The Lute Player

by ST, mid 1980s

I was a lute player
I traveled along
any road that I happened 
     to happen upon,
any road that happened
     to fit the day's song.

I was a lute player
I had no abode
I wandered wherever
     by whatever mode,
and the lute that I carried 
     was my only load.

          1.
I saw an old man
     resting under a tree
by the side of the way--
by the wayside,
     you might say--

He seemed not to see me--
had a far look in his eye;
I disturbed not his thoughts,
no babbler am I;
but slowly I picked out
     a melody on my lute
and hummed very softly
some impromptu tune
that the peace of the day,
and the peace of the place,
and the peace that the old man
wore on his face
     seemed to inspire.

Then came to my lips some word or two,
and then a verse followed--
though of what I sang
     I hardly knew--
the sun and I set,
as the day and I mellowed,
'til the old man broke in, suddenly
answering, "You, my young fellow."

What had I asked?
I couldn't remember--
I was taken aback,
nearly back to November!
He so suddenly spoke--
and yet that so calmly--
my thoughts blanked mid-stroke;
his words thus unarmed me.

"What?" asked I of him
in a disconcerted voice.
"I'm waiting here for you,"
he replied in his ever steady poise.
I was the more dumbfounded--
'til I realized he was old--
I thought, "I'll indulge him,
see what interest it will hold:
     Infancy and age have each their games;
     From atop the hill I saw them both--
     One before me, one behind--
      So opposite, yet the same."

"Why do you wait for me here?"
He saw that I was playing--
     he chose to be the cat.
"Why do you ask?"  "I want to know."
     "Do you?"
He turned, and that was that.
Again his gaze was lost in the horizon . . . 
And so now was my answer.

Out before us stretched the distance,
and now between us two--
My lute was silent,
I was silent,
not knowing what to do.
The old man was unaware of us--
at least he seemed to be--
Evening came, and it was cool . . .
Still we sat, and all was still:  I felt a fool.

"There's someone you ought to know,
if you care to search for him."
"Never had a purpose in my life--
I see more as I walk along the rim."
He didn't appreciate my metaphor;
his mind had shut its door.

"Who is he?" I attempted.
"He'll be a friend of yours."
I had somehow the feeling
That when this old man played,
     he won.

I said, "Already I know my friends . . ."
He chuckled, and I grew red.
"Don't be satisfied with too easy an answer,"
   was all he said.

Then from his side he pulled a steel--
that hadn't been there before!
"Take this and be on your way,"
He nodded the direction I should go.

"But it's now nearly night . . ."
He waved me go away;
seemed unconcerned with my plight,
pulled 'round his cloak and down he lay.

Knowing naught else,
I turned, and took his direction.
Night advanced as I,
and we walked along together,
slept side by side, with no affection.

          2.
The dream of the night
faded in the light
of the dawn.
I rose, I stretched, inhaled the day,
     and yawned.
Now refreshed, I was about to go my way . . .
But still lay the steel
where my lute used to lay.
I steeled myself:  I stole a sight--
a sight worth seeing:
What a fright!

I laid the edge against my complexion,
scraped off the worst
     as best I could,
then looked again, and better liked 
     my own reflection--
straighter, then, I stood.

I paused to mourn a moment more
having left my lute behind,
but what could I do,
     other than take up that blade,
and off on a likely route, or, rut?

Empty the road all morning,
save ME.
Empty my gut, all mourning:
SAVE me.

I noticed a young man coming my way,
He was not at all unlike me:
He came up closer, I saw in his eye
     a playful look--
A likeable sort, he looked to be.

I saw he, too, carried such an edge,
So a lighthearted challenge made I--
yet not before quickly I had gaged
that he walked no easier, as his blade also
     hampered his thigh.

A playful joust--
that's all it was,
fencing with glee, but no grace.
Funny poking, and poking fun--
then he nicked me, near the face.
I flinched, he stepped back,
still wordless our exchange--
     first of steel, and now of eye--
then together we laughed, the mood changed,
     it passed by.

"Have you eaten? . . . Nor have I . . ."
He questioned and answered in one--
He'd heard my gut growl its answer--
". . . and I have nothing to offer, not a bone."
"If no bone, even, to pick have either of we,
let's clasp our hands, and part company."
     And we did.

          3.
I ambled on in my usual aimless,
missing more and more my lute.
That little scratch became a little sore,
and my disposition infected to suit.

Days went by;
more sullen grew I.
Then met I again
my sparring friend.

With a smile I flashed,
and he flashed too,
but before he did,
his mood I viewed--
how similar to mine!
Both smiling facades,
there both we stood . . .
Then I called, "On Guard!"
There in the midst of a wood.

A tree-full place
is no place to face
an enemy:
hampered I was,
no room to maneuver.
He maneuvered the best cover
to shield him from my point--
I couldn't reach him.

Underbrush underfoot, entangled feet;
low limbs wrapped me in their arms
     and on the head.
Amid the trunks I was darkly hooded
   as a monk:
Branches so dimmed the sun's life.

It was then he struck,
I leapt back in surprise--
My blood!  That's no trickle . . .
I stared, hypnotized.

He looked at me, self-satisfied:
     he'd won.
I looked at him with loathing--
     this game was not in fun.
Arm dangling at my side,
vows forming deep in pride,
I sulked away--
sure I'd win another day.

I hated him.
After a week with no sleep,
so painful was my hurt,
embittered dreams invade me:
in brutal feuds I baited him:
when he went down, I laughed
     and berated him;
when he begged mercy
     I was curt.

I planned my attack--
how I'd beat him down,
how I'd hew and hack,
     so black
my hating heart had grown.

          4.
I chose the field:
I waited for him there.
This would be my chance:
my challenge was a dare.

On a wide open plain--
all to my advantage--
I struck at him, slashed at him,
with all the force that I could savage.

Exhaustion overtook me;
I fumbled, faltered, slumped.
In rage I'd cut MYSELF to pieces--
I lay there dazed and numb.
I closed my eyelids for the finish:
and when the finish didn't come,
no strength had I to question;
when I wakened he was gone.

So weak I was that nothing to me mattered.
If he came to find me here,
he could kill and leave me scattered.
No reason to go forward,
yet no reason to return,
I drained my wounds of pus and fester,
but with less interest, less spirit,
     than an urn.

           5.
We met again--
I wondered that he'd let me heal
before returning 
to make the kill.

They say a mended bone grows stronger,
     so had I;
And this time dueling, showed some skill,
     and with new wisdom,
     lasted longer.
I felt no longer the old revenge,
Something better from my sprang
     and leapt to meet his challenge.

Bout after bout
we measured one another,
then shared a drink
when each was done.
I was scarred;
he was handsomer than ever,
but to hate him now
would only be wasted endeavor.

He no longer gloated in getting me down,
truly sporting partners were we--
more skilled I became with each succeeding round . . .
I watched him, I imitated, and thus he taught me.

           6.
There came a day 
I was lithe as he,
and skillful with the sword.
I matched him only,
never laid him low--
but pride in me shone clearly
in his friendly tutoring eye.
And we laughed to think how clumsily
     at first we'd fought.

This was the one the old man had said
     was to be my friend--
I'd met him ever on my journey,
     it seemed at every bend.
Yet only now had I come to know
to be glad for the old man's direction:
that he'd set me out on this life's odyssey
to find my life's friend, his respect, his affection.

No longer long I
for the lute of my youth;
my life then looks foolish,
     when looked at in truth.
The song I sing now
I sing to accompany
     men who are men:
it sounds like a symphony--
compared to the tune of before.

I look back at my friend,
look back at my self--
understanding comes
as though in stealth:
my friend all along
was just a little better than me--
yet he was never better
than I thought I could be.
Enemies we, when each other we defied,
'til at last we discovered
we fought for the same side:
as I grew better, better friends grew we:
Now I know you, my friend, you are ME.

face to face: a reflective conversation

by ST, mid 1980s

You're not a beauty, I'm sure you've discovered;
and yet you have a certain "down-to-earth beauty"
(not quite as down-to-earth as a mud fence . . .
perhaps a stone fence--yes, I think so:
you've been accused of never smiling, as you know).
So you can pretend, sometimes, at least,
that really you have a kind of good looks.
Anyway, it's what's inside that counts, they say.
I've known you in an ugly mood, and not liked you very much.
I've been hurt by your selfishness, saddened by your depression,
I've certainly suffered for your lack of diligence, but . . .
when I set you in the balance, the scale seems to tip your way.
Maybe I'm prejudiced, but I think you have a good heart--
at least you try--most of the time.  And . . .
once I saw--after a profound experience--
you had something left in your eye
after the tears had gone:
I think it was a twinkle, or a light;
it was something like a star . . . far away . . .
and from the same origin.

Reasonable Reasoning

by ST, mid 1980s

Upon one's contemplating one's own self
Oftimes one laughs to see
Just how unreasonably one does reason.
And exerting one's logic ends illogically.
"Illogical it may seem, but logical it is,"
So reasons one's reason when another reasons not . . .
Musingly one listens to the other's point,
And wonders by what thinking those thoughts were wrought.

School Daze

by ST, late 1980s

     With the beginning of a new school year, it's a good time to think about what we want for our children in Life.  In general terms, we want them to be happy and successful.  Most of us don't think that means they have to be brain surgeons or rocket scientists (unless that's what they want to be).  But we do want them to be able to support themselves and their families decently, and work at something they like and are good at.
     So how do we prepare them for what lies ahead?  It's hard to predict what the world will be like in 20 or 40 years.  But what we do know is that they'll be faced with plenty of challenges, and problems to solve.
     For most people, success in life begins with success in school.  Einsteins and Bill Gateses are few and far between.  More than ever a High School education followed by some form of training or college is essential to get a job that will support a family.  Self-employment requires just as many or more skills.  Ranchers need to be just as good as (or better than) college-educated bureaucrats at communicating effectively, persuasion, finding/presenting/evaluating facts and situations, reading legal-ese and other lingo, and recognizing propaganda or fraud.  If school is too easy, it doesn't prepare our students for real Life.  I don't know anyone who would say that Life got easier after High School.  Life is less and less certain, and women, as well as men need the skills to survive (and succeed) in this world.  Motherhood is not less demanding than any other career, and career training enhances motherhood and offers options when Life doesn't go as expected.  The more we know about succeeding in Life, the better parents we can be.
     While some worry that what's taught in school might not apply to "Real Life", the habits and attitudes needed to succeed in school are the very ones needed to succeed in Life:  courage to face challenges and learn (even from failure), willingness to work hard, problem-solving skills, organization, dependability, persistence, creativity, getting along with  others (authority figures and co-workers), the ability to communicate effectively and calculate accurately.  Habits of failure in school easily become habits of failure and low self-esteem in Life.  Additionally, some information is expected to be universally known--basic geography, history, and how Nature and its parts work.  How embarrassing to be the only one who doesn't know such things as the monetary unit of Hawaii, who penned the words of the Gettysburg Address (and the ideas it includes), or the life cycle of a chicken, frog, or butterfly.  Competence/knowledge breeds self-confidence, breeds success, makes one feel good about oneself!
     It's important that a child learn the concepts and facts for each grade as he goes along.  Each year is a foundation for success in the years that follow.  Math, for instance, is so hard if you don't know your math facts.  It's much easier if you know the facts and the rules--math is like a game:  learn the rules (recipes) & strategies, and you can win!
     Most careers require a variety of skills.  Most students change their minds several times about what they want to be in life.  Doing the best you can in every class, getting help when you need it, making wise lifestyle choices, all keep your options open.  Students, don't slam the doors on yourselves!
     How do you know what your child is supposed to be learning?  Check his or her schoolwork every day through the 6th grade, stay in tune and interested thereafter.  Skim through the textbooks.  Come to parent-teacher conferences with questions, curiosity, and a supportive attitude.  If your child is supposed to be learning math facts, formulas, vocabulary, or whatever, flash cards are easy to make and use.  The internet is replete with videos on every subject.  The library or bookstore can offer reinforcing materials.  Many teachers give out study guides you can quiz your child from.  Any teacher will be happy to give suggestions.
     Our attitudes about school become our children's attitudes.  Help our children succeed, and they'll be happy with themselves, and Life will be better for them.  Help them see that success in school will help them get what they want in Life!  And, Have a great year.

Sage

by ST, early 1980s

A piece of Wisdom,
A piece of the desert,
matures in adversity
of its own.

Only a little of this seasoning
much improves the flavor
in a place where Life is dry as bone.

Looking for sage alone
for seasons one can roam
in this wilderness of Life--
but even sage when grown
withers, without the loan
of rain from the Source of Life.

Signals of Life

by ST, early 1980s

There is a fascination to cars at night:
stopped at an intersection
you can see the rear lights
of perhaps 5 cars;
but each in turn blinks only its own rhythm.
And because none beats but for its own,
you can feel a thousand little heartbeats
(feelings cannot count above 2 or 3),
that signal life is there.

Swimming and Lessons

by ST, about the 1970s or so

     We took swimming lessons as children--Mom thought it essential for everyone to know how to swim, no matter if they live near bodies of water or not.  We did the "jelly fish" so much I might have turned into one, but at last they moved me up to the next class.  This, I was not sure, was any better.  The teacher insisted we all be in the water waiting when she came.  There were some smart-alecks that would come and try to undo one's handhold upon the edge.  Our feet were nowhere near touching the bottom.  This was in the big pool, the "jelly-fish" were in the little pool.  After awhile we learned better than to do what the teacher said, or we were in trouble.  But then the teacher was mad.  We told her about our dilemma and she got after the boys, but that didn't solve the problem.  On the one hand a scolding, on the other, drowning.  We chose the scolding.
     As kids we always wanted to go swimming.  It was a little ridiculous, since we couldn't even let go of the edge of the pool, or we were in over our heads.  Just the same, we always wanted to go.
     Once as I was venturing out a little and coming back, I didn't make it to within reach of the edge.  I sank, but not deep enough to get a good thrust off the bottom.  Somehow I managed to get to the top, sorta, and tried to call for help.  I gurgled something out and went down again.  On my way slowly down I remembered that one was supposed to go down thrice, and that was "it".  I sincerely hoped someone would come to my rescue before "it".  I came up again, inhaled what seemed like more water than air, and went down again.
     Now perhaps the reader cannot appreciate the crisis, knowing I obviously survived, or you wouldn't be reading this.  However, I can assure you it was truly distressing at the time.  I know the feeling  of needing a breath so badly that you don't care what it is you inhale, just so you can fill your lungs with something.
     With my "last" chance, I strained to submerge myself far enough so as to get the best push off the bottom possible.  The push-off wasn't as good as I'd hoped for;  I did get up to the top and again gurgled for help, but couldn't get my sister's attention.  I did not want to go down again, but I had no choice.
     I don't remember how many times I went up and down, but I didn't know how long I could keep it up.  It took such an effort to get myself down enough to push off the bottom, then to get that push forceful enough to struggle back up to the air before I inhaled!
     At last a girl next to my sister saw me and pulled me back to the edge of the pool.  I was rather upset that no one noticed me sooner, especially my sister and the lifeguard.  I wondered what good that life guard was, when he didn't even notice someone in trouble.  That pool was really crowded.  Buses have capacities, elevators have capacities, bridges have capacities, even freezers have capacities.  All kinds of things have capacities, but not swimming pools or life guards.  It has really made me wonder how many kids could have drowned, and no one notice.

Note:  pools now have capacities posted, too.

Whenever I Think of the Pioneers

by Susan Ternyey, 1996 (revised 2022)

     With awe I ponder the fortitude of those valiant pioneers of our past.  I used to feel I could never measure up to "the heritage they left us."  (Hymn, "Firm as the Mountains Around Us")
     But one day as I lay in a hospital bed, paralyzed from the hips down after an automobile accident--and being paralyzed was still so strange, overwhelming and new to me--I realized that we handle what life hands to us because we have no choice--or rather, the alternative (checking out of life:  mentally, emotionally, or physically) would be even worse!  I didn't want to spend my life miserable.
     The Lord carried me through those early weeks (and still does, though not as obviously) with the assurance that this is something I can handle.  I didn't have to waste life and energy wondering "Why me?" or "If only . . ."  I awoke each morning with a hymn in my heart and mind.  "Why me?"  Why should it always be someone else?  "If only" is quicksand, it can swallow you up in wallowing.
     When at times I did wish I could check out of life, I would remind myself, "in 6 months this won't seem so bad.  I will have climbed over the worst of it."  And it was true.  It is now 8 (34) years hence, I have learned a lot, and I am happy.  Not everything in my life is as I would have it--I still face the usual troubles and traumas of life.  From time to time I am faced with soul-wrenching anguish for things I wish I could change.  But surely if I can conquer this physical disability, with God's help, I can make it to "the promised land":  Life Everlasting, without limitations.
     Gratefully, others have gone before me, and pioneered accessibility.  Before the accident, I never knew how vital that was.  Gratefully, my ancestors went before me, and with their lives forged a trail for me to follow.  My mother said she was sure she could not have made it across the plains with the pioneers--yet at 70 years old, with balance issues, she was pushing her "handcart" (wheelbarrow full of dirt) to create a garden from barrenness.
     Our forefathers and mothers who crossed the plains of the American west, the rugged mountains, and made the desert "blossom as a rose" were just like you and me.  They faced what was before them daily and struggled with it, sometimes heroically, sometimes not.  But they kept up the struggle, and at last found "the place which God for us prepared, far away" in Eternity.
     If to be a pioneer you must be the first to forge a new trail, a new life, tame a wilderness, remember that the experiences you have can help others who see what you have or are accomplishing and conquering.  And when you feel discouragement creeping upon you, sing to yourself or aloud:

Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear,
But with joy [get on] your way.
Though hard to you this journey may appear,
Grace shall be [given as you need it].
'Tis better far for us to strive
Our useless cares from us to drive;
Do this, and joy your hearts will swell . . .

Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard?
'Tis not so; [we'll be all right].
Why should we think to earn a great reward
If we now shun the fight?
[Get yourself together], fresh courage take
Our God will never us forsake;
And soon we'll have this tale to tell--
All is well!  All is well!
--Hymn, "Come, Come Ye Saints"