If You Could See

Recent events have caused me to focus, more than usual, on my own problems. At times, it seems my whole world revolves about my responsibilities and my current set of challenges...just the latest in a lifetime of challenges...leaving me focused on only myself and my personal demons. Sometimes, I want to scream at others and make them see the load on my shoulders.

Then, I see another with an even bigger burden to bear, and I feel ashamed for my self-centered, self-pity party. As with so many from my generation, I was taught that real men don't complain about their problems, they grin and bear it, suck it up and suffer in silence -- until they beat the odds or buckle under the load. The tragic truth is that those who can never share their burdens and fears, only accumulate more until they eventually must buckle under the load.

If I had someone to share the road and the load, I imagine the following might be our conversation, or maybe it's a prayer...

Mick

If You Could See

If you could just see the load I carry,
The terrible burden, high on my back -
So hard to balance, so very scary,
You might be willing to cut me some slack.
I know you carry your own heavy load;
It's probably even bigger than mine.
Yet, it's also true we must share this road -
An obstacle course, long and serpentine.
We must travel together, you and I -
For awhile, and possibly much longer;
And though we may never see eye-to-eye,
By sharing, we make each other stronger.
We can agree to give what we can give -
By doing that, we can live and help live.

Mick McKellar
March 2009

Deep Cold, Dark Days

I love the way the morning sun touches my hands and face on a frosty-cold early spring morning in the Keweenaw. There is something deeply elemental about the first stages of the resurrection of spring's riot of life from winter's long, cold sleep.

Mick






Deep Cold, Dark Days

Bright and sharp, the morning light,
Severs bonds with dark of night,
Carving shadow as a thief.
Daylight liquid bas relief
Images, in frost and snow -
Living sculptures, come and go:
Frozen forms that writhe and twist,
Through the dusty, wintry mist.

Bright horizon fires arise,
Dance the fleeting halls of skies,
Lancing through the frigid air,
Banishing the shadows there.
Clouds afire with red and gold,
Warm the winter's long, deep cold,
And their penetrating rays,
Kindle life to fire our days.

Mick McKellar
March 2009

The Walk-In

Did you ever wonder if, perhaps, you were not the first resident inside your own head?

A very long time ago, I read a book by Ruth Montgomery...a book that mentioned "walk-ins," or souls that filled in when the original resident fled from fear, pain, or depression. Is it possible that a tortured soul could flee a body, to be replaced by another soul, a much older soul? Could that explain a child who never played with other children; a child who sailed past serious all the way to grim?

Could such a thing explain a lifetime of not feeling comfortable in one's own skin?

It is an intriguing mind-game to play -- in an eerie, creepy, twilight-zone way...

Mick

The Walk-In

My mom told me I was born an old man,
That I never played with another kid.
I was always the leader of the clan,
And mostly, I watched what other kids did.
I remember how silly my siblings were,
Running about and screaming and yelling,
But I sat with my mom, I read to her,
And told stories that grew with the telling -
Stories too complex for someone so small,
And poems too, some very compelling.
She wondered aloud where I learned it all:
Old soul's memories in a new dwelling...
Perhaps, when I was just eighteen months old -
A moment of unendurable pain;
A terrible story I've often told,
But come back to it again, and again.
Did the first me decide to leave one night,
Too frightened, too shocked, and too terrified,
To deal with the pain, to stay there and fight -
Instead did I leave as I screamed and cried?
Did I simply vacate the premises,
And give the keys to a new resident?
Did the pain become my great nemesis,
The terror I feared would never relent?
Did an ancient soul take over my shell,
Abandoned that night in hungry shadow;
Did another arrive to thrive and dwell,
With a library full of things to know?
And does this explain, as nothing else can,
Why mom told me I was born an old man?

Mick McKellar
March 2009

Irascible

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. said, "Laughter and tears are meant to turn the wheels of the same machinery of sensibility; one is wind-power, and the other water-power."

I was reflecting upon my irascible nature and sharpening my scythe tonight, when I realized how much I need laughter to bring focus to my existence and keep my ego from making my Scottish/Irish head any bigger. Laughter truly is the seasoning for the sauce of my tears, and leaven for defense against fears. Yet, the deep recognition of the sheer absurdity of so much of my story drives me toward my role as curmudgeon.

Mick

Irascible

Laughter drives the turbines of life,
And lives as wind in the sails of our souls;
Diverting quiddity of strife -
Setting the pace for the race to our goals.
Ere this sanguine mythology
Descends around my sleek spiral newel -
Seeking dramatis personae,
And reaching for the nubilous jewel -
Tears turn the wheels that close the door,
Sealing its touch away from me,
And yet I fall upon the floor -
Remaining in certain propinquity.
Laughter reveals my role as a gudgeon,
And that's why I am such a curmudgeon!


Mick McKellar
March 2009

The Joy of Uncertainty

Only the madman is absolutely sure. -Robert Anton Wilson, novelist (1932-2007)

I had a flash-back the other day. I was listening to students in a classroom, and I became aware of their absolute certainty about their futures. They talked as if they had a road map to success and were preparing to take the expressway toward a city with golden streets. As I listened, I was distracted by echoes from my past -- resonance of hopes, dreams, and certainties in what seemed another life, another time and place far removed -- a time when I saw a wide sweep of pavement, a broad and welcoming path leading toward the expected blessings of an assured future. Nothing would be there to stop me and nothing would deflect me from my path or cause me to stumble in my journey.

Reality, of course, told (and tells) a different tale -- a tale of roadblocks, dams, rocks and rubble, oceans of uncertainty and trouble -- what counselors euphemistically call challenges. Life is uncertain. Often, it is the unwanted journey of the unwilling toward the unknown, and it is not for the faint of heart or those who simply do not wish to pay attention. For me, the solution to thriving and surviving was finding out and accepting the truth about who and what I am, and becoming hungry to find out what I will be. Once I know me, it matters not what the challenges be, for I revel in the challenges that come to me, and I can find joy in uncertainty.

Mick

The Joy of Uncertainty

I am naught but the stream seeking the sea -
There's nothing remarkable about me.
Though obstacles mount to restrict and dam,
I can be nothing more than what I am,
And I rush down the winding cataract.
I then become light that none can refract;
A captive reflection, now on the lamb,
And I'm still nothing more than what I am.
The sun warms my face as I walk the road;
The rain cools my brow as I bear my load;
The wind at my back drives me, as a cam
That steers me toward nothing more than I am.
My life is path of uncertainty,
Leading what I am to what I will be.

Mick McKellar
March 2009

I Didn't Want to be Welcome

I am not certain what I expected when I signed up to substitute teach. Oh, I knew that it is not really "teaching" by official rules — in Michigan, that requires certification and credentials that I (unfortunately) do not have. However, my general expectations were designed about a self-constructed classroom image, based on my days as a student, my time spent teaching at university, and my years as a trainer and lecturer. I generally expected NOT to be a welcome sight to the students. I expected uncertainty and something of a let-down on the part of the students.

I had not planned on my new role as "fresh meat."

I remembered wanting to learn in school...a distant memory clouded by all the angst and relationship anxiety that permeated high school life...but I was certain I wanted to learn. I admit, I was unprepared for the malicious grins on so many faces and the feral light in some eyes. I wasn't there to teach, to discipline, or to babysit — I was the day's entertainment — a new puzzle to probe and solve. For a few moments, all was quiet on the western front. When I failed to break into song and dance, the testing began — and it was me being tested. When I failed to collapse or give in to outlandish requests (One does have to let them go to the loo, right?), but pursued the absent teacher's instructions to the letter; they began to shut down. Some participated and worked together (a bit louder than normal, but, hey I was a sub after all), but many just put a head on the desk and checked out. Some talked quietly, some sneaked food and drink when I was not looking, but many just "checked out," for the hour. I didn't want to be welcome, but I also didn't want to be superfluous.

Mick

I Didn't Want to be Welcome

Their eyes cheered when they saw my face,
And I marveled at their musical grace,
As they danced, seeking borders to cross -
And battlegrounds to scout and boss.
I heard the critical rustle and hush,
As things academic turned to mush;
Leaving each muse both gagged and blind,
And recess flagged in every mind.

I whithered at their gleeful stares,
And shuddered at the baleful glares,
Of those who quickly sensed fresh meat -
Already tasting the salty and sweet.
As aye, for each here was the rub...
This day we have a brand new sub!

A neophyte, I'd thought to find,
Behind each pair of eyes, a mind
Perhaps prepared to take a test -
An intellect charged and now at rest;
But coiled to spring, when on the nonce
It perceived ideas, to ensconce
Within a frame of lightning thought -
And logic's lattice swiftly wrought.

But as they hie from assigned seat,
And drive class order toward retreat,
And seek to probe my armor's chinks,
I slowly see what each one thinks -
And distressed, I comprehend
That learning has come to an end,
And testing of our wills holds sway -
At least, on this, a subbing day.

As class disruptors crash and burn,
I feel for those who want to learn;
But culturally powerless,
They watch, as with each little mess
The unrepentant terrorists,
Slash their academic wrists,
And practice, in their childish way,
To waste another precious day.

Once they learn they cannot go,
And rules, unchanged, they must follow;
Their energy seems to deplete -
They sink into their assigned seat.
Their eager eyes grow guarded, veiled,
And thoughts once free are swiftly jailed.
Those who planned their thoughts to vent,
Are silent now, and reticent.

It's fortunate that, (at least to some)
I didn't want to be welcome.

Mick McKellar
February 2009

Come UP

It is my deepest wish that folks who look through the lens of opportunity aim that lens at Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

Born in Detroit, I have lived in the Western U.P. since 1967 — a long love story with a place that still echoes in many ways what the world was like when it was new and unspoiled. Age 59 and once again out of work due to economics, I still have hope that the secret treasures of Michigan and especially the U.P. will be discovered.

In that vein, I offer the following, which streamed from my virtual pen this morning as part of my daily exercises in keeping a positive attitude.

Mick

Come UP

You want bright blue waters to see -
Clean beaches to run safe and free?
You want a place your kids can thrive -
To celebrate that you’re alive?
You want great country, sweet and green -
With vistas like you’ve never seen?
You want vast forests, strong and tall -
With resources enough for all?
You want great people, friendly, fair -
And oceans of clean sparkling air?
Don’t say you can’t find these things, man -
Say, “Yes I can…in Michigan!”

And please, don’t stop with just the mitt -
Don’t think that’s the extent of it.
Look up to find the things I saw -
Beyond the straits of Mackinaw.
Beyond the Mighty Mac you’ll find
A treasure of the richest kind:
Untapped riches wait your sight -
Often dressed in winter white,
Or in summer’s velvet green,
With deepest blue you’ve ever seen!
The friendly folk who fill that place,
Are blessed with heart and health and grace.
Come find these things, you know you can…
Come UP to Upper Michigan!

Mick McKellar
February 2009