Tag Archives: hope

Hope

Hope is the fortitude that resists the current flowing to the mundane and vapid. Hope rises above the current and aims for dreams newly born and not yet quantified. Hope is not confined to time limits or statistics or realities, for it is an aspiring sensation from deep within the heart. Hope is the perennial fuel for ambitions, not yet mechanized into  spreadsheets and deadlines and paperwork. Hope does not have to be rational or good, it only has to exist for its power to be manifested.

Or at least that is what I hope.


I do not know if I agree with this post but I do know that it seems not to matter.

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The Light and Dark Side of Imagination

I’m afraid of the dark

I sleep with a nightlight

and I always have to have a light at the end of a dark hallway.

I’m not afraid of the dark because of the unknown

or because I can’t control what is there,

I’m afraid because of what I imagine there.

I know there are not boogey-men or vampires or robbers

but there is a difference between imagination and reality

Imagination can dream stories and cities and people

as an escape from reality

Imagination can create innovations

to better reality

Imagination can believe in possibilities

to change future reality

Imagination can transform monsters in my mind

into monsters hiding in the dark of reality

But I’ll take these monsters

so that I can have my imagination

of people

of places

of inventions

of hope

of faith

Light may show us what is there

what is reality

but darkness shows us

what could be there

and maybe,

what should be there

imagination

Hope?

Hope

it allows us to dream dreams

of heavens and royalty and love and other treasures

when we have nothing of the kind

when we have nothing

hope allows us to dream of having something

it can lift our spirits and guide our actions

hope allows for wonderful visions of the future

when the present is anything but wonderful

How glorious and empowering hope can be

***

Oh, but of dashed hopes

of false hope

of lost hope

of wrongful promises

of cracked dreams

of shattered faith

How disastrous that can be

How vengeful that can be

Of a man who had his trust, his faith, his everything

in his hope

and somehow, lost it all

How disastrous that can be

How vengeful that can be

He then sets his life mission to be

to thwart and reverse every action he had his hope in

Oh, to lose hope

How disastrous that can be

How vengeful that can be

one’s purpose seems to have vanished

one’s goal seems to be part of magician’s disappearing act

***

Hope

Hope is like a fire

it can create or it can destroy

it can give warmth and change things to a better state

or it can rip, rend, and sear its image on us.

Hope is like a fire

it can be the one thing between

life and death

sometimes the life giver

sometimes the death bringer

***

Hope seems to be able to bring us

to the highest heights

and yet the deepest depths

because power can work both ways

for and against us.

So is it right to hope at all?

***

To have shining, bright, up lifting hope

and yet to have

cracked, shattered, broken hope

Is it right to hope at all?

No

It is not right to have that kind of hope

hope that can be shattered like glass

is nothing to have hope in at all

something easily broken should not carry our dreams

for dreams are immense beings

that grow and change and have lives of their own

and a fragile container such as a glassy hope

is not fitting for dreams.

***

So dream dreams

and hope everyday

for things of risk

are things of reward


“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Matthew 6:19-21

hope

Pedestal

Do not put me on a pedestal

Do not dare put me on a pedestal

It’s too high up in the air if when I fall

Clouds, birds, stars

are meant for way up and above the sky

People are not

We are meant to be grounded

To be able to look up

and down

We are meant to stare at a person’s face,

not their feet

Pedestals are small and high

oh so very high

high with the birds,

the things supposed to be hoped on

I’ve learned that

sometimes

it’s harder to carry everyone’s hopes, dreams, ambitions

than their burdens

Look at my face

My eyes

Do not put me on a pedestal

an oh so very high pedestal

Do not dare put me on a pedestal.

 

 

pedestal

N@ncyN@nce via Foter.com / CC BY

A Dying Stranger

I’m going to die.

I know that will die eventually, but that eventually came too soon. 60 years too soon. The fact of death doesn’t scare me. The pain of death, kind of does. What scares me is the fact that I had a life. And now it is over. Went through elementary school to get to middle school to get to high school to get to collage to have a nice job to have a nice family to have a nice life to have a nice retirement to have a nice death.

Death arrived early to the party. And death brought a friend, Cancer.

The fact that I built up my life and all I got was school, I didn’t even get as far as the nice job part, it seems like I wasted 20 years. I was so sure that I was going to get to that nice job, family, retirement part that I only focused on that. With my nose to the grind, my eyes on the prize, and my heart in a box. I spent 20 pushing people away.

And now I have no one left, except my friends Cancer and Death.

I look around at my alumni – the ones who could have been my friends – who have their whole life ahead of them. They have girlfriends and boyfriends to smile with and laugh with and hold hands with. They have parents to get guidance from and to get love from and to get encouragement from.

They lived.

I existed, waiting to live, so that eventually I could die.

I thought that I had so much potential that I had so much to live for, that I could spend 20 years to get ready. I thought that I had my whole lifetime ahead of me to make relationships.

They have love in their eyes and that makes the loneliness all the more prominent in mine. Their hearts are full of verve and zeal and that makes the enervation and depletion all the more evident in mine. They always have a tint of a smile on their face and that makes the stoic unbelief radiate from mine.

The world is ending. Except only mine is. Their worlds will go on forever. My apocalypse is coming and I don’t even get last moments to panic with the rest of the world. In all the science-fiction movies when the world is ending, everyone looks up at the sky, all huddled together. They get to see the world end. They get to have others with the same fate as them.

Their world will go on and mine will halt, crash, and burn. Their world will keep on spinning like nothing ever happened. Their world will not even flick off the ash of my smoldering, dead world.

Their potential, their future, their lives, mock, haunt, taunt me.

This is the bitterest kind of envy. I am jealous for what they do not appreciate. I long for what they do not know they have. Potential for moments.

Yes, I will have many more moments, but those moments will be spent in sterile hospital rooms in a thin paper gown on crinkly white medical paper surrounded by unknown people with over-glorified pity for college kid they know will be six feet under soon enough. I will spend my last moments surrounded by sick and dying people, surrounded by others trying to cover it up. I will be surrounded by people faking optimism, people telling me that I can fight the death warrant that  has been signed in my cells.

Those people who are lying to me, they seem to be my best chance. I desperately want to cling to the hope they have spread out before me.  I let hope and possibility and chance hold me in their hands, trying to soothe my aching soul. I let them tell me that tomorrow I will be okay, I let them tell me that the day after tomorrow I will be okay, I let them tell me that five years from now I will be okay.  I’m starving for some assurance that I will get through this. I’m going through hunger pangs yearning for something to believe in. My growling stomach calls out for a promise, a promise that I didn’t waste my life, that I will have the potential for moments other than in a sterile hospital. In my delirium, I begin to trust in the comforting hands of hope and possibility and chance.

I don’t know which is worse: knowing I’m going to die alone or hoping that I might not. Hoping that I might have someone by my side when the reaper comes. Hoping that the reaper might not come at all. Hoping that cancer might change its mind and come back when I’m old and gray, instead.

But when I have hope then that is one more thing that death can take from me. By losing hope I feel the pain of losing everything all over again. Because all I have left is hope. Hope in something that will never happen.

I am going to die. Cancer is going to make its last attack. My world is going to end. My hope is going to be taken from me. And there is nothing I can do to stop it.

 

 

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Pixabay/user:cor125

A Daisy: A Rondeau Poem

All I wish for is a daisy

The kind that is in stories of fairies

So soft, so sweet, the petals are perfect white

A gift to a princess from a knight

A flower that represents all goodly

 

Innocence, hope, symbol of simple beauty

A small token the world hasn’t turned dirty

When all hope is gone, a passion to ignite

I wish for a daisy

 

I know this simple, small hope seems flimsy

But on the battle field, this is a rally

A reason not to die for, but for fight

Find hope in war-torn meadow, I might

Hold tight to future possibility

I wish for a daisy

 

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Pixabay/user:JesusLOVESyou

 


 

This poem is inspired by my second favorite author’s quotes about hope:

“Hope is hugging me, holding me in its arms, wiping away my tears and telling me that today and tomorrow and two days from now I will be just fine and I’m so delirious I actually dare to believe it.”

Tahereh Mafi in Shatter Me

 

“Hope.

It’s like a drop of honey, a field of tulips blooming in the springtime. It’s a fresh rain, a whispered promise, a cloudless sky, the perfect punctuation mark at the end of a sentence. And it’s the only thing in the world keeping me afloat.”

Taherah Mafi in Unravel Me

 

“Hope is a pocket of possibility.
I’m holding it in my hand.”

Taherah Mafi in Shatter Me

 

Like A Bird Flying

Freedom has often been personified by flying or by birds. The idea of being able to fly away from our troubles and stress and float on the wind with not a care. To let the whims of daydreams be like a gentle breeze beneath the wings of a bird. When one area is stormy or cold, just fly to another part of the world.

As free as a bird. In flying there is freedom and in freedom there is hope. Hope of making your own way in the world. Hope of accomplishing your dreams. Hope that if only you control your fate, troubles will turn into a distant memory.

We have hope and freedom in flying.

If flying was just like walking, where would our hope be?

We believe flying is freedom because there are no interruptions with roads, stop signs, traffic, authorities.  If flying like a bird had these same things, what would we dream to do? How would we dream to run away?

Things are only precious because they are limited.

Diamonds were only made three times in the history of earth, they are limited, so they are precious. Family is precious because you only have one. Flying is precious because we can’t.

Time is one of the most precious things. Time is money. Wasting time. The idea of time travelling and undoing mistakes. Time is ever inching closer to its end. Only having 24 hours until the day and its routine begins again. The hope that the new years will be different, the transition of time. Time is precious because we only have a finite supply. And because it can end at any moment.

Breathing is something we do without even thinking about it. No one inhales just for the pure joy of breath. Expect when air has been limited. Inhaling the sweet smell of natural, clean, fresh air after being in an airplane, a dirty factory, a cloud of perfume. Breathing is only special when we can’t have it. Our lives depend on the common.

The value of everything is determined by its supply. Limitations make the world go round.

Without boundaries, where are we? Floating through space coming from nowhere going to nothing in no amount of time with no reason.

Limitations gives us identity.

In this age of rebelling against authority, we are rebelling against limitations. Rebelling against what gives us identity and what makes the world go round.

We rebel in hope of freedom and rebel against any limitation. Then what defines freedom, if in that state there is no lines, no boundaries?

We are ever pushing forward, doing what the other guy couldn’t, always progressing. Always breaking limits.

We crawl. We walk. We created the wheel. We created boats. We created the horse drawn carriage.  We created the submarine. We created the train. We created the automobile. We created the plane. We created the spaceship. We created the internet. Always breaking limitations.

What happens when we break all our limits?

There has always been things to explore. The world, the big world, the tiny world, the people of the world, the high world, the low world, the space outside the world.

What happens when we have explored the world and everything beyond and below?

Preciousness stems from limitations.

Without any limits we have all the power to do anything imaginable, but nothing to do.

If flying was just like walking, where would our hope be?

Why was man not made with gills?

To come up for air.

 

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Patrick Mayon via Foter.com / CC BY-NC