Hope, Holding On

The land barren
With ominous clouds
I see no life
Where do I go?
 
A mustard tree
With a bird high
Songs of beauty
She is my hope
 
Holding on
 
Life a contrast
Despair around
But light up high
Look up for hope
 
Holding on
 
So many gone
Yet here I stand
Looking at hope
Look there I must
 
Despair, hope am I
Light, dark I live
I must look up
Hope from above
 
Holding on




Copyright 2017
Duane Windell Phillips

The Blind Beggar: Part XXVII

Amal sat on her balcony facing the Mediterranean and considered the setting sun and the sky before her.  Her mind was elsewhere but fought to concentrate on what she needed to do.  The following she’d gained on her blog grew daily and many expected regular sunset descriptions.  Still, it had been just over a year since her husband died.  In the months, after his death, she poured herself into her children.  It was a necessary thing to do but once they seemed to become accustomed to being fatherless, they would never get over losing their father, it was about that time Amal began writing again in earnest. 

Pouring out her pain was healing.  It was a much needed release.  Now that much of her life was settled, there was new a stirring in her soul.  It was a small impatience from another area in her life that had never fully been quenched.  This thirst began crying out for the drops of heaven.  They craved the same healing her emotions had received.  Slowly, imperceptibly, she wanted companionship. 

Still, at this point Amal recognized not this thirst.  She still honed her attention on her children, her household and her writing.  She didn’t let herself see anything else.  Therefore, the awakening within her was squelched by repeated business with the things a mother always does.  That is the life of a mother. 

Again, she fought her wondering mind.  The sunset, what does it say to me?  How would I describe it to Ali?  Remembering Ali reminded her of the evening of her first sunset portrayal to him.  With much pressing in on her mind, she chose to paint this scene similar to that one so many years ago.  She would use cotton balls and the same colors as that night.  This sky said nothing to her.  That one spoke volumes.  She would answer the one who was calling.

Boulos, Charles and Rima spent the morning together recounting tales of their recent past.  Much had happened and each had much to say.  There was a shared joy between them and they beamed with smiles.  Charles was happy to advise Boulos he’d received additional donors for financial support.  Therefore, he could continue to travel and share his life story.  Boulos wept at the news.  His life had been a world of darkness both literally and emotionally and spiritually.  What had he done to deserve this favor?  He gave glory to God. 

When the meeting ended and they went their separate ways, Rima said, “I know you appreciate sunsets.” 

“Yes, yes I do.  It is a blessing to see them again.”

“I have been reading a blog written by someone who describes sunsets.  I was going to email a link to you, and I will, but I mean it.  This lady is good!”

“Ok, Ms. Rima.  I will read it if you say it is good.”

“Not just good.  She is very good.”

Bolous smiled, “Yes, ok, very good.  I will read it.”

My Heart is Yours

My heart is yours
And yours is mine
I long for you
All of the time
 
Across this world
And out to space
Oh how I long
To see your face
 
With miles long
And oceans deep
You see the sun
While I’m asleep
 
My darling love
My soulmate dear
Oh how I wish
That you were here
 
I close my eyes
And feel you near
I hear your heart
Believe you here
 
Desiring force
A longing’s peak
For a time when
We’re cheek to cheek
 
My darling love
All of the time
My heart is yours
And yours is mine

Copyright 2017

Duane Windell Phillips

 

 

The Blind Beggar: Part XXVI

It was five years later and the lives of Boulos and Amal changed drastically.  After a lifetime of wavering between atheism and agnosticism, Boulos became a Christian and worked with Charles and Rima.  Through the efforts of the trio, new converts were coming to Christ. 

Even more miraculous, Boulos had eye surgery and regained his vision.  It wasn’t perfect and he needed glasses to see clearly.  He started learning to read and began studying the bible in earnest.  He savored every sight he beheld.  Whenever possible, he sat and watched the sun set on the Mediterranean.  Each view thrilled his soul and warmed his heart. 

For two years, heartache followed Amal.  First, her oldest son became gravely ill.  After a long recovery, her husband was lost in an attack.  Daiwik was also seriously injured in the attack and eventually succumbed to his injuries.  The hearts of Amal and Madhura were broken for many long, dark months.  Since both women shared the losses of their husbands, they regularly turned to the other to endure the shadows that hovered over them. 

Eventually, Madhura returned to India to be with her remaining siblings.  She had no family left near her since her children moved out of the country years before.  It was the only way to have the support she needed.  Her departure left an added hole in Amal’s heart.  Before she left, Madhura encouraged Amal to begin writing again.  She had gained a large following prior to the terrible incidents that inflicted their lives.  Perhaps, she could use her talents to create an income and support herself and her children.  That is exactly what Amal did. 

Amal poured her pain onto the digital canvas.  While she eventually returned to painting the sunsets she saw, she wrote heart wrenching and moving verse of the pain in her heart.  Her words spoke what a multitude of her followers felt but could never express.  Her popularity exploded.  She set up accounts to get paid for blog views.  Amal never expected much but the income provided a comfortable living for her and her family. 

One night as he often did, Boulos told his story to a diverse audience.  He still had nerves each time he stood to talk.  He always told of how he felt like blind Bartimaeus whom Jesus healed in Jericho.  He told of how his heart was broken and he cried out to God to have mercy on him.  God did.  Miracles began occurring in his life after that night he gave his heart to Jesus. 

When Boulos would tell his life story, he always included parts of a young girl who showed compassion to him.  He never failed to mention how reaching out to the needy is required by those of faith.  While he wanted to honor his childhood love and her compassion by mentioning her in his story, he used a different name.  He called her Cristele. 

For some time, Boulos traveled by himself.  On this particular night, Charles and Rima attended the event where Boulos spoke.  The three of them enjoyed a warm reunion later that night and the following day. 

After Charles and Rima put the children down to bed, Rima said, “Remind me to tell Boulos about a writer I follow.”

“Ok, why do you need to tell him about that?”

“He loves sunsets, right?”

“Yes, he does.”

“When I started following her I thought of him but with his blindness, I just didn’t mention it.  Now that he can see and has been learning how to read, I thought it might be a way for him to practice reading.  You know people learn easier when it is something they love.  I think he would enjoy her descriptions.” 

The Blind Beggar: Part XXV

Dark clouds again settled on Boulos.  Per his personality, he internalized it.  Too often in his life, he never had anyone to which he could share his heart anyway.  Alone he was with thoughts of his uselessness.  Loneliness was shown in his whole demeanor.  His face was downcast and his gait slower. 

Everyone can read body language.  We are born with this ability and recognize what the face and body say long before a word is spoken.  We do this without realizing it.  Some people are in tune with this unspoken dialect.  Charles was fluent in this language.

He continued having coffee with Boulos after the work day and, in hindsight, saw the first signs.  However, he was preoccupied with other matters to let the unspoken words reach the ears of his heart.  Once the conversations were properly received, Charles worked to maintain focus and respond in the manner needed. 

Charles and Rima invited Boulos to dinner one night.  Boulos was taken aback by the invitation.  His initial reaction was to decline but realized he had no other plans but to stay in the apartment alone with his gloomy thoughts.  On the planned day, Boulos left work a few minutes early to get home clean up and change his clothes before the two men walked to the apartment. 

Since dinner was nearly ready, the couple sat him in a chair at the table and Rima set the table.  Boulos felt self-conscious and quite conspicuous as activity was about him.  Though the trio had known one another for some time, the formality of a new event retarded the flow of their interactions.  Rima began asking Boulous about his job.  He enjoyed his work and once Boulos began speaking about it, the tightness in the air lifted.

Both Charles and Rima spoke to Boulos as a person and genuinely cared about him.  Once their toddler, Miles, finished eating, he wanted to go to Boulos.  Boulos had held Miles before but this was the first time the boy wanted to go to him.  Once on Boulos’s lap, Miles turned to face him.  Then Boulos lifted Miles a little and the boy place his feet on Boulos’s lap and stood.  The two were face to face. 

Instantly, the boy reached to grasp two handfuls of beard and pulled.  It wasn’t enough to hurt but Rima chided the youngster for pulling on the beard.  Boulos decided to have some fun.  He made a funny face as he said, “Boo!”

Miles broke out in laughter which was contagious to the adults focused on the boy.  He looked at his parents, relishing in the attention.  Boulos again said, “Boo!”  Once more Miles laughed heartily and those around him chortled in reply.  Over and over the sequence repeated.  The joy of the moment affected them all.  Boulos laughed until he cried.  He said, “Oh, my stomach.  I haven’t laughed this hard in years.”

Rima agreed, “Same here.”

As Charles walked Boulos home, Boulos asked, “Mr. Charles, why do you and Mrs. Rima take interest in me?  I am no one.”

“That’s not true.  You are someone.”

“Ok but I am not important.”

“You’re important to me.”

“But why?  Why am I important?”  It was an existential question that came from the pit of his being.  He desperately wanted to know why Charles and Rima treated him as a person when the rest of the world ignored him.  What was different now?  What was different with them?

“Jesus once said it isn’t healthy people who need a doctor but the sick.  He also commanded us to love one another.  Because we’ve experienced God’s love, we want to share it with others.  You probably haven’t experienced much love in your life.”  Boulos was silent.

“Boulos, I believe in a personal God.  I believe He meets us where we are with all of our flaws and is willing to look past them because he wants a relationship with us.  But we have to choose to have a relationship with Him.”

There was something about those sentences that spoke to Boulos.  For the first time, he was receptive when Charles and Rima spoke about Jesus. 

The Blind Beggar: Part XXIV

As Jo March, Amal began posting her sunset descriptions.  She was happy when the first person read and liked her post.  She was elated when someone began following her.  Without thinking, Amal followed her back.  She had two followers: Madhura and the new person. 

After each entry, Amal checked the status after a few minutes to see if anyone read it.  She was puzzled by the randomness of how and when people read her work.  One day, there would be many page views and it made Amal very happy.  Then when she posted something she felt was the best yet, it seemed no one cared.  The whole process was thrilling and frustrating.  It was heaven and hell.  It made her crazy but she knew she could never stop.  She would blog the rest of her life. 

After blogging for some time, someone suggested she add a picture of the sunset for each description.  Amal pondered the thought for some time.  It seemed like an easy thing to do and, it appeared, would enamor some of her followers.  Still, Amal considered herself an old soul for her young age.  She felt people were losing the gift of description.  Yes, a picture says things mere words cannot.  But words speak life and emotions.  They can cut through to the soul of a human.  Poets understand this.  A poet says in a stanza what the novelist says in a page. 

Amal decided, unless she felt the occasion required it, she would not post pictures with her nightfall portrayals.  The world needed to learn again how to describe people, places and things.  We have gotten lazy in modern life.  Amal knew she could not change the course of evolution but she would be a rock in the river on this point. 

It was about this time, Rima began reading a new blog.  All the entries were dynamic renderings of various sunsets.  Since there was an option to follow the blog, Rima began doing so.  At first, she didn’t read every day or even with every notification of a new post.  Still, with each chapter, she found herself transported to a fantasy land. 

The world was perfect in the beauty of creation.  Each entry was about a mere point of the earth at a particular time of day but she felt drawn to it.  It was beauty.  It was simplicity.  It was nature itself.  It had a cleansing effect on her soul.  The author had a unique and fantastic way of capturing her imagination.  Rima felt she had observed some of the scenes.  Rima believed she shared some of the same experiences with the writer.  Of course, that was silly.

Little by little, Amal gained an ever growing following.  For the first time she felt she was a person again.  It seemed her life had been reduced to doing for others with no hint of appreciation from the receivers of her benevolence.  She understood keeping house and caring for her family were important and worthwhile things to do but Amal believed there had to be more.  Surely she was more than the cook, maid and nanny in her household.  She wanted to be more than the person her husband used to satisfy his desires. 

Perhaps, finally, Amal was beginning to recognize the buried desires of her heart.  She wanted to be seen and accepted as a person of worth who could contribute to the world.  Through Jo March, she was becoming that person. 

The Blind Beggar: Part XXIII

Amal now had a mission for her heart.  Whenever she had time, she hurriedly finished cleaning the kitchen and stepped outdoors.  At first, she simply stood on the balcony and observed.  She took in each sunset, soaking in the essence.  She used all her senses to absorb everything about it. 

She called back to descriptions she told Ali as he ate meals she brought.  He seemed to internalize her words.  In the moments on the balcony observing the setting sun, she felt closer to the love of her youth.  By now, she knew she couldn’t fantasize about being with Ali.  It couldn’t work.  She was married and had to move on but wanted to honor him in some small way.  Sunset was her remembrance.  It was her honor of Ali.  Sunsets were special to him and they became extraordinary to Amal as a result. 

After observing for a month or so, Amal felt the need to begin writing down her observances.  Like when she first began describing the nightfall skies to Ali, words were hard to find.  Over time, it became easier.  It was the same now.  She sometimes felt she grasped empty air as she reached for terms to describe God’s canvas.  She would simply do the best she could and trust He understood her deficiencies. 

In the beginning, she inscribed her perceptions in a simple notebook.  After a month of sunsets, Amal read over her observances.  For each one, she fought to again visualize the sight, to experience the image.  All in all, she was pleased with her ability to articulate the wonders of each sunset. 

A few weeks later while her husband was out of town on business, Amal and Madhura were discussing the progress of their herb gardens and other plants that were recently planted in the hours before sundown.  Amal paused as they stepped onto the balcony, looking at the sky.  Madhura took a moment to steal a glance toward the sea.  She remarked, “Oh, the sky is striking!”

Amal observed for a moment and responded, “Yes, the sea is like the blue-gray eyes of a great beast.  It is poised to rain torrents upon us tonight.”

Madhura looked at the young woman and remarked, “Wow!  That is poetic.  Do you write poetry?”

Embarrassed, Amal replied, “No, I have been closely observing sunsets lately.”

“Ok, but even people who watch sunsets aren’t so lyrical.  You should start writing poetry.  I think you would be good.”

“Oh no, no one would want to read it.”

“I would and I know other people who would like it too.  I’m in an online community to do book reviews and several of the people in our book club also write.  You could start putting what you write out there and see what people think.” 

“My husband would never allow it.”

“Who said he needs to know.  Everyone in our group uses fake names.  It keeps your identity safe.  He will never know. 

“What?  You?”

Madhura nodded her head.  “Daiwik was against the idea of me using anything other than Facebook to stay in touch with our children.  After a while, he met someone else whose wife regularly wrote stories under the name “Darla B.  She used the bare minimum of a personal description and she was going.  Then he warmed up to the idea.”  Madhura added with a laugh, “I was already in my book group by that time.”

The wheels were turning in Amal’s mind.  She felt she could do this.  It was nice to write her descriptions of the sunsets she saw.  Also, she believed what she wrote was good.  Only other people could validate that thought.  Did she dare try it?  What name would she use?

Jo March