September 22. 20222

BUT  WHAT ABOUT ME?

I first heard the theme from a nun.

She busted her butt for some 30 years as a teacher - and then wondered whether anyone seemed to care - what she cared about.

I articulated to her what I was hearing - using the words of a poem: "But who knows your story?"

I might have received in the mail around that time a poem by Vicki Erikson.  It was in a publication from Princeton Theological Seminary.  The line that grabbed me was, "Who heard my tears in the driving rain?"

Her story got me thinking about a lot of people I knew  - but didn't listen to enough. I'm starting to hear a lot of people - all in their 50's - and older - voice a down deep cry: "But what about me?"

Freud used the couch to listen to people - lying down -- on the leather: "Okay, what about you?"

I remember sitting with a couple. She was doing all the talking - all the venting - all the screaming - years and years of building up screaming - and he just sat there. 

I began wondering inwardly, "But what about him?"

Did he have a whole Niagara Falls of flowing words and feelings - that I am totally unaware of- that she doesn't take the time to get on a bus or a train or a car - to visit?

Niagara Falls - that's a good analogy - because I visited it at least a dozen time.  I stood there watching the waters go over the edge. Amazing.... And the flow kept flowing - kept coming - non-stop.

I was never there in the winter.

Are the words silent, frozen, grabbing, holding onto, stuck in the rocks - in the winter?

How does one turn on the spicket - and let the cold and the hot words flow?