The U in Jesus and The Second Coming by Yeats (Blend-Up)

THE U IN JESUS

Before U were thought of or time had begun,

God stuck U in the name of His Son..

And each time U pray, you’ll see it’s true,

You can’t spell out JesUs and not include U.

You’re a pretty big part of His wonderful name,

For U, He was born; that’s why He came.

And His great love for U is the reason He died.

It even takes U to spell crUcified.

Isn’t it thrilling and splendidly grand

He rose from the dead, with U in His plan?

The stones split away, the gold trUmpet blew,

And this word resUrrection is spelled with a U.

When JesUs left earth at His Upward ascension,

He felt there was one thing He just had to mention.

“Go into the world and tell them it’s true

That I love them all – Just like I love U.”

So many great people are spelled with a U,

Don’t they have a right to know JesUs too?

It all depends now on what U will do,

He’d like them to know, But it all starts with U.

This poem was emailed to me by a friend. Thanks so much for making my day, by the way. Don’t know who authored it. Not a poet myself so I really love it when someone gets clever with a poem as is the case above.  This poem got me to thinking about the first poem that touched me deeply.  A classic by William Butler Yeats.

This poem is so deep even to this day it’s taught in psychology classes. If you are a smarty-arty in high school, chances are this bad boy has manifested itself in your existence and could be standing between you and college. I, Mary Brown, am even considering using ‘Things fall apart’ as a possible book title. All over the net and beyond you can find some reference to this poem. And yet, put it together with ‘The U in Jesus’ and you still have a beautiful mix or blend of words. Words that may make you think and feel, oh, I don’t know. However, you end up thinking and feeling.

The Second Coming

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

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Diabetes, the monster within

 

Lately I’ve been so busy juggling so many things I forgot to include the necessity for my own wellbeing. Monday night I took the last 31 units, my daily dosage, of insulin betweeen 10:00pm and 10:30pm, as usual. Unfortunately, I didn’t know it was the last pen. I’m on the Lantus by the way. I take it once a day and truly don’t think it’s working for me anymore. I also take a glimepiride, oral medication I no longer feel is working as well. It was late yesterday when I noticed all the insulin had been depleted. In an attempt to tide me over, I took half a pill and went on my way.

This morning I woke up feeling rather cocky and rebellious. What if I just got off the damn stuff like my son has been telling me for a while now. He wants me to eat ‘raw’. Just try it for a while, along with my walking regimen to see what happens. At least he doesn’t seem concerned about finding me in another diabetic coma. So this morning I’m up early after going to bed late and I’m feeling good like I can take on the world. I usually don’t feel that good until after I’ve done my hour-long walk/jog. But as I was saying earlier I felt like I could kick a little diabetes butt.  I became the grandmama in Eddie Murphy movie, ‘The Nutty Professor’ when they were sitting at the dinner table and she said, “Come on Cletus! It aint nuthin’ but a short walk. You might walk over, but you limpin’ back! I aint no easy win, !@#$%!”

Well, guess what. I’m no David and this monster diabetes inside me sure isn’t Goliath. I took my blood sugar reading. Yikes! A whooping 237. Okay, okay, I’m thinking ain’t nothing but a thang. I ease into a pair of old white capris. It’s already warm at 9am. I slipped on a t-shirt given to me by a long ago co-worker. A young graphic designer running his own t-shirt business from out of his day job. He was a killer with Photoshop but punctuality, getting to the job on time, just wasn’t his forte.  Point is I gear up all set to do battle with this monster. In my haste, instead of going to the park, I walk out my patio door and return to my old stumping ground.

Down the street, on to the dead end road. I walk it fast and jog until the muscle on the side of my left leg starts aching something awful. ‘Damn you monster,’ I want to scream as I slow it down and continue to walk at a fierce. I walk past the house of a lady who used to walk with me. Thankfully the driveway is empty because the muscle is screaming so loud I can’t go on. Sweat dripping, I remove my Nascar racing cap and towel my face dry as possible. Surely the universe is conspiring with this monster against me. I check my cell phone. I’ve walked about 40 minutes. It will have to do.

I wait 30 minutes then check my blood sugar again. Holy, moly!!!! My blood sugar, if the meter is accurate now reads 247 and is blinking at me with malicious glee. Good thing I’d called in the prescription yesterday. Hungry and defeated, I cook two slices of turkey bacon, tear it into bits on top of a plate of heaping kale, throw on some vinegar and extra virgin olive oil and gobble it down. Breakfast is done. There’s still a little ache in my head so I’m sure the monster is still having it’s way with my vital parts.

This battle is not over. In the meantime I’m going to behave like someone who doesn’t believe in miraculous healing and go get my insulin. Since I skipped a day already and my shot isn’t until bedtime, I’m not sure what I should do. Fellow diabetics, if you can hear me, could you just throw this struggling David a lifeline.

 

I Smile, by Kirk Franklin

Kirk Franklin’s, ‘I Smile’,’ popped into my head this morning as I walked the park. I love that song. So with the spring breeze blowing and the ducks calling to one another across the green lake water, I charged through the trees. My feet crunched through the gravel, shoes digging in and out, making me work that much more harder as I made my way along the trail. Who would’ve thunkit, me, walking and jogging up a sweat?

Anyone who knew the old me would tell you that lady didn’t fool out in the sun. That old girl would circle the parking lot looking for the closest parking space to the building she could find. Exercise was a dirty word.

There are times, like today, I feel old girl trying to seep back in. What with reading essays four hours in the evening, a temporary gig, researching, and writing, and all else I can squeeze in during the day, old girl wrapped herself around me like a warm embrace. But like we use to say back in the day, I thought, ‘I’m hip to your jive.’

Just like when you recognize someone that really doesn’t have your best interest at heart and doesn’t really wish you well, or want to see you prosper, well I recognized that old feeling. So, shrugged it off and climbed on out of bed. Then I walked into the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror and smiled.

Everyday after I’m dressed, my first order of business is popping pills. Right before breakfast I popped one for diabetes, another for high blood pressure, and a supplement to ward off the effects of neuropathy. My two biggest fans, Tigger and Zoey, hit me up for affection, so I rubbed them and hugged them. Tigger, full of energy, jumped his butt on the sofa, off the sofa then raced to the door like a gazelle. Once he’s out the way, I dragged the blinds up in the their room. Zoey sat there and basked in the sun while I prepared breakfast.

Breakfast was two scrambled egges, pineapple and cottage cheese, and something called apple chicken links I’d picked up at the Whole Foods Market that opened just the other day. I was not instructed on the box of chicken links to place them in the oven, but that’s what I did. While they cooked, I stood in front of the mirror propped against the wall and looked at myself. In sweatpants and a short-sleeve purple shirt, I turned to profile. Old girl whispered sneeringly, ‘you ain’t losing no weight, why do you persist?” I leaned in close, brown eye to brown eye, and said, “Why not?” then strutted away singing,

(I’ll be honest with you)
I almost gave up, but a power that I can’t explain,
fell from heaven like a shower now.

(When I think how much better I’m gonna be when this is over)
I smile, even though I hurt see I smile,
I know God is working so I smile,
Even though I’ve been here for a while (what you do?)
I smile, smile…

I’m glad I didn’t listen to myself and got on out there and did the darn thing. After about 30 minutes, the OJ I had with breakfast kicked in. The closest restroom, well the closest one opened in this particular park, was about 1/2 a mile away. My car was nearer and I thought of going back to it. Old girl did her utmost to urge me back there, knowing full well if I drove off, that would be the end of my walk. My goal was to walk/jog an hour. I’d missed two days, the hour would make up for it. I inhaled, sucked in my stomach, threw up a prayer, and kept on stepping.

I walked/jogged exactly an hour. When I finally reached the car, energized and recharged, I was looking forward to a new day. Sometime we can be our own worst enemy. Even when we try to do a body good, our self can come out and try to sabotage the effort.  I’m 52 I’m not ashamed to say. I don’t know what that’s suppose to feel like. What I don’t want it to feel like is tired and broken down. I won’t be doing any cartwheels and might even emit a grunt before sitting or standing, but even if my weight is being stubborn, I’m going to persist in walking.

Listen to Kirk Franklin’s, ‘Smile’. If that doesn’t help inspire you, I don’t know what will. I know, if that doesn’t work, get a cat. There’s nothing more therapeutic than a purring cat whose paw is pressed gently against your arm while you work. This is in real time folks. My laptop sits on a small table at the foot of my bed. It’s where I work. To be close to me, Zoey has now placed both front paws on my left arm. Her eyes are closed, humming less pronounced, and her belly is making those hunger sound noises. The humming ended. I’m looking at her and can’t help but smile.

Zoey, the fat cat