#renewal — Public Fediverse posts

What Is My Sequel?

We live in the age of the sequel.

Nothing ends anymore.

The hero survives the explosion. The villain’s hand rises from the rubble. The supposedly final chapter contains a scene after the credits. A character who died twenty years ago returns through cloning, memory, the multiverse, a prequel, a reboot, artificial intelligence, or some creative loophole in the mythology.

Perhaps we have become suspicious of endings – whether they are happy or sad.

Or perhaps endings are just bad for business.

If a story succeeds, we do not allow it to finish. We stretch it. Repeat it. Repackage it.

Volume follows volume.

Season follows season.

Universe follows universe.

And somewhere along the way, a single story becomes a franchise.

I wonder whether we sometimes do the same thing with our lives.

We discover a role that works, and then we keep writing sequels to it.

The successful person must remain successful.

The pastor must continue being the pastor.

The artist must keep producing.

The parent must remain necessary.

The activist must always be preparing for the next protest.

The wounded person must keep telling of the trauma.

The admired person must maintain their image.

Even our identities can become franchises.

We keep returning to the same personas because we’ve worn them so long.

People recognize them.

Perhaps we recognize them too.

But eventually a dangerous question arrives:

What if that story is finished?

Not my life.

That story.

That version of me.

That particular adventure.

Maybe one of the great spiritual disciplines is learning to recognize when the credits are supposed to roll.

When “The End” flashes on the screen and the only sound is the film flapping around and around on the take-up reel.

Jesus spent much of his life telling people that something was ending.

An age.

A way of measuring power.

A way of imagining God.

A way of dividing the righteous from the unrighteous, the insider from the outsider, the important from the insignificant.

And Christianity makes an astonishing claim about the apparent ending of Jesus himself.

He dies.

There is no heroic escape.

No secret tunnel underneath the cross.

No last-minute rescue by ninja disciples.

Jesus is dead.

Period.

His body is put in a tomb, and the tomb is sealed.

For a brief terrible moment, the story is allowed to end.

And then comes resurrection.

But resurrection is not quite a sequel.

That may be important.

The risen Christ is continuous with Jesus—wounds, memory, voice, love—and yet strangely different. People who knew him sometimes fail to recognize him. He appears unexpectedly. He passes through locked doors. He eats breakfast and then disappears.

This is not Jesus II: The Empire Strikes Back.

It is something stranger.

Resurrection does not merely continue the old plot.

It transforms what a story can be.

Which makes me wonder about my own life.

Perhaps I have spent years assuming that the future must be a sequel to the past.

Another project.

Another accomplishment.

Another book.

Another song.

Another role.

Another version of something or someone I have already been.

We ask children, What do you want to be when you grow up?

Later we ask adults, What are you doing next?

Almost nobody asks:

What part of you is complete?

What could you lovingly allow to end?

What character no longer needs to return for another season?

What war does not require another battle?

What identity has carried you faithfully to this point but does not need to follow you into the next chapter?

What part of you needs to die?

I find myself wondering:

What will be my sequel?

And then an even more unsettling question:

Do I have one?

At first that sounds frightening.

We have been trained to believe that there must always be something next.

But perhaps the absence of a sequel does not mean the absence of a future.

A seed has no sequel.

It becomes a tree.

A caterpillar has no sequel.

It becomes something that would have been nearly unimaginable from inside the chrysalis.

Autumn does not produce Summer II.

It becomes winter.

And winter, somehow, becomes spring.

Maybe what comes next in a human life need not be the continuation of what came before.

Maybe I am not waiting for another installment.

Maybe I am waiting for transformation.

That changes the question.

Instead of asking,

How do I keep this story going?

I can ask,

What is this story becoming?

There may even come a point when the greatest act of faith is to stop demanding another season.

To leave some characters behind.

To let go of unresolved subplots.

To accept that certain doors will never reopen.

To stop resurrecting things that are meant to remain buried.

And then to stand before the unknown without insisting that it resemble anything that has already happened.

The culture says:

Coming soon: more of the same.

The spiritual life whispers:

Behold, I make all things new.

So perhaps I do not want a sequel.

Perhaps I want resurrection.

And if resurrection is real, then the most interesting part of my story may not be what happens next.

It may be what I become when the old story finally has the courage to end.

New candlesticks, or: My counter

A Sijo

new candlesticks on my counter
small gold birds in Friday dusk;
two wicks catch beneath the match
the old words come too easily;
alone, I sanctify Shabbat
somehow, I've begun again.

W3 poetry prompt

For this week’s W3, I invite all of us to write a poem about doing something familiar under changed circumstances so that it feels like a first time again.

Sijo?

A Korean verse form related to haiku and tanka and comprised of three lines of 14-16 syllables each, for a total of 44-46 syllables. Each line contains a pause near the middle, similar to a caesura, though the break need not be metrical. The first half of the line contains six to nine syllables; the second half should contain no fewer than five. Originally intended as songs, sijo can treat romantic, metaphysical, or spiritual themes. Whatever the subject, the first line introduces an idea or story, the second supplies a “turn,” and the third provides closure. Modern sijo are sometimes printed in six lines.

Let’s write poetry together!

When it comes to partnership, some humans can make their lives alone – it’s possible. But creatively, it’s more like painting: you can’t just use the same colours in every painting. It’s just not an option. You can’t take the same photograph every time and live with art forms with no differences.

–Ben Harper (b. 1969)

Would you like to create poetry with me and have a completed poem of yours featured here at the Skeptic’s Kaddish? I am very excited to have launched the ‘Poetry Partners’ initiative and am looking forward to meeting and creating with you… Check it out!

W3 Prompt #224: Wea’ve Written Weekly

Intro

Dear friends,

Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live on Wednesdays at The Skeptic’s Kaddish.

You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here’s the ‘tldr’ version:

Part I

The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants read before participating in the prompt.

Part II

The second ingredient is a writing guideline (or two) provided by the PoW. Guidelines may include, but are not limited to: word counts, poetic forms, inclusion of specific words, and use of particular poetic devices.

Part III

After five days, when the prompt closes, the PoW shall select one participant’s poem as the W3 prompt for the following week, and its author becomes the next PoW.

Simple enough, right?

Okie dokie ~ Let’s do this thing!

I. The prompt poem:

‘Private interests, or: Public voice’ by David ben Alexander

He let Qatari money flow,
Let Hamas arm itself below;
They breached the border—his neglect!
His response? The old blame-game show.

And what did Bibi first protect
With every charge that he’d deflect?
He kept his own role out of view—
Truth? State inquiry? He rejects!

He swore victory to pursue,
His “clear objectives”? None came through;
Captives abandoned; loved ones grieved—
The promised rescue? Long past due.

While reserve soldiers felt aggrieved
At what those exempted received, 
Our people split by creed and rule—
His power bargain was achieved.

He let the sharks into the pool,
Then made himself their useful tool;
The courts became their next great wall—
Now, who's the master, who's the fool?

He pressed to make the guardrails fall,
To force the courts to heed his call;
His trial hanging over him—
Who benefits when justice stalls?

With charges closing in on him,
The public's trust grew ever dim;
Private interests; public voice—
The country's situation? Grim.

His survival? There was no choice!
Rewarded acolytes rejoiced—
Who cares how much the people owe?
But—might October end their ploys?

II. My prompt: The first time, again

Sometimes life changes enough that something familiar becomes new again.

Think of something you have experienced in the past, are experiencing now, or imagine experiencing in the future: doing an ordinary thing you have done many times before, but under changed circumstances that make it feel like a first time.

It might be the first meal in a new home, the first holiday after someone is gone, the first date after a long relationship, the first day back at work, the first time returning somewhere after many years, the first night alone, the first journey home—or something entirely different.

Write a poem about experiencing something familiar as though it were happening for the first time again.

Your poem must include the word “again.”

III. Submit: Click on ‘Mister Linky’ below

In order to participate and share a poem, open up this blog post, outside of the WordPress reader. At the bottom, just below these words, you will see a small rectangular graphic with the words ‘Mr Linky’. Click on that to submit.

Submissions are open for 5 days, until Monday, Aug. 17, 10:00 AM (GMT+2)

Last week’s W3 poem

This week’s W3 prompt poem (above), composed by me, was written in response to last week’s W3 prompt poem, which Val wrote:

‘Looking for Sir Swellimpedeedoo’ by murisopsis

Whatever became of Sir Swellimpedeedoo?
I mean after he laid an egg with you know who
She said “cluck around and find out”
Then smacked him on his snout
Claiming he’d never be her sweet baboo!

He didn’t try to hide his lovelorn tears
Nor did he give in to rejection fears
This much is true
He’s crafty with yarn after some beers
In short order knit a love brand new

https://medium.com/the-story-well/the-psychology-of-endings-and-beginnings-3e3537bf5bef

The Psychology of Endings and Beginnings

#collapse #beginnings #endings #renewal #medium #storytelling #fiction #life #lifelessons

https://medium.com/the-story-well/the-psychology-of-endings-and-beginnings-3e3537bf5bef

The Psychology of Endings and Beginnings

#collapse #beginnings #endings #renewal #medium #storytelling #fiction #life #lifelessons

https://medium.com/the-story-well/the-psychology-of-endings-and-beginnings-3e3537bf5bef

The Psychology of Endings and Beginnings

#collapse #beginnings #endings #renewal #medium #storytelling #fiction #life #lifelessons

https://medium.com/the-story-well/the-psychology-of-endings-and-beginnings-3e3537bf5bef

The Psychology of Endings and Beginnings

#collapse #beginnings #endings #renewal #medium #storytelling #fiction #life #lifelessons

https://medium.com/the-story-well/the-psychology-of-endings-and-beginnings-3e3537bf5bef

The Psychology of Endings and Beginnings

#collapse #beginnings #endings #renewal #medium #storytelling #fiction #life #lifelessons

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015