Conversation with a Praying Mantis

Yesterday, I met a Praying Mantis by my mailbox, of all places! We were on the same eye-to-eye level... perhaps on another level, as well. I had seen mantids several times before, but always "from the top looking straight down." This time, I was more beside him as he hung upside down, and could watch him as he watched me. He turned his head to follow the sound of my voice, my fingers as I wiggled them at him. I almost felt as if I were interacting with him on some intelligent level.

I watched him for some time... taking note of his praying posture, his patience as he could wait, unmoving. I remember reading somewhere that mantids can teach us much about perception through stillness. Time in a linear sense seems irrelevant to them. They move according to inner instinct.

Manny (the Mantis!) showed me how to consider my own patience, my own "perceptions through stillness." Have I lost patience with something or someone? Have I been too patient? I had never considered being too patient before, but realized that both ends of the spectrum can have as detrimental an effect in different ways.

He invited me to reflect on my own perceptions about certain situations and people. He reminded me that I needed to be in touch with my instincts, and move or not move appropriately.

It was an interesting "conversation," one I will long remember. It was more than just "Pandy is talking to a bug again..." It was somehow more, and I am awestruck, once again, by how much we can learn on a personal level from God's Creation.

Daddy's Knees

I DON'T HAVE MS WHEN I DREAM.

But, actually, in one of my dreams the other week, I DID have MS. Had my chair with me, and everything. Is that an "acceptance" of my disease?

Maybe. For many years I had almost paraded my denial as a war banner, as if it were my signal (my reminder?) to fight.

But, suddenly, I don't feel as if Acceptance is the same thing as Surrender. It seems, instead, to acknowledge the fact that I have MS, like I acknowledge that my eyes are blue ... no ... wait ... I LIKE my blue eyes! How about: it's like I acknowledge my "knobby knees?" "Daddy's Knees!" I don't particularly like them, I can't really change them, but I don't cover them up with long pants when the weather is warm. They are there. They're a part of me.

MS is a part of me. And, just as I can't say that I AM nothing more than a pair of knobby knees, so I don't allow myself to be defined by the MS. It's an unwelcome part of my life, but I don't have to allow it to label me. I won't. It's there, like Daddy's knees.

You know what? Overall, I wouldn't trade off Daddy's Knees! It's a loving reminder that he was my Daddy ... and gave me these knees!

And even though I wouldn't mind getting better or even cured from the MS (like, THAT'S an understatement!!!), I wouldn't trade off my experiences with it. It has led to so many other blessings -- people I've met and those who have become close friends, experiencing the kindness of others, places I've gone where I never would have gone if not for the MS, slowing down by necessity to discover aspects of myself that I would have blown past before (like a new love for photography) ... things like that.

It's all about Perspective.

MYSELF

I am my own.
So let go the sun
and the hopes
of transient tomorrows,
let go the stars
and their promise of night magic.
I am my own
and will make
my tomorrows
my magic
my life
out of bits and pieces,
scraps and remnants
and it will be worthy
of the glories of the sky.

pld
The Prolific Writers Journal
Vol. 95, Issue 5

I Need

Lord, I need a burning bush!
I need a column of cloud
and a pillar of fire!
I need a Jordan River to stop flowing
and a Red Sea to part!
I need loaves and fishes!
I need the hem of Your garment!
I need ...
I need ....

"Peace, be still."

pld

Who Am I?

I am a writer; a poet.

I am a Greyhound Mom, a Feathered Friends Mom.

I am a child of God.

I am an intelligent, creative Woman of Worth.

I am a person with a disability.

So often I hear (and from those who love me) that "you can't do 'this and such'," and "you shouldn't try" and "you may hurt yourself."

Discouragement spoken in love. Protection. I understand and can see that the intents of those hearts are only for good.

But what is "good?" It is "good" for whom? Me? Them? Someone else? Who am I? I am not a disability.

I momentarily shift my point of perspective (there's that word again!) to watch the wild birds that fly through the air. I take note of their freedom. What man can spread his arms and fly? Is that a man's disability? From a bird's perspective, it may be. Or, are birds free enough within themselves not to notice ... or care?

Who am I? I am a woman of worth, dependent on others, who holds on viciously to her independence, and yet who tries to discern God's higher plan for her life, and submits in humility.

Ultimately, I am those innermost thoughts and intentions and beliefs. I am my heart. I am my spirit. I am my soul. I am His.

In my weakness, He gives me strength of character.

In my neediness, He gives me what I need to encourage and support others.

During my most vulnerable moments, I choose to love.

Who am I? I am still, basically, the same person I was when healthy. I now have more physical limitations and am in a constant state of learning how to cope, compromise and accept. I am learning to recognize that which cannot be changed, and improve on that which can be changed.

I am ME.

Mystery Guest, Enter, & Sign In Please

Identity
Pronunciation: i DEN ta tee (well .... that's close ...!)
Function: noun
2a: the distinguishing character or personality of an individual : INDIVIDUALITY b: the relation established by psychological identification 3: the condition of being the same with something described or asserted (establish the identity of stolen goods)

Sometimes it's difficult for a person with a disability or disease to hang on to their identity. People want to help and I, for one, appreciate it. Really.

But, you can lose yourself to other people's best intentions for you. You know, NO ONE does it the way you would. But I certainly don't want to bring this up to anyone ... I don't want to seem unappreciative or ungrateful because I AM grateful! And it feels good that folks want to help me out, which I NEED! But it's still frustrating sometimes ... it's not the way I "would have done it," or WHEN I would have done it, or WHAT I would have gotten .... So I compromise my wishes in lieu of receiving help (which is usually accompanied with love).

As such, I've learned that this can be a lesson in selflessness. Society focuses so much on what you can do for yourself, what you want, getting ahead, self-promotion, success .... Sitting on the other side of the table now (because these traits defined ME when I was healthy), I question those goals. In the end, do they REALLY define who you are? There is a difference between what you've done from the person behind those "accomplishments."

Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!

It’s a quiet day today. I go through the house silently, careful not to make any noise, as if a baby were sleeping. The only sounds are from the wild birds outside, and the steady ticking of the clock in the living room. This quiet day seems to be full of unexpected memories, fragile as glass. I remember my brother …

HE LOVED TRAINS

I can now only remember
bits and pieces of his face
as if a jigsaw puzzle
had been turned upside-down
and there! on the floor
is his crooked-tooth smile,
a pair of blue eyes with pale lashes,
a thatch of hair
the color of blond strawberries ....

It’s difficult, though,
to put the puzzle back together,
as if Time and my memory
conspire to fade
the only mental portrait of my brother
that I have.

Oh, I could pull out
any one of a hundred photos,
but it seems that Kodak is cheating
not to have mementoed the power of his stance,
the strength of arms which held love,
his splay-footed walk ....

But worse,
the sound of his voice
and his laugh -- these are growing still.
They are almost
as quiet as ashes scattered
along railroad tracks
in Virginia.

What can you see?

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul .... I remember when this picture was taken. There were some troubles that were plaguing me at the time, and I really do think it shows in my eyes. A hint of sadness?