Eyes in the distance
Hidden by the night.
Sitting on a bench,
in the deserted park.
Keeping warm with day old
news, another mans trash.
Praying for a miracle, dreaming
of another way, another day.
Cursing the rain clouds
praising the warmth of the sun's rays.
Begging for a torn and worn coat
frightened for life.
Eyes that see more than
You and I, ignored by society.
Considered a disease, unwanted
in this self-concerned world.
Offering a service for change,
just enough to feed himself.
Sleeping in an alley, amongst
a mountain of trash.
Hiding all his pain with gifted spirits,
just another day, no change.
No, he hasn't seen the world,
but his eyes know much more.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
Time is not Real
* It appears I wasn't such a dimwit in my teens. It's a shame I didn't truly understand what I was writing about.
A figment of the human mind,
an illusion set by man.
It never was significant,
time is not real.
The future is clear,
yet to be created.
The past is no more,
it cannot be recreated.
The present always is.
Tomorrow never comes.
Today is always here.
The reality is,
time is not real,
you only have now.
Time;
just another deception
from the depth of the
human mind.
Sandra Murdoch-Becker, Copyright 1987
A figment of the human mind,
an illusion set by man.
It never was significant,
time is not real.
The future is clear,
yet to be created.
The past is no more,
it cannot be recreated.
The present always is.
Tomorrow never comes.
Today is always here.
The reality is,
time is not real,
you only have now.
Time;
just another deception
from the depth of the
human mind.
Sandra Murdoch-Becker, Copyright 1987
Monday, April 11, 2016
King of 22nd Street
The King of 22nd Street
stands idle in the rain.
A bottle in his right hand,
a cane in the left.
Collecting money on the corner,
to buy himself a crown.
Sitting to rest on a crate,
believed to be his throne.
He screams in the night,
"I'm the King of 22nd Street,
got a problem?
You have to answer to me."
The Kingdom turns their backs on him,
some sit and stare.
Lights go out,
22nd Street is bare.
The King bows his head,
tears streaming down his face.
He's down on his luck,
with a bottle of Jack,
lost in a world of pain.
Sandra Murdoch-Becker, Copyright 1994
stands idle in the rain.
A bottle in his right hand,
a cane in the left.
Collecting money on the corner,
to buy himself a crown.
Sitting to rest on a crate,
believed to be his throne.
He screams in the night,
"I'm the King of 22nd Street,
got a problem?
You have to answer to me."
The Kingdom turns their backs on him,
some sit and stare.
Lights go out,
22nd Street is bare.
The King bows his head,
tears streaming down his face.
He's down on his luck,
with a bottle of Jack,
lost in a world of pain.
Sandra Murdoch-Becker, Copyright 1994
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
For the Love of an Addict
To love an addict is the most emotionally draining relationship to carry.
Do you know one?
A family member, friend, spouse, or a co-worker?
Are you one?
What's your part in the relationship?
Maybe your lucky enough to be an audience member.
Fortunate, you only have to sit and pass your judgement on the act playing out in your distant vision.
Maybe you're the dealer or the drink provider, the devil himself.
Maybe you are simply the enabler who thinks they are helping, supporting.
The biggest question I ask myself multiple times a day is, "Am I enabling or supporting?".
I often wonder if they are one in the same.
Is it possible to even be supportive without enabling?
Everyone's perspective of it is different.
What one views as being supportive can be viewed by another as being the enabler, and so the opposite also holds true.
It's definitely a Catch 22.
It's been a life long controversy in my head.
I've never put it on paper, never talked about it with another human, and never asked about it.
Just sat and argued with myself in the corners of my day and cried.
I've been lectured about it, but never asked how I feel about it or how I've lived with it.
I've carried on many conversations with the rising sun and the night sky about it.
Their beauty never gave me answers but always lifted my soul for a moment or two.
It got me through many days.
The thought of my loved ones always in the back of my head.
Often wondering how did they even get here?
How do they not love themselves enough when they obviously have so many that love them?
I never understood it.
How could I? I'm not an addict. I'm the enabler. The supporter. The comforter.
The one who doesn't get it.
The one sitting on the outside.
It's a burden to love, just as the addiction is a burden.
I wasted so much time trying to understand their choices.
Trying to be in their heads.
I never even had the urge to try any of it, how could I understand it?
So much energy wasted on the wondering and the what if's!
It is heartbreaking to know they don't love....couldn't love themselves enough to quit.
Their lives incomplete without it.
Like the need for a cup of coffee or a good book.
The need for their poison more important than anything or anyone in the physical world.
Maybe they were just waiting for death to come knocking.
Trust me, I'm not judging. Just thinking it through.
Still wasting time on wondering.
It hurts on this side (in case you wondered).
I've been raging mad, brought to my knees with sadness and cried tears that didn't matter.
I've spend much time in exhaustive worry.
Scared of the worst images my mind could conjure.
Overwhelmed with feelings one should not have to feel.
Conquered by the fear.
There is no winning here.
People just don't talk about it.
So, we've warned our children.
It's a dominant force in our lives.
They all know it's there and it's a risk to make this choice.
It could engulf them.
Or, as it was with me, it may not be appealing.
I pray this to be true.
I pray for them eternally that they won't know.
That they won't be the addict.
That they won't have to know the duties of the supportive enabler.
I've watched addiction. I've watched recovery. They are both a fight that never ends.
Do you know one?
A family member, friend, spouse, or a co-worker?
Are you one?
What's your part in the relationship?
Maybe your lucky enough to be an audience member.
Fortunate, you only have to sit and pass your judgement on the act playing out in your distant vision.
Maybe you're the dealer or the drink provider, the devil himself.
Maybe you are simply the enabler who thinks they are helping, supporting.
The biggest question I ask myself multiple times a day is, "Am I enabling or supporting?".
I often wonder if they are one in the same.
Is it possible to even be supportive without enabling?
Everyone's perspective of it is different.
What one views as being supportive can be viewed by another as being the enabler, and so the opposite also holds true.
It's definitely a Catch 22.
It's been a life long controversy in my head.
I've never put it on paper, never talked about it with another human, and never asked about it.
Just sat and argued with myself in the corners of my day and cried.
I've been lectured about it, but never asked how I feel about it or how I've lived with it.
I've carried on many conversations with the rising sun and the night sky about it.
Their beauty never gave me answers but always lifted my soul for a moment or two.
It got me through many days.
The thought of my loved ones always in the back of my head.
Often wondering how did they even get here?
How do they not love themselves enough when they obviously have so many that love them?
I never understood it.
How could I? I'm not an addict. I'm the enabler. The supporter. The comforter.
The one who doesn't get it.
The one sitting on the outside.
I wasted so much time trying to understand their choices.
Trying to be in their heads.
I never even had the urge to try any of it, how could I understand it?
So much energy wasted on the wondering and the what if's!
It is heartbreaking to know they don't love....couldn't love themselves enough to quit.
Their lives incomplete without it.
Like the need for a cup of coffee or a good book.
The need for their poison more important than anything or anyone in the physical world.
Maybe they were just waiting for death to come knocking.
Trust me, I'm not judging. Just thinking it through.
Still wasting time on wondering.
It hurts on this side (in case you wondered).
I've been raging mad, brought to my knees with sadness and cried tears that didn't matter.
I've spend much time in exhaustive worry.
Scared of the worst images my mind could conjure.
Overwhelmed with feelings one should not have to feel.
Conquered by the fear.
There is no winning here.
People just don't talk about it.
So, we've warned our children.
It's a dominant force in our lives.
They all know it's there and it's a risk to make this choice.
It could engulf them.
Or, as it was with me, it may not be appealing.
I pray this to be true.
I pray for them eternally that they won't know.
That they won't be the addict.
That they won't have to know the duties of the supportive enabler.
I've watched addiction. I've watched recovery. They are both a fight that never ends.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Have you ever listened to the tree's?
I sat, Indian style on the back deck paying special attention to the unseasonably warm November night, originally just wanting to gaze at the sky. I wasn't expecting the quick, engulfing dense fog or the heaviness of the moisture that began surrounding me. Comfortable in my sweatshirt & yoga pants, I never did catch a glimpse of the night sky. I could scarcely see the tree that was only 25 feet in front of me. It became eerily creepy on this fall night. The surrounding traffic noise was practically non-existent and my sense of hearing on heightened alert because of the rapid change in the visibility.
It became apparent that the trees, still heavy with leaves, were dropping them at a fairly quick rate. I can only assume it was because of the heaviness of the fog. The sound was a fairly relaxing beat, seemingly on purpose. You could here them floating to the ground one after another with pause between. Like a planned rhythm from the percussion's of a symphony. The largest tree on the right, the lead and the three smaller playing in from the left. Some floating to the roof, a heavier sound than those hitting the ground and then the swoosh of the leaves falling to the tarp covered play-set gliding eventually to the slide. Still noting the lack of visibility. I had a faint light coming from the kitchen window, but for the most part could no longer see the path to the door. The fog even more dense now and the tree's apparently enjoying their song, were almost teasing me with their antics. I sat wishing I could witness the leaves sound creation but grateful to have experienced the synchronous vibration of the night. The one tree sitting bare of leaves (I'm sure feeling left out), with a double trunk that twists into each other, joined in with a barely noticeable movement. Like the sound of an embrace that you would miss unless you were truly paying attention. An appreciative sigh.
The chill eventually got to me and I meandered back to the house with a grateful grin and a calm heart, still listening as the tree's continued their song. I stepped inside, absorbing the warmth but longing to listen to the trees for eternity.
It became apparent that the trees, still heavy with leaves, were dropping them at a fairly quick rate. I can only assume it was because of the heaviness of the fog. The sound was a fairly relaxing beat, seemingly on purpose. You could here them floating to the ground one after another with pause between. Like a planned rhythm from the percussion's of a symphony. The largest tree on the right, the lead and the three smaller playing in from the left. Some floating to the roof, a heavier sound than those hitting the ground and then the swoosh of the leaves falling to the tarp covered play-set gliding eventually to the slide. Still noting the lack of visibility. I had a faint light coming from the kitchen window, but for the most part could no longer see the path to the door. The fog even more dense now and the tree's apparently enjoying their song, were almost teasing me with their antics. I sat wishing I could witness the leaves sound creation but grateful to have experienced the synchronous vibration of the night. The one tree sitting bare of leaves (I'm sure feeling left out), with a double trunk that twists into each other, joined in with a barely noticeable movement. Like the sound of an embrace that you would miss unless you were truly paying attention. An appreciative sigh.
The chill eventually got to me and I meandered back to the house with a grateful grin and a calm heart, still listening as the tree's continued their song. I stepped inside, absorbing the warmth but longing to listen to the trees for eternity.
Sandra Murdoch-Becker
Copyright November, 2015
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Dance the Dance
The world is going to throw us situations that hurt us, anger us and sometimes knock us down. It's all in how we choose to dance the dance that makes the difference in how it affects us. Sometimes we can just feel it and let it go. Sometimes we feel it and hold on for a bit. Sometimes the dance is insanely long, drawn out and makes us hate the dance. The hate turns to resentment, bitterness and hardening of the heart. I've been here too many times to count. Too many times to waste my time trying to recall after all the time wasted in that state. It's a long trip back to loving the dance.
Right now, in this moment, I'm sad and just trying to dance through it with forgiveness. I'm trying really hard to dance this one with dignity and grace! I want the frustration to dissolve; my sense of calm to return. Unfortunately, I'm not dancing this one alone and we're all trying to stay in sync while dancing to a different tune. Each has his own steps to complete before the music ends and it's looking more like a mosh pit here than a ballet. Although mosh pits can be an adventure, I'm getting a little old for the chaos involved. Ahhh, but the chaos brings change, so bring on the mosh pit!
Right now, in this moment, I'm sad and just trying to dance through it with forgiveness. I'm trying really hard to dance this one with dignity and grace! I want the frustration to dissolve; my sense of calm to return. Unfortunately, I'm not dancing this one alone and we're all trying to stay in sync while dancing to a different tune. Each has his own steps to complete before the music ends and it's looking more like a mosh pit here than a ballet. Although mosh pits can be an adventure, I'm getting a little old for the chaos involved. Ahhh, but the chaos brings change, so bring on the mosh pit!
We'll dance the dance and be better parents, a better family because of it. I hope the others involved will see this. Next time we will dance with more compassion and understanding. I hope that everyone learns from it. I've never claimed to be perfect and never will. I have plenty of faults and mistakes that I have to dance through. I have learned however, that if I allow situations to exist without speaking up, the behaviors are reinforced. Not just by the originator of the circumstance, but by those that observed it.
So, dance the dance and do it with a smile, a sense of peace, forgiveness, thankfulness and love!
Thursday, October 8, 2015
More than she knows....
If only for a moment our children could see how we see them, how others see them....they would feel, see and accomplish miraculous things, their fears would become non-existant!
Staring through the rain,
She's the girl in the mirror,
Staring through the rain,
Annabelle Becker sees sunshine,
where others can only imagine darkness.
She dreams of powerful music
to ease her through life's open doors,
As she rides a carousel elephant,
among the star showers in her head.
She dreams of bigger places
than her hometown,
She knows not what takes her there,
just that she doesn't stay here.
There's something out there,
in the shadows of her path,
She's destined to discover.
Annabelle can fly beyond
the worlds vision
Painting or playing...
-the unseen
-the unheard
-the unimaginable
She's the girl in the mirror,
The confident reflection,
of her own perfection.
The one every girl secretly
wants to be like.
Her wings have broken the cocoon.
She's the girl that doesn't know
her own value,
The one that will inspire and amaze this world
with her talent,
If she'll just stop, close her eyes
and see!
Sandra Murdoch-Becker
Copyright October 8, 2015
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