Hope
Climbing Meg’s Mountain
Click for meditationRegarding "Climbing Meg’s Mountain"
This poem was written
Less than 12 months after I had joined
A new health club in the town where I lived, and
It also coincided with a period in my life
When I was in need of rejuvenation. I found myself
Taking part in my first-ever, spinning ‘Pedal to End Cancer’
Fundraiser. The lead instructor for the three hour
Ride was a whirling dervish, who took us on
A very intensive, cardio-demanding,
Simulated mountain climb, all to the
Pulsating sounds and cadence of great music. For
One straight hour she pounded us with
An endless barrage of merciless
Spinning commands and exhortations,
Which appeared to have no end to them…
She seemed oblivious to any and all
Difficulties we had keeping up with her!
It was our job to do what we had
To do! As part of completing that
Strenuous, wild ride, I was also
Reminded of the tremendous challenges
Occurring in the lives of other people,
Particularly with respect to cancer. And so
Today, right now, I look back with so
Much gratitude to that first ‘Pedal to End
Cancer’ experience, and I thank that
Spinning instructor for helping to lift me up
Out of myself, and for enabling me to
See that if cancer survivors could endure
Years, even decades, of debilitating
Treatment just to live one more day, then
I could do a mere three hour ride, and I could
Express gratitude for what I had received
As blessings in my life.
Leo Carroll
March 5, 2019
“Pump it!…, Push it!…”
“Keep back in your saddle!…”
“Keep your peddle strokes
Even and smooth!…”
“We’re going to do ‘jumps’
To the count of two – – up!…, up!…, up!…”
“We have a double chorus!!!…”
“Slide!…, Slide!…, Slide!…”
“Down to hand position three!…”
“Keep your elbows loose and relaxed,
And tucked into your body!…”
“Back in lohhhhwww!!!…”
“Keep working, keep working!…,
Watch your cadence!…”
.
.
.
…And thus on and on and without mercy, her
Commands continue and cascade and escalate, one upon the other,
Relentless, unyielding, pounding, driving me into the ground, and I know on this
Sunday morning that any mountain, this mountain, can be climbed
With the exhortation and aid of this endless
Fusillade from a ponytailed woman in the female form of an
Absolutely whirling tornado, and all I have
To do is “pump it”, and any doubt and despair can
Be conquered by my spinning flywheel, and cancer can
Inexorably be crushed and tossed into the fathomless dustbin
With its twin gargoyles of terror and fear.
Doing a ‘Standing Climb’ up the Mountain of Hope
Click for meditationRegarding "Doing a ‘Standing Climb’ up the Mountain of Hope"
What exhilaration and
Jubilation when I first started doing
Spinning classes! It was as
If I had climbed a mountain and
Was looking down upon
All that was good and pure in human
Nature and its connections…
The people I met in
Spinning class were
Remarkable, and their
Energy and enthusiasm
Were contagious.
I couldn’t believe how
Happy I felt when spinning, and,
To this day, the euphoria
Of spinning is a metaphor
For the good things
Along my life’s journey.
In the poem, the
Imagery is of standing
Up on the pedals
With the hands forward
On the top of the handlebars,
And of climbing a steep
Mountain trail or grade – a
Very difficult task, unless
You have hope and
Confidence and the
Support of those cycling
Around you…
Leo Carroll
April 25, 2018
Lifted up I am, resurrected,
By the spiral of a spinning flywheel.
Circular in shape, its chrome
Whirs and whirs, as if its
Metal was flesh and
Its flesh was real. It
Carries me nowhere, but
Mystically everywhere, on the
Stationary magic carpet of
My deepest hopes and dreams,
And there, there, once
There like a kite I climb,
And can only be caught by the
Whoosh of a steep grade’s
Mountain breeze.
Blue Jay
Click for meditationRegarding "Blue Jay"
There is always
Something happening with
Mother Nature.
She takes no time off.
We may think some
Seasons are quieter or less
Busy than others,
Perhaps some more beautiful,
But I believe that
Really means that we
Are not taking a
Close enough look
At our surroundings.
Consider winter.
The ice and snow do not
Chase life away, at
Least most life…
Usually, winter life is
Just masked or hidden by the
Cold conditions of the
Moment…but it can
Surface its face in a
Flash of a feather, such as
When a blue jay reminded
Me I was not alone
One lonely day.
Leo Carroll
July 2, 2018
I hear the
Call of blue jay,
But thankfully not in
Distress,
Just jay being
Jay, on a
January
Morning
When I thought
The winter
Was deaf.
Ode to Milkweed Pods
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Milkweed Pods"
I love milkweed pods,
And I love the field I find them in
Up in the woods of Maine.
Every time I walk into
That hallowed Maine field,
My eyes sweep for
Milkweed pods, and if I locate
Them, I always lie amongst
Them, as if their long
Stalks were blessing me,
The very same feeling I get as
When I dive into the healing foam
And font of the ocean.
So simple is Maine, so
Hardscrabble are
Its shrouded woods, so
Hidden its fields of milkweed,
So magnanimous to me,
So accepting, as if
I was a monarch butterfly,
And had alighted their sweet
Nectar to imbibe for my
Migration to eternity!
Leo Carroll
August 26, 2018
I thought I would
Never sit amongst you again…
That you would be but
A memory I always inhaled in the
Hymnal of my breath,
But then there you were —
Unexpectedly back, awaiting me —
The face to me of Maine’s autumn, and
So accepting unconditionally!
And so amongst you
I reclined, and you began to
Nourish me as if I was a
Monarch butterfly, and your pods
Became the nectar to sustain my pilgrim’s
Flight, until finally my migration
Reached the old by-and-by…
The Word of Autism
(The Gospel of John 1:1-3)
Click for meditationRegarding "The Word of Autism"
I have repeatedly tried to
Write this meditation,
But it has resisted me, and
I have set aside version after version.
And so I try again…and
Suffice it to say that the
Word, the Word of God, the
Word of Life, which
Breathes upon all
Of heaven and earth,
That Word, this Word, is the
Giver of all life, including
Autistic life…
This Word is an
Absolute mystery,
Unimaginable, unspeakable,
Unexplainable, but is
Somehow implanted in
Humanity’s heart
As a matter of faith. And
The sweet children of
Autism are similarly a
Mystery, and as an
Integral part of Creation,
They, too, follow their
Own pilgrim’s path, where
They are compassionately cradled
In the arms of the Word,
Listened to, hugged, until like
The bleating “baa” of an innocent lamb,
They are placed in the
Green pasture grass of the
Sheepfold and home.
Leo Carroll
May 28, 2018
The Word, which from the beginning
Was with God, and was God, and was Witness
When all Creation was sown
Upon the seas and heavens, that
Word, that God, that Spirit, spoke and
Still speaks in a voice unable by our primitive
Ears to be heard. The Word speaks a
Message not possible for our limited minds
To comprehend. The Word’s language is not defined
By our alphabet, nor are the connections
Between the Word’s syllables and consonants
Made by synapses which fit into our sentences…
This Word does not communicate with us on
Our level, having verbal powers which extend beyond
Fathom and parable, leaving us able to only
Quake in tremble and awe. This Word, by our own
Feeble lexicon, might even in error or ignorance
Be viewed as mute or speechless, but
It is this Word which has created in one
Single breath the human image and
Form, and it is this Word which has placed
God’s own likeness amongst the infinite
Countenances of the universe –
And this likeness includes the silent,
Mysterious world inhabited by the
Sometimes speechless and sometimes
Mute, innocent lambs of autism…