In Remembrance
Click for meditationRegarding "In Remembrance"
My father was a firefighter
For decades, but seldom, if ever, spoke
Of the true dangers he faced.
He would come home from a
Shift, and might say he was
At a “bad fire” the night before,
But nary a word was breathed about
What made it so “bad.” Years
Later he confided to me a few
Details, but he totally carried most
Of his experiences to the grave.
Towards the end of his life,
He gave me some of his
Old fireman gear, including
His rubber coat, boots, and helmet.
All of his equipment was
Saturated with the smell of smoke,
Smoke which had swirled from
Fires many years before.
In each pocket of his rubber
Coat was a door wedge. I once asked
Him about it. He told me every
Fireman was taught to carry them
So they could wedge open a door, and
Not have it close unexpectedly
Behind them and trap them.
His wedges were all darkened and
Disfigured and smelled, too. In my Dad’s
Days as a fireman, firehouses did
Not have washers and dryers
For the firefighters to keep
Their fire clothing clean.
In Massachusetts they now do.
But the dangers of carcinogens in
Smoke–infused environments
Were not commonly known years ago.
From the time my father went to
His first fire until his very last,
He simply kept wearing the
Same heat-seared and smoke-reeked
Gear over and over. And so when I
Got possession of his equipment,
I ultimately hung it outside
On a maple tree to air out. It is
Still there. One day this past winter it
Snowed out…and the flakes
Alighted his coat and gently
Just stayed. I sensed he was getting
An anointing. I and my siblings
Might not know the details of his
Firefighting career, but Creation knew
The humbleness and dependability of what
He unselfishly always did…
Leo Carroll
July 22, 2019
…And so is draped his
Fireman’s coat, still his broad
Shoulders showing, altho’ it’s been
Almost forty years since he
Donned and wore…
His coat, his sense
Of duty, and lo’ still on this winter’s
Day carrying the smell of
Long ago smoke…
O’ Dad, almost all those
Fires you fought you seldom of spoke,
But the snow knows, and its
Softness anoints in silence the
Dignity of your tome.
Vermont Morning
Click for meditationRegarding "Vermont Morning"
And so when a woman
Recently showed me a photograph
Of her palms cradling a
Little bat in Vermont,
I was taken aback. She was
Supporting the creature
As if on the softest
Throne of white mittens.
I knew this was a special
Woman. She had found the bat
Asleep on a wall in her
Vermont home one morning, and
Had taken pity on it.
If she had been a member
Of the Jainism religious
Sect in India, which
Practices non violence
Against all living beings, she
Could not have been more loving.
She handled the bat as if
She was presenting the
The long lost treasure
Of the Knights Templar.
The photo of the bat
In her palms was taken
About 10-15 years ago,
And yet she still carried it
With her as if it was
A sacred, holy relic, and
When she showed it to me,
I was able to peer into
The simplicity and
Compassion of her soul.
Leo Carroll
February 16, 2019
Who else in knitted, mitten-white
Palms would e’er cradle a
Tiny, helpless bat in hopes to keep
The scared creature calm?
Very few people would … only
Someone who had herself been lost, and
Thus recognized the cry when
The morning sun wafted it across.
Love
Click for meditationRegarding "Love"
I was recently sitting
In a waiting room in Stoneham and
Listening for my name to be
Called for my ophthalmology
Examination. It is still not clear to
Me what happened next,
But I sensed someone was
Standing in front of me and
Staring at me. I raised
My head slowly to look up,
And there was this little
Boy, perhaps six or seven years
Old, and he had a smile
On his face. As soon as our
Eyes connected, he said
Something quickly to me which
Came out in a burst, like a
Digital stream of binary
Information. I could not
Understand a word of it,
But whatever he said, it was
Obviously important to him from
His facial earnestness looking at me.
Before I had a chance to
Respond, however, a young woman
Quietly appeared beside him,
Gently took his hand,
And as she started to
Turn to lead him back to a
Chair in the waiting room,
She gave me a knowing nod,
As if to convey she knew
That for a few seconds
Her son and I had connected in a
Mysterious, spiritual bond.
Leo Carroll
February 20, 2019
I feel his presence before
I see him, a young boy perhaps six
Years old who now stands several feet
In front of me, almost as if an
Apparition he so suddenly appears,
Like a rush of wind and then the
Paraclete’s breath upon my face,
And he smiles but his attempt
To speak is garbled and unintelligible —
At least in a worldly way that I can
Understand — and then his mother
Walks up softly and takes hold his hand,
And gently leads him away to
A seat in the waiting room’s
Sheepfold … while I in my
Chair am left wondering in
Awe of the message spoken by his
Incomprehensible words, and
Why he had picked me to be
Culled from out of the herd to
Hear his vocal cords struggle
In stanza and verse?
Strange Day
Click for meditationRegarding "Strange Day"
Sometimes we can find
Ourselves in a place or state of mind
Which seems ‘different.’
Such a thing happened to
Me several weeks ago
When I went to a meeting
In Weston. I no sooner
Took the exit off Route 95 South
Onto Route 30 West and
I seemed to immediately enter
A different sensory world.
The traffic lights at
The top of the exit ramp
Were not working, and the
Number of cars on the
Road seemed eerily
Light. I eventually found
The address for which I
Was searching, but the weird
Wind and rain were no
Help! As I walked up the
Steps to the building,
I realized something
Was amiss because some
Sort of alarm system on the
Premises was beeping.
I tentatively opened the door and
Went into the foyer, and
There was more of the same.
People on the first floor
Seemed oddly subdued, and
It was then I heard the
Hum of a generator
Running – but not for the
Whole building, but just the
Offices on the first floor.
The elevators were not working,
And so I took the staircase
To the next floor, where
I came upon a waiting room
Where people were talking in
Whispers … Hmmm …
They politely pointed
Me to where I should sit,
And it was then I became aware of
Fire, police, and ambulance
Sounds on the roadway
Below the window.
Then a tree across the
Street crashed down, and
Was accompanied by the
Wind rattling uneasily on a
Nearby window pane,
All, remarkably, giving me an
Impression of events occurring in
Hues of black and white …
Thus, when later at my
Appointment, a person
Observed, “Strange day,”
Indicating to her, too, that
Things seemed out of whack,
All I could manage was,
“Yes, something surreal,” and
Thus it was and thus it
Still remains now –
Where was I really? Only
The wind and rain and
Swinging traffic lights
And building alarms and fire and
Police sirens and people whispering
Knew what time and place
My confused senses
And bearings had stumbled
‘Strangely’ upon. The only
Thing I can confirm is it occurred at
Exit 24 off of Route 95,
But even more ‘strangely’ –
I still felt and feel I belonged there
On my path to somewhere …
Leo Carroll
February 7, 2019
“Strange day,”
She says, and immediately
I agree, Yes, something surreal, but
Did the ‘strangeness’
Come from the day seeming
To be tinted in hues of
Black and white, or was
It the unstable, out-of-season
Tropical weather, or the
Malfunctioning traffic lights,
Or this building I am in
Shrouded in darkness
With a buzzer endlessly
Sounding in despair, or
The fire engine sirens
Coming closer from afar, or
The police lights flashing
Across the street, or an
Ambulance going by as if
From something fleeing, or
People in a nearby waiting room
Talking in whispers, or the
Wind curious and nibbling
At the window panes,
Or the thumping ‘bam’
Of a tree falling in the
Woods across the way!?
Yes, indeed, a very
“Strange day,” but for me
In this place, this life,
This time, just another further
Step along my journey
Without cessation.
Winter Sky
Click for meditationRegarding "Winter Sky"
The affect on me of
Canadian geese is inexplicable,
But the sight and sound of
Their flying overhead stop me in
My tracks every time.
There is something
Which is roused deep
Within me that has no
Limit in depth nor fathom.
I sometimes believe I encountered them
In some long ago past, and
When I first saw them
Way-back-then, they were
Likewise beating their
Way through a snow-sky.
Perhaps something happened
That forgotten day,
But every once in a while
They fly back again into my life,
And my mind begins to
Wonder what is that something
Which is being replayed…?
Leo Carroll
February 6, 2019
I hear them
Coming before I see them,
And I instantaneously
Stand stock-still, barely
Breathing, anticipating them —
Canadian geese in
Arrow-flight formation,
Beating their wings
Against a snow-cold sky, just
Like they once did flying over a
Primeval cave mouth
And in my hand
Was a sling which I
Let drop limply to my side,
And I watched them
Then as I do now,
Entranced as they
Plow ahead into the
Dark and soon-storm,
Not fighting its force but
Savoring it, their heads
Pointed straight into
What awaits them,
Their beaks confident
At the forefront of
Their phalanx, and ready
To be the first spears
To pierce into the
Winter’s teeth.