Tag: friend

“How you feelin?” Bill Kraski loomed a giant among the weak. My first words to him were always, “how you feelin?” For as long as I knew him, Bill was a member of “the walking wounded;” sometimes seemed to be “dead men walking,” Just his appearance welled up tears in me — Till he started to converse. Authentic laughter Then came the smile, a little tease, then authentic laughter, now a return to a controlled face. “Okay!?” – was a half question/half reply — he “noted” my comments. “Okay?” Next came something that required deep thought, (some details were missing), nevertheless after a few queries, profundity occurred. Bill gave us, in a short sentence, hours of meditation; the baritone spoke as a news reporter.  Bill spoke of his D.J. days, when prompted. I think he played “MacArthur Park” first of anybody. He liked Bela Fleck and anything “light jazz.” I…

Read More Remembering Bill

In our suffering we may face gloom at dawn, and dawn after dawn, on and on, it stays. Grieving pain is longsuffering, expanding, lingering. It keeps on keeping on, reduces curing to schemes of preservation; ignores the total healing potential. Bodily aches require pain relievers, salves, creams, and rest. Pain of loss needs equal kinds of attention. First of my strategies in soul-trauma was to eliminate downward-turning advancements toward the mind-emotion-conscience etc. especially feelings. This exercise was simply “wound protection,” accepted since making peace with the loitering wound was considered a normal function. I became acquainted with just how much my wound would endure, which was not that much. I nursed it; after all, it assumed a prominent place in my soul. Woundees are a particular breed. As one of them, I didn’t really savor being around negative people. I craved love and attention; it was easy to discern skeptical…

Read More Touch Them, They Hurt

   Love allured me as my barely remaining chance. Nothing else attracted me. My shattering had stamped out any lingering self-effort in me; even the sense of nerves stirring had vanished. Inertia bound me. I became the man under the bed covers on a cold winter morning, paralyzed. I concluded, “The next transpiration of events would take place toward me, but not from me.” Then God came to me. He found me in my pool of blood, so to speak, and said “live.” Did you hear? God began to talk to me — thoughts of love, reintegration, joining, and joy. Love counterpoised my “death of soul,” percolating the threat and leaving it to seem like a mere concoction of my imagination. Then it set on fire a new beginning. Love’s infiltrating spheroid introduced an orb of extreme well-being in me, a far superior one with warmth and surety. Now, enveloping…

Read More My Bed of Languishing