|May the pain you have known
and the conflict you have experienced
give you the strength to walk through
life facing each new situation
with courage and optimism.
Of all sad words, of tongue or pen,
the saddest are these:
"It might have been."
If we give love and kindness to
those who say they hate us,
we fill them so with mystery
they know not how to rate us. 2
Two unshakeable truths:
You can run
– but you cannot hide
from unconditional love;
– nor from yourself. 3
|If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway
You see, in the final analysis,
it is between you and God;
It is never between you and them anyway. 5
Way down – deep inside - everyone knows how to love and be loved;
but life came along for some – and fear from its experiences
made them lose touch with what they already knew
- and many find it hard to let go of that fear to love and accept love –
BUT – it’s still there – where it always was – waiting to be let out again . . .
follow your heart's truth - let it grow its wings 6
For I wear a mask,
a thousand masks,
masks that I'm afraid to take off,
and none of them is me.
Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,
but don't be fooled.
For God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me,
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness is my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command,
and that I need no one.
But don't believe me.
My surface may seem smooth
but my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion
But I hide this.
I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness,
and fear being exposed.
That's why I frantically create
a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me
from the glance that knows.
But such a glance is precisely my salvation.
My only hope
and I know it.
That is, if it's followed by acceptance,
if it's followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,
from my own self-built prison walls,
from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.
It's the only thing that will assure me
f what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.
But I don't tell you this.
I don't dare.
I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid your glance
will not be followed by acceptance,
will not be followed by love.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me,
that you'll laugh,
and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing,
that I'm just no good,
and that you will see this and reject me.
So I play my game,
my desperate pretending game,
with a facade of assurance without
and a trembling child within.
|May God bless and have mercy on all those who love,
or have loved, a wounded, lost child,
for theirs may be a journey to hell.
May God bless and have mercy on all wounded,
lost children – for their journey truly is Hell. . .
but one from which they can emerge
and return at any time . . . 4
from Dawn Cove Abbey
Roadside Assistance For Your Journey Through Life
- Dedicated to helping people return (and maintain) sanity and decency to life -
From the eBook: "One! The Journey hOMe", by Klaas Tuinman MA, © 2007-2019
Questions and comments welcomed.
|So begins the glittering
but empty parade of masks,
and my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that's really nothing,
and nothing of what's everything,
of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine,
do not be fooled
by what I'm saying.
Please listen carefully
and try to hear what I'm not saying,
what I'd like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can't say.
I don't like to hide.
I don't like to play superficial phoney games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine
but you've got to help me.
You've got to hold out your hand
even when that's the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you're kind
and gentle and encouraging,
each time you try to understand
because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings,
very small wings,
very feeble wings,
With your power
to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know
how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator,
an honest-to-God creator
of the person that is me,
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the walls
behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me
from my shadow-world of panic and uncertainty,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.
Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness
builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach to me the blinder I may strike back.
It's irrational, but despite what the books say about mankind,
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing that I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls,
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands
but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.
Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet. 1
|Active Listening: ever feel that you aren't being "heard",
that so many people only superficially listen to you and others,