What Do We Control?
by John Roedel
Me: The world is completely out of control!
God: I know. It's such an adventure, right?
Me: No! It's like being on a runaway train! I need to feel like I am in control of my life.
God: You want to be in control?
God: You are living on a spinning wet rock of a planet that resides next to a constantly exploding fireball in the middle of an ever-expanding universe that is filled with mysteries beyond your wildest imagination.
God: And on this planet that you are hurtling through the great expanse in - you are co-habituating with billions of other people who have free-will and their own experiences that shape their perspectives and beliefs.
God: And while all this is going on your soul is residing in a physical body that is such a miracle of delicate engineering that at any given moment could produce its last heartbeat.
God: What is it about your existence that you think you have any control of?
God: Come on - you know the answer to this. What can you control?
Me: How kind I am to people?
God: Yep and one other thing.
God: How kind you are to yourself. Aside from that - most of everything else is a bit outside of your design.
Me: That's a bit terrifying...
God: All great adventures are!
August 23, 2021
* * * * * * * * *
 |
| Scribbles, by John Roedel |
* * * * * * * * *
 |
| photo credit: John Roedel |
Quitting
by John Roedel
“Why haven’t you quit yet?” My Depression asked me as I sat fully clothed in my empty bathtub.
Instead I just stared at the janky image of myself that was being reflected back to me from the porcelain of the tub.
My Depression knelt down beside me and ran it’s thin fingers through my hair.
“Why are you resisting me?” It asked with a bit of a hiss. “I’m just here to help you feel safe.”
I shook my head ever so slightly.
Subtle gestures like this were how the two of us usually communicate with each other.
However, today my Depression was being a bit more overt. Today it was motivated to destroy me. It smelled blood in the water. My Depression could see the weakness in my eyes. It knew it has a chance. If it tried hard enough - Depression thought it could finally bury me today.
With it’s icy breath blowing in my ear Depression spoke again with a sing-songy voice:
“It’s okay, my sweets. You’ve already made it so much farther than anybody would have ever expected. You’ve endured so much suffering. It’s okay to give up. Just for today try giving up. You’ll feel so much better. The pain will go away. The lava in your veins will cool. The knife in your stomach will stop being twisted. The rat chewing through your heart will fall asleep. If you just give surrender you will stop feeling these holes being put in you. If you just lay with me for a bit you’ll go numb. Imagine how wonderful that will be? To just be cauterized to it all? Don’t you want to be done with this world? Dont you want to become an empty page? Don’t you want to be safe from people who do nothing but hurt you. I can give you all of that. Stop resisting me and everything will be okay.”
I shook my head again - this time a bit more forcefully. I curled up my legs tighter up against my body. I felt like a turtle hiding inside if it’s shell.
My Depression’s long pencil-like fingers stopped moving through my hair. It pressed it’s face up against mine. I could feel the worms move under it’s clammy cheek.
“Don’t you want to know the peace that comes from giving up?” My Depression asked me.
“Numbness and peace aren’t the same thing,” I replied.
With that my Depression’s tone with me quickly changed. I could feel it grip my hair and try to pull it out from my roots.
“Listen to me you little failure.,” it wheezed. “You are nothing. You are broken. You are sick. You are only a disappointment to people. There is nothing you can do to get away from me. I will own you someday. You can’t stop me. This is a battle you that you will never win. You will never be rid of me. You are stuck with me!”
As a fat daddy tear grooved it’s way down the bridge of my nose and I said with a trembling voice:
Depression lips formed a frown that nearly touched the bathroom floor.
“If that’s the case then maybe we should go get some tacos...I’m starving.”
My Depression let go of my scalp and slumped down on the floor next to me and sighed loudly.
After a few minutes of silence between us it spoke again.
“Chicken tacos?” Depression asked.
“Sure,” I said as I stood up. “I know how you love them.”
My depression and I went for an awkward lunch together. We didn’t say much to each other but at one point toward the end of our meal it asked me one last question for the day:
“Why won’t you just give up?”
I took a long sip from my straw and I replied with:
“I guess I’m just too curious about what comes next,” I replied.
My Depression nodded ever so slightly.
Subtle gestures like this were how the two of us usually communicate with each other.
August 25, 2021
The National Suicide Prevention Line: 1-800-273-8255
* * * * * * * * *
Willing to Try
by John Roedel
remaining delicate
doesn't make you weak
it makes you willing to get
shattered every now and then
in order for you to transform
into whatever
you need to become next
some of God's best
artwork
are things that were
once broken
that became a new creation
if someday you
have to become
completely undone
because that is just a sign
that the divine isn't done
working on you yet
if someday the forest
of your life has to
be burned to the ground
~don't cling to the ashes of what once was
just stand still and wait
patiently for the
saplings of what comes
next for you
being willing to
start over
again and again
is the opposite
of weakness
it's the toughest
thing I can think of
resurrection is only
for the strong
you are the strongest
person I have
ever met
August 25, 2021
* * * * * * * * *
 |
| photo cr: Rhand McCoy |
insomnia poetry
Late Summer Sermon on Love
by John Roedel
the shape of love
isn’t a heart
with an arrow
running through it
that’s a myth
~that’s a hallmark card
that’s a cliche
the shape of love
is a wine glass still
marked with your lipstick
the next morning
the shape of love
is a billowing white cloud
over a lover’s soft blanket picnic
the shape of love
is the petite hand of a newborn
wrapped around the finger
of her mom
the shape of love
is a warm bath
that has been made into
a makeshift chapel
adorned with candles
and floating rose petals
the shape of love
is an scarf
I found under the
couch that still
carries your scent
the shape of love
is the tear drop
reclining on your fingertips
that you lifted off my
flushed cheeks
the shape of love
is the formation
your lips make when
you absolve me
the shape of love
is the silhouette
of your body when
you walk in front of
the dripping moonlight
the shape of love
is a cold hand on a
fevered forehead
the shape of love
is a book of poetry
that vibrates whenever
you hold it to your chest
the shape of love
is the look on the
face of a child playing
in the snow for the
first time
the shape of love
is an old soul
living with a
new passion
the shape of love
is a deathbed
surrounded by
singing angels
the shape of love
is a scratched up
wedding ring
the shape of love
is the feel of a
still pen between my
shaking fingers
the shape of love
is a bedroom
with no clocks
where time moves
and tastes just like
maple syrup
the shape of love
is the way you
unknowingly sway
your hips along with
to the rhythms of
a summer rainstorm
the shape of love
is red pasta
red wine
red tablecloths
red lips
red curtains
red wax
red dresses
red skin
Red rain by Gabriel
&
red velvet cake
the shape of love
is a friend
across the table
telling you how
beautiful you are
the shape of love
is not surrendering
to the darkness inside
of you
the shape of love
is a gravestone
covered in post-it-notes
the shape of love
is both the valley
and the hilltop
the shape of love
is watching you
sleep
the shape of love
is a wildflower
coming up through
cobblestone
the shape of love
is how I unconsciously 
write your
name on my arm
whenever I think
of you
the shape of love
are the embers you
leave in my hair
whenever I fall into
your gaze
the shape of love
is the coin we place
into the hands of a beggar
the shape of love
is a tree that
becomes the vertical altar
that blooms mercy
the shape of love
are the scars of
every victim that have
been turned into violin strings
the shape of love
is a “do not disturb”
sign on a hotel door
the shape of love
is the word
“Gratitude”
written over
and over
and over
and over
and...
the shape of love
is the way you look
at me when we continue dancing
long after the music has stopped
the shape of love
is a text from
just the right person
at just the right time
the shape of love
is how you taught me
to believe in hope again
the shape of love
has no official form
it’s the smoke of your fire
it’s the rainwater of your heartbreak
it’s the nebula in your touch
&
it’s the apparitions you leave on my tongue
love can look like everything
and everything can look like love
love is neither organized or tidy
love is a brilliant mess
of stained carpets
broken windows
and healing wounds
it’s a living breathing
muddle of
scent and sound
and sight and seduction
and service and sympathy
and soft embraces and striking thunder
and small mercies
and fierce words
and whispered promises
and rising purpose
and soft skin
and jagged laughter
and the space between us
and the way we all get tangled up together
and everything else in between
 |
| John Roedel, poet |
* * * * * * * * *
Hey, God
by John Roedel
Me:
Hey God.
God: Hello, My love.
Me: I quit. I’m done. I’m finished.
God: With what?
Me: This. Talking with You. Writing. Whatever this is I’m doing. All of it. I
have nothing left to say. I have poured out my heart to You and nothing has
changed! I have tried to build a compass out of words and poetry yet I’m still
lost. I have done my best to let my heart become a torch but I’m still afraid
of the dark. I’m still a fraud. I’m still - look, never mind...I don’t
want to talk about it anymore.
God: I understand.
Me: Goodbye.
God: I love you.
Me: If You loved me You wouldn’t let me feel so broken.
God: If you would quit resisting My love for you than you wouldn’t feel that
way.
Me: What?! That’s ridiculous! I am not resisting any-
God: It’s because you don’t really know what love is.
Me: Of course I do!
God: Do you love yourself?
Me: What? What does that have to -
God: Do you love yourself?
Me:
God: Do you love yourself?
Me:
God: Can you answer the question? Do you love yourself?
Me:
God: How can you know what love is if you refuse to show it to yourself?
How can you receive love from Me or anyone else if you can’t even offer a
morsel of it to yourself? Loving yourself is the first step to being able
to recognize it when it’s coming from somewhere else. To know love you must
first love the gift of your own life.
Me: I can’t hear this today...
God: That’s what you always say but today is the day when you have to stop
treating your life like it is some cosmic mistake and to start honoring your
existence like the miracle it is. Today is the day when you have the
choose between the horrible lies you tell yourself about your worth and start
believing the truth of how much of a marvel each and every breath you take
is. Today is the day when you must finally love yourself before it’s too
late. Quit squandering your life on self-loathing. Learn to love yourself
and feel your heart bloom like a spring flower.
Me: I can’t. I quit. I’m leaving.
God: I’m not.
Me: Goodbye.
God:
Me:
God:
Me:
God:
Me: God....?
God: Still here.
Me:
God:
Me: (whispering) thank you
****
I keep saying
goodbye
God keep saying
“still here.”
“goodbye...
goodbye”
“still here
still here”
in the shadow
of my despair
Divine Love
brings a candle
and a mirror
to me as I lay
on the floor
“I can’t wait,”
Spirit says with
a voice that
whispers lightly
in my heavy veins
“For what?”
I ask under
my jagged
breath
holding the mirror
up to my face
God says
“For you to
finally see
how beautiful
you are.”
“goodbye...
goodbye”
I weep
“still here
still here.”
Divine Replies
by John Roedel (johnroedel.com)
August 26, 2021
