Throwing Apples

These are lyrics to a song which is, at the moment, only in my head. Perhaps someday I will be able to get the song onto paper, or into a recording. I hope so... The scapegoat C#m Dirty hands on the head of the goat G#m Filth and blood defile a white coat F#m It’s your fault (it’s your fault)…     G#m You have no place here, Be gone A wilderness, a wilderness Alone, wandering from myself (I’m further from my own/home) Those dirty hands on my back They still hold me still They hold me still… A fathers love, a mothers kiss A needy hug, a caring fist It’s your fault it’s your fault it’s your fault You make me so mean…now... A trusted friend, and a wicked sin He said that my beauty, it pulled him in It’s your fault it’s your fault it’s your fault Why didn’t you scream? (it’s your choice now…) Be gone now... I hate myself, I punish the sin guilty hands, they strangle within I can’t go I can’t go I can’t go, I am the wilderness... (key change) I am

I was excited about something. I had accomplished something — something relatively minor, but very exciting to me. I had run part of the way home. I was a young teenager. I burst into our home and announced my big news to whomever was there. I know my mom was there for sure, and at least one brother.  “Guess what!? I did _______ and got ______!!” ( I’m so proud of myself! Aren’t you happy for me? ) I stood there for what seemed to be a long time. Just beaming, excited. My brother and mom stared. Then, a smile twitched at her face, and she began to giggle. It was a very true giggle. She was trying to hold it back, but something seemed really funny to her. Like if the pastor's fly was down, or if I had a tuft of hair sticking straight up and I didn’t know it. That kind of funny. “What...do you want a medal or something?” She blurted out, and laughted, trying to control herself.  Then my brother laughed. And — I think I laughed along. What other choice did I hav

While organizing my blog, I can’t across this letter from 2010. My dad wrote it after losing his shit on my wife, and destroying the first and only family vacation. His verbal assault of my pregnant wife could have sent her into early labour. Then they stormed out, and left in the early morning, leaving this email as an explanation: Dear Ishmael and Isobella, I'm dying inside.  I've lost a daughter in law, now I'm facing the loss of my grandchildren.   Isobella, I'm sorry for cutting you off, I should have let you finish what you were saying.   You can't expect me to bear this burdon alone without some angry blow ups.  I am after all, only a human being.   We will be leaving tomorrow.  I want to spend the most time possible with our grandchildren before they are taken away. Dad. Interpretation: 1. I’m sorry... 2. BUT you made me mad 3. You can’t expect me to always keep my cool, based on what I’m going through 4. especially

My wife’s migraines My wife is prone to migraines. With the moving, and the stress, she has been having more of them. She has some very strong meds, which usually knock her out, leaving her motionless on the bed for an hour or more, but then the worst of the migraine passes. Suddenly, however, out of nowhere she has an extremely bad migraine three days ago. She needed to go to the hospital for it. Because I was at work, friends took her. When a nurse asked her, “out of ten, how much does it hurt?” She answered, “A nine.” My wife is a tough woman, who has experienced a lot of pain, including giving birth to five children and having countless migraines. She is not prone to dramatics. If she says she was feeling that much pain, then she was.  The migraine left when they gave her some meds by IV, some scalene to rehydrate, and the equivalent of four of her powerful meds. Once home, however, it started coming back. She needed to take four more to keep it at bay. Then later,

A note to the reader: I have pre-shared this post to a few readers, and have had some mixed reviews. Some really like it,  while  some worry that I am losing my faith, or am speaking ill of the church. I am troubled by this, because I had thought I communicated clearly. In reality, I am not bad-mouthing the church, but bad-mouthing narcissism which takes root  in the church. Cancers take root in living flesh, not corpses: and criminals target the rich, not the poor. There is a reason that narcissists target the good people and rich heritage of Christianity. And this post did not weaken my faith, but  greatly  strengthened it in helping me to differentiate between the  pharisaical, hypocitical form of  religion (poisoned by narcissism) with which I was raised from the pure religion which has called to me from the pages of Scriptures, and from the doors of some very healthy churches that I have attended.  These words are harsh, and come from a place of pain. Again -- thinking of my