightmare!

Yet, the journey also draws me into encounters that show me that I have purpose. It reveals unique attributes that no one else can quite exhibit – in the unique way I do. I find those others on the journey who delight in that uniqueness and find me quite refreshing – if I but have the courage to reveal myself and not merely be a mirror reflecting back the jumble of my bustling surroundings.

Each of us needs to find an answer to this question- “Who will look into my eyes and find me precious, or cherished, or loved?” I can be part of that answer! It does not take too much progress in the journey to discover that there is a spiritual reality that causes each one of us to sparkle in ways that makes me truly beautiful to any one who has eyes to see. Catch the sparkle – be the answer. Face the questions, find the answers! I have always been surprised by how many have been waiting to meet me! You will too!

Weeping

Desperation,

the sound of a woman

weeping,

caught between hunger

and the fear of what comes.

When poverty chokes

and there is no hope-

who do you turn to

for help that ends pain?

 

Choices,

I’m sleeping

with someone who grants food

to my little baby,

and shelter from rain.

When love is a phantom

and pain is my friend,

how can I dream

of innocence so clean?

 

Grasping,

I’m reaching to touch.

Feeling,

even one ounce of love.

Haunted, thirst is profound.

Why can’t you see?

Why won’t you help?

Why does my role play

not reach to your heart?

 

Peace,

shares my weeping.

Embrace,

wraps my heart.

Presence breathes – “I belong”.

Moments so precious,

seem easily lost.

Why can’t the world just stop?

 

Change,

comes with longing.

Life,

breathes in grace

as I shift how I see.

What keeps me hoping?

How will I laugh?

When will my spirit

sense home is my friend?

Author – Bill Tidsbury