freedom

Let It Burn (The Price of Freedom) by M. Dionne Ward

Pain is the price of freedom.

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Spirituality is present when you are ready to pay that price for freeing yourself of your pain. When you are comfortable with the pain, and can allow it to pass through you.  It will hurt.  It will burn you and may even send you reeling. But it is better to allow that pain to come and express itself fully, with you aware that it is there, than to push it away from you and never acknowledge it.

Imagine that your mother is dying, but you don’t know it.  You have no idea. But your sister, with whom you have a horrible relationship, has called to tell you.  Now, you love your mother but you loathe your sister.  So, you see her calling but you decide not to answer because you want to punish her still, for something she did so long ago that you can’t remember.  She keeps calling and leaving messages but you don’t even listen to them. You block her from your phone because she won’t stop. 

A few days pass and finally another family member calls and says that your mother has died.  You are hurt and sad and frustrated that you didn’t know. They tell you that your sister has tried to call you several times but couldn’t reach you. You then feel ashamed that you let your old grudge get in the way of the love you had for your mother.  You’re mad and distraught that she died before you got a chance to say goodbye, just because you were stubborn.

If you would have just allowed your sister that call, you could have embraced all the pain that you would have felt anyway and still had a chance to talk to your mother before she died.  In your avoidance, you caused even more pain to yourself.

We have to allow our pain its due.  We cannot hide from it because it will fester into something even more painful.  It’s like cancer when left untreated, except it doesn’t kill you physically.  It provides a more heinous result: mental and spiritual anguish.  This kind of torture is something that haunts a life and grasps hold of all that is good, ruining relationships and stunting your spiritual growth.

Let it burn now.  In my struggles I was just like this. I pushed things away that hurt me, or even those that I thought would hurt me.  I refused to listen to my friends and family that told me I was wrong.  I even allowed my pain to subvert the health of my relationship, nearly destroying my marriage.  The pain I caused my wife, God help me, was nearly irreparable.  But when I finally started to embrace that pain and see what I had done to her, only then was I able to heal our relationship and myself.  It was so painful hearing that I’d caused her so much pain, that eventually I had to go to therapy.  It was so bad at times I just fought with her about it, refusing to acknowledge her very valid concerns. My need for control was out of control, if you understand what I’m saying. 

I wanted to avoid what I had done. I needed to maintain the picture of someone who did things for valid reasons.  I wanted to justify my bad behavior.  All of it was just a vehicle for hiding from myself, fearing that exposing my true problems would make me a pariah of sorts.  But in my weakness, God makes me strong.  I was made whole by just yielding to that pain.

We are all broken individuals, struggling through life, trying to make it work.  Not one of us is truly special.  We are just people, trying to be loved by people.  People with pain and scars and misdeeds.  Human.  Don’t avoid who you are because you’re afraid of what someone else will think. 

Let that pain burn through you and be cleansed like iron in fire.

The Witching Hours by M. Dionne Ward

"There is one simple thing wrong with you. You think you have plenty of time." - Don Juan Matus

There are witching hours each day. The hours, speculated between 12am and 2am, that supernatural activity is most prevalent. Pagan mysticism. These hours are also said to be prohibited for any Catholic worship. But I ask you, do you put limits on your worship? Are there limits to the work that you will do, especially when it needs to be done?

Hours that ask questions and we delay the answer. We delay because we fear work. We fear the hard answers. We are the bird that cannot learn to fly, for it has never left the cage.

BUT THE CAGE WAS NEVER LOCKED!

Just try the fucking door and you will be able to walk free. Is this too much for the average person? Must be, because there are only a few that can escape the illusion of lack that blinds the world. Charles Bukowski was a staunch proponent of work, because he understood that hard work sets apart the powerful and the mundane. Michael Jordan. Salvador Dali. I could name hundreds.

Man doesn't truly want freedom. True freedom, means WAR. A war within the self that means challenge and frustration. It could mean uprooting everything that you thought. All that you believe. Sleepless nights. Poverty. Disdain.

We cannot be boxed in when work must be done. So the witching hours will see work as well, and you will defy the tenets of restraint and age old codes of performance. You will be free.

 

Daily Devotional: Lacking Faith by M. Dionne Ward

Night and day we pray most earnestly that we may see you again and supply what is lacking in your faith.
– 1 Thessalonians 3:10 (NIV)

And in this, I functionally declare that it is sometimes hard to come to people, God's people in church, and see their faces, knowing how foolish I am and have been.  Often, I cower from within, possibly a symptom of a childhood shyness that should have fallen away long ago.  It is my hope that people do think of me, even so, praying that they see me again, with the intense hope that my faith be multiplied due to their diligence and love.

God almighty be thanked, for he brought Jesus low so that we might ascend the heights.  These "heights" are metaphorical only, as the heart of God is neither in the sky nor out in the expanse of space.  God exists in the hearts of men, so that we may expound upon his grace, and illuminate the dark spots of our world.  It is for us to share, so that we supply what is lacking in one another, that we may be made whole in our faith.

Even today, I wished failure upon myself, seeing my meager struggle as an obstacle, and not a blessing. So easy to forget, in times of distress, that God will supply all that I need.  So easy to fall prey to false pity, goaded by foolish pride, crying foul to all around you for your plight.  But the bed is made by you, and you must lie in it.  Accept your struggles as part of life and the result of what has happened in the world as it is, for we are all connected.  Yes, it is true: what you do will affect others, whether adversely or for gain.

I follow you, dear Jesus, for you saved me from myself.  I look to you in my time of trouble and need. so that I might not despair.  

God bless.

Much Illumination by M. Dionne Ward

Starting over has been...challenging. Seems I've come full circle.

Much illumination comes with frustrating circumstances. When the lights are turned on, they often reveal things we aren't ready to see, things that we never even knew were there in the first place.  Surprises.

I shake my head at it.  Seems insurmountable sometimes.  Still, I do not lose heart.  Even as the doors are slammed in my face, I look for the lesson in it all.  I placed myself here, believing in what God can do when you rely and believe in Him.  Therefore, I have no choice but to trust in His plan and let him guide my steps.

My last interview was at NORC, the National Opinion Research Center.  I interviewed for one of their service desk positions.  They declined to offer me a job because I didn't have enough Active Directory experience.  Fair enough.  But it was a great interview, nonetheless.

God bless the downtrodden.

Through Devotion and Art by M. Dionne Ward

Holding on to nothing, I will be able to gain everything...

There are great worlds to visit, through devotion and art. There is God and love, granting light to this dark world. Even so, you cannot escape yourself.

Dealing with the inner man is the only thing that can save you from destruction. It is the only thing that will allow you to embrace God. Releasing your mind from the prison that the world has surrounded you with, will grant change and transformation.

Great worlds to visit. God is waiting on each path, to each world. Through art and devotion I find my way home, creating the steps toward resolution. But you must let go of your pain, release your reliance on worldly things. Discover the impermanence in all, so that you can be free.

The Never Man: Recovery by M. Dionne Ward

Recovery is slow, and I burn through the days, so my eyes glisten bloodshot red

when I swallow the morning; I almost choke on the sun, needing to eat light

cause this darkness is keeping my arteries tight.

I took out a loan on time cause I never have enough left over
As it slips through my hands. I’m the Never Man, never could-never can.
I never juked right; I barely ran. I’m in recovery and it’s slow processing and second guessing, terminal outpatient raving and foolish, puerile cravings of a young man, aging. The years grant gifts of periodic joy, I wander and wonder why I play life so coy, why I’m shuffling my packaged feelings like an errand boy.

Recover. Repair. Under duress, my blessings are a semblance of sleepy-eyed gestures within spiritual haze. A hollow wish pulls an empty gaze, a blind rodent scurrying through a tattered maze. The abandoned home. The missing page. I’m the actor performing his show off-stage, the unheard soliloquy fueled with rage.

I wake up and grab my cup and choke down the sun. I want to feel it going down but my body’s too numb. The Never Man: never free, never done, never defeated but always unsung. Recovery is slow, but the madness is fun, and I burn through the nights just to choke down the sun. I learn through the days and the battles I have won. I burned through the age to the man I've become.

All The Way Gone by M. Dionne Ward

I've hustled my way down and around, kicking dirt across weathered roads, catching a glimpse of what life would look like if I really had a hold. I think I'm hurrying, how do I get there when the getting there just got up and burnt out? I wanna rush, I wanna go forth and leap across mountain ranges and feel the air whistling and rattling about me. Speed, man. Let's go.

Let's take it to the fullest extreme, all-out tornado trippin', I'm a whirlwind pyramid or something close to its functionality. I just wanna wake up on the go, my feet already pointed in the direction I need to travel. I wanna be part of the solution to make the world unravel...to cave it in, to break it and watch it rattle. I wanna be the KA-BOOM in your gasp. The shock in your awe. The chatter in your teeth.

Just wanna be. I know Freedom ain't what it used to be. It's a shadow of its own shadow split amongst their shadows. An after image that is beginning to fade. Freedom seemed like it was there one day, then gone, never said "good bye", "I'll see you" or "go to hell". Wonder if Freedom knew me? The same me that's jetting like a plane to see it torn up and done again, built up and spun and spun and then kicked to smithereens like a wooden board before Bruce Lee's foot.

Am I running to escape? Maybe so. But it's too late. I've already been caught and manhandled and bruised and bludgeoned. I got right back up and begged for some more. Look at me: I'm built for this, mom. I'm built for this. Look at what's left of your prodigal son. The son that keeps running til he can no longer run. A son that keep going till he was all the way gone. All the way gone, all the way to none.

That Dreams Again by M. Dionne Ward

Think of how overly sad it seems to be tragically caught up in a memory
That takes it time draining you of yours, lingering and loving as it so pleases
touching your face and holding your hand, never really being there but there nonetheless,
making the days nervous so that the nights tremble, and you can’t shake the longing
A broken smile so crystalline, shining thin and ghostly and gone
Is a dream that dreams again, laughing that seems like a song

A memory made, a thought trickling to a cascade of wondering about
Sorrowful intimate notes that were once known to inspire adoration
Living the truth is living a lie is loving somehow watching a cloud filled sky
Casting a somber canopy that is a mirror to my mood, so I’m wishing I could fly
A careful kiss that is warm, is soft, something I carry with me as I walk
Is a dream that dreams again, and the tears pour from my heart.

REDEMPTION SONG by Bob Marley by M. Dionne Ward



(One of my all time favorites. Brings the big baby tears every time.)

Old pirates, yes, they rob I;
Sold I to the merchant ships,
Minutes after they took I
From the bottomless pit.
But my hand was made strong
By the 'and of the Almighty.
We forward in this generation
Triumphantly.
Won't you help to sing
This songs of freedom
'Cause all I ever have:
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs.

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery;
None but ourselves can free our minds.
Have no fear for atomic energy,
'Cause none of them can stop the time.
How long shall they kill our prophets,
While we stand aside and look? Ooh!
Some say it's just a part of it:
We've got to fullfil the book.

Won't you help to sing
This songs of freedom-
'Cause all I ever have:
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs.

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery;
None but ourselves can free our mind.
Wo! Have no fear for atomic energy,
'Cause none of them-a can-a stop-a the time.
How long shall they kill our prophets,
While we stand aside and look?
Yes, some say it's just a part of it:
We've got to fulfill the book.
Won't you have to sing
These songs of freedom? -
'Cause all I ever had:
Redemption songs -
All I ever had:
Redemption songs:
These songs of freedom,
Songs of freedom.

The Straight Path, Re-Visited by M. Dionne Ward

"Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator."
-Colossians 3:9-10


Thank you God for giving me another chance.

I know so much has happened in the past year, but I continue to be hopeful. You have made a way for me when I literally had none. I can remember when I was at work in Washington, not knowing where I was going to sleep that night, lo and behold you sent someone that gave me a place to lay my head for not one night, but three. Lord, I was actually homeless for those days, and I realize that you wouldn't let me fall too far, as long as I had you on my mind and in my heart.

I thank you for just being God all by yourself. You don't need any help to make the stars shine and the planets move. I am humbled by your grace and in awe of your majesty. I ask that you continue to build in me the great human being you have asked me to be. I know I have my flaws and I fall short of what you want me to be, but you love me anyway. Thank you.

I ask that you take care of my loved ones. I want you to watch over them and keep them safe, Lord. My friends, all those near and far, keep them close to you so that no harm may befall them. I ask that those things or people you don't want in my life Lord, remove them with grace and expedience, Father, for I must not tarry. Liberation is near.

My true goal in life was to just be free. I know it sounds simple and maybe even crazy, but freedom is elusive. Highly sought, but rarely found. Help me find my way, Heavenly Father. This is my prayer to you, for I am but a lowly servant, a man trying to be a warrior. Put me on the straight path, so that I may lead by example.

In Jesus name I pray to Thee, Amen.

The Watcher, III or Falls the King by M. Dionne Ward





Some say the world will move on. Yet, what would it move on to?
Watching, cataloging ambitious jests
and surly men crouching like hungry beasts
to feed, to fulfill, to breed
and follow the irony in the culmination of experience.
They are slaves.
Rambling, haggard slaves chained to their past, linked to nothing.

And the world will move on
The shameless, boastful world of many proud men
sinful braggarts that breathe dust,
washing their hands in watery rust
There is no cleansing. There is no surgical procedure that will mend.
But you and I, you and I will meet at the end.
In the end we are slaves, carrying our chains and hanging our heads.

A watcher, watching a once hopeful now full of futility,
perished memory sliding through the slits in a soul
trickling down reminding, rewinding a mind that imploded
trusting trinkets and shiny rocks and forgetting that Death
should be held close. Life is the Enemy.
They hold on too much, hanging heads and singing hymns
heaping their trust in God when they can't trust themselves.

Where does it begin to topple? He muses majesty and
believes in power, so the mind grasps the esoteric,
puffed up like a pillow on manly deeds that profess
kingship. The king becomes the pawn, and the pawn falls
like the rest.
Falls the king.
Following a dream.
Founding a lie.

The Watcher, Deuce. by M. Dionne Ward

Watching the days like a maze, twisting at 90 degree angles, sharply changing my outlook and preparing me to prepare for adaptation, makes it hard to get used to being anything anyone wants, when I want someone to understand the real me. I watch it happen, standing on the outskirts of self, surveying the soul-landscape and I am unsure but thankful and proud and happy. I am the ghost of my true-self. I am the harbinger of unfortunate beauty. I am the height of the stars and the width of the cosmos.

I hold the essence of what it is to be: I am my own worst enemy.

Watching carefully, the charismatic political vampires perched, admiring the ignorance of the masses with mirth, my shadow falls on that which is cursed: a mind not aware of its worth.

Sell to me your backwashed gossip, stench-ridden lies propped on leaning tables like art. You would hang it on a wall, a diseased plaque looking like a mirror for the world's wasted youth, a haggard beast of a man with one tooth.

Watch this fall away, knowledge, the Lord says it will decay from minds first, so recall no riddles till laughter bursts, keep your hands in your own pocket and out of her purse.

I hold the essence of what can be known: your body is a shell and you are alone.

Watching what you will spin, your regrets, your mistakes that seethe again, reminding you that you should not be reminded and let the past be the end.

I am the Watcher.

The Watcher by M. Dionne Ward

The Seattle night speaks to me in cryptic code, a language old, and I understand then the dark streets that move with spastic rhythm, oddly reflecting the motley assortment of people living therein, the pushers, the pan-handlers, the druggies, the club-hoppers, the drunks, the various pedestrian/vagrant ingredients all lumped together like southern mashed potatoes, looking for their own one-way dream road to the magnificence of living, hoping to be loved.

I am the not the night stalker, but an observer- the watcher, seeing the thoughts of the day manifested in the realm where most wear masks, hiding the shadows they cast by day, the images I see are only the projections, so when we touch, we don't touch each other, we are grasping at air, fingers caressing dusty nothingness with an eager flair. When we speak, we don't speak to each other, but convey intelligible wordplay to apparition avatars that fade when the buzz is killed.

A language old, the hidden, vintage vagabonds breathing guilt into guiltless interaction taking time to steal reality and leave lies in their place. There is care and there is grace in the movement, and I watch them dance their hearts away hearing the false shift in the sway of their hips. I suppose we, all, are looking, hoping, to cultivate honesty from a garden of fearful subterfuge. The night is a menagerie, an elegant mess that has a broken twinkle, an image that glows in the night but fades with the rising of the sun.

Here I am, wanting to holler for the truth that is in my face, quietly reaching for an answer I can't place. Could I be running after something I'm not supposed to chase?

I am the watcher, a son of none here, eager to see the beauty in all, facing the night to understand the day.

To be continued...

Id, Ego, Super-Ego (A path to freedom) by M. Dionne Ward

Let me just say that the research for this piece was done after viewing the movie "Revolver". Check it out if you get the chance...

Freud argued that the mind was composed of three theoretical constructs: the id, the ego and super ego. Fashioned in infancy, the id is the summation of the basest desires, such as food and sex. It is the most animalistic and instinctual of the three, lying in direct opposition to the super-ego. The ego is supposedly the “self”, which is what we have become through interaction with the world around us. It actually is driven to satiate both the id and super ego. “The Ego comprises that organized part of the personality structure which includes defensive, perceptual, intellectual-cognitive, and executive functions. Conscious awareness resides in the ego, although not all of the operations of the ego are conscious.” The ego is said to be a slave to three masters: the id, the super-ego and the world. This is because the “self” must attempt to work and live in harmony with each of these constructs in the most pleasurable way possible. The super-ego is the refined part of the psyche, regulating and defining the higher ideals of the ego. The super-ego allowing feelings of guilt and remorse. Feelings, fantasies, hunger and sex will be prohibited by this construct if they are defined by the ego’s ideals as such.

Thinking of this, I know that we each have three personalities fighting within us, jockeying for position. Herman’s Head, a 90’s sitcom involving a man and his unconscious interactions with the three distinct parts of his mind, is reminiscent of Freud’s psychic apparatus.

My Id would be called “Big Dogg”. Big Dogg is a nickname that was given to me in the dawn of my adolescence. At this time, as with most twelve year-olds, I was exploring girls and sports, things that gave me pleasure. I was experimenting, feeding the monster that was my id without concern for who I hurt. Sex was my vice, as I recall. It was the one thing that I sought to explore above all else, and I didn’t care what harm I caused myself or those I came in contact with. Big Dogg is the animal side, the growling beast that smiles like a baby, yearning for satisfaction, willing to feel pain for pleasure.

Marcelle is the Ego. He is me, or as close to the “real” me as possible. He is the culmination of experiences, the benefactor of situations. He has reaped what he has sown, and accepted the consequences of his actions. He feeds the id and super ego, vacillating between both hemispheres, an unconscious mediator at times. I am still not sure how to understand or differentiate between Marcelle-me or Marcelle-ego. I don’t know if they are the same or totally opposed. That is the problem, because I know that I can be fooled into thinking that the ego is me, because it tells me how to interact according to the whims of the id and super-ego as well as my environment, “the world”.

Ward Prefect is the Super-Ego. He is the teacher, the admonisher and the advocate for change. I find that the ideals that are embraced by the Ego can be enforced by Ward Prefect. I believe that God is at the forefront when the Super-Ego can be accessed, and that I am at my best when I am able to trust in my own ideals. Support for restraint and meditation are found there; the love of God emanates throughout if I am able to keep the clear mind that my super-ego endorses.

What is most puzzling is that when I became aware of these three psychological constructs, I found myself able to combat inclinations that I had previously left unchecked. It is like I am peering through the window of my own house, watching each of these personalities interact. Big Dogg’s on the couch, Ward Prefect is reading and Marcelle is trying to get them both to help clean up the house. It seems surreal now; like I can see myself for the first time. Now I am thinking there is a fourth construct: true self, or the Watcher.

This idea of the Watcher is not without its difficulties. One has to be aware of which one of the constructs he is dealing with at any one time, so as to not lose control of the self. The ego identifies with safety and resists struggle at times. The Watcher can see these hesitations and act upon them for the better of the whole being. Each of these parts, each construct, is still dependent upon the other. I believe what makes it all so marvelous is the idea that we don’t have to be slaves to any of them: we can benefit from regarding each, scrutinizing our moments carefully. We can weigh decisions better, and form more positive relationships.

It has been said, and I will believe this until my death, that 100 percent of our perceived external enemies are falsely created by our egos due to the fears, ideals and mores that culture, the world and our experiences have forced upon us. The true enemy all along is inside us: the ego sometimes becomes us and is able to lead us into a false sense of self. It makes us believe that we are it, and the feelings it expresses are true enough for us to follow and benefit from. If you think about it, why is your enemy your enemy? What makes him bad to you? Is it the ideas of others or your experience with them? Is it because of an idea you had about them, or an action that they took? What is the real cause of your feelings of hate or fear towards them? Christ came to Earth to present the reality of living in peace with one another. He championed love over hate, peace over war, and forgiveness over bitterness. He asked us to love our neighbors and forget about ourselves for once. It is in the self that we create these demons that cause us to fear people, situations and ideas contradictory to our own. That is profound, for as I think on it, all of the enemies I may have thought I had, were just formed through my fears, brought on by my interaction with the world. Why would I say that I hate another man, when he has not personally caused me harm? Should I call a man my enemy because he does not believe as I? Or because he does not like me? He may not like me because of someone else or something that his culture has instituted upon him. That is a prison of its own, and I need not be shackled again. We should live free and as friends through God.

This is another path to freedom.