Froggie in the milk barrel

Wow. Time is flying by and I feel like the frog in the milk barrel.

You know the story. He fell into a big barrel three quarters full of milk and couldn't get any purchase to climb out. All he could do was swim around and around. But he didn't give up or quit, he just kept kicking and splashing, wondering how in the world he was ever going to get out. It seemed pretty hopeless. The barrel was big and he was very small. So he just did the only thing he could think of to do, he just kept swimming.

That's me right now--just putting one foot in front of the other, feeling overwhelmed and under-prepared, just moving forward to the best of my ability which doesn't feel like much under the circumstances. Three major projects require my full attention, and then there's the house, dinner prep everyday, and the writing I'm not getting done. And commitments to family and friends.

I remember reading Marcus Aurelius years ago, and being astounded when he wrote that we should not ever say we don't have time for someone or some thing. We should simply have confidence that of course we have time. A man who ruled an empire,who had a million constraints and claims on his time. And here I am worried about writing an essay, catching up the bookkeeping, preparing a presentation, and keeping clean sox and underwear in the drawers. It kinda puts things in perspective.

So like the frog, I'll just keep swimming, just keep going through the motions, pretending I'm confident it will all turn out.

What happened to the frog? He swam around so long, he churned that milk into butter and hopped right out on top. I only hope I have a similar landing!

Invictus

This is a powerful movie and as a writer, more specifically, a poet, as I watched the movie, I found myself becoming afraid. No, I wasn't afraid for Nelson Mandela, the courageous man who spent more than 20 years in prison, and was finally freed and became the democratic leader of South Africa. Nor was I afraid for Francois Pienar, the captain of the Springboks rugby team. I was afraid for me.

The movie is fairly fast-paced and there is a lot of suspense, which Eastwood is a master of. But what I found most fascinating about the movie was the fact that a poem written over a hundred years ago resonated so strongly with Nelson Mandela that it inspired him to not just survive, but to excell in his captivity. As a poet, I wondered, could I ever write such a poem?

When I got home, I looked up the author of the poem "Invictus", which the movie is named from. I learned that the author, William Ernest Henley, knew about challenges. He was born in 1849 and contracted tuberculosis. By the time he was sixteen, he had his leg amputated just below the knee. When he was 18 his father died, and Henley, who had just written his exams had to give up his education.

This poem that inspired Mandela to keep his vision of a free and democrratic South Africa alive, that inspired him to maintain a strong spirit in spite of physical deprivation and mental and physical suffering,
this poem was written while Henley was confined to hospital for two years. He was young--just 26 at the time.

The poem makes no allowance for self-pity or blaming others. It makes no allowance for caving in or giving up. It was written from the depths of despair in a show of strength and courage, and that is why the words, the thoughts expressed were able to consistently inspire another man in a desperate situation.

So I wonder, I have to ask myself, have I lived the kind of life that would enable me to write such a poem? have I been true to myself? to my convictions? True enough that I could write the words that someone hundreds of years hence could find sustenance and peace no matter what their circumstances?

I really don't know the answer. Only time will tell.