Spiritual Solutions

Listening to God is an important part of our spiritual practice, as is also the practice of really listening to others even beyond what they may be saying in words so that we can hear what they are not saying. Thinking about this led me to share with you today’s message:

A dear friend of ours, Charlie Finn, whom Kathryn and I knew in Roanoke, Virginia, when we had our ministry there, wrote a poem in 1966 just after he started teaching a boys’ high school class. He shared the poem with some of the students, close friends and family members. He never put his name on it, and, as the years went by, the poem kept coming back to him from other directions with the word “Anonymous” on it or “Author Unknown.” From 1968 to the present time it has been published in dozens of publications, it’s been recorded on record albums, and it’s been used in seminars and workshops. In fact, Charlie told of a time when he was attending a seminar on Humanistic Psychology and the first thing the person presenting did was to read his poem.

Charlie remarked how awesome it was to him that this poem had reached so many people, and it struck him not only with pride but with awe that he had been able to reach within himself and find some meaning that also touched the hearts and minds of other people. Here’s the poem:

 Please Hear What I’m Not Saying

                Don’t be fooled by me.

               Don’t be fooled by the face I wear

               for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,

               masks that I’m afraid to take off,

               and none of them is me.

               Pretending is an art that’s second nature with me,

               but don’t be fooled,

               for God’s sake don’t be fooled.

               I give you the impression that I’m secure,

               that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well

                    as without,

               that confidence is my name and coolness my game,

               that the water’s calm and I’m in command

               and that I need no one,

               but don’t believe me.

               My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,

               ever-varying and ever-concealing.

               Beneath lies no complacence.

               Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.

               But I hide this.  I don’t want anybody to know it.

               I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.

               That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,

               a nonchalant sophisticated facade,

               to help me pretend,

               to shield me from the glance that knows.

               But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,

               and I know it.

               That is, if it’s followed by acceptance,

               if it’s followed by love.

               It’s the only thing that can liberate me from myself,

               from my own self-built prison walls,

               from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.

               It’s the only thing that will assure me

               of what I can’t assure myself,

               that I’m really worth something.

               But I don’t tell you this.  I don’t dare to, I’m afraid to.

               I’m afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,

               will not be followed by love.

               I’m afraid you’ll think less of me,

               that you’ll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.

               I’m afraid that deep-down I’m nothing

               and that you will see this and reject me.

               So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,

               with a facade of assurance without

               and a trembling child within.

               So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,

               and my life becomes a front.

                I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.

               I tell you everything that’s really nothing,

               and nothing of what’s everything,

               of what’s crying within me.

               So when I’m going through my routine

               do not be fooled by what I’m saying.

               Please listen carefully and try to hear what I’m not saying,

               what I’d like to be able to say,

               what for survival I need to say,

               but what I can’t say.

               I don’t like hiding.

               I don’t like playing superficial phony games.

               I want to stop playing them.

               I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me

               but you’ve got to help me.

               You’ve got to hold out your hand

               even when that’s the last thing I seem to want.

               Only you can wipe away from my eyes

               the blank stare of the breathing dead.

               Only you can call me into aliveness.

               Each time you’re kind, and gentle, and encouraging,

               each time you try to understand because you really care,

               my heart begins to grow wings–

               very small wings,

               very feeble wings,

               but wings!

               With your power to touch me into feeling

               you can breathe life into me.

               I want you to know that.

               I want you to know how important you are to me,

               how you can be a creator–an honest-to-God creator–

               of the person that is me

               if you choose to.

               You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,

               you alone can remove my mask,

               you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,

               from my lonely prison,

               if you choose to.

               Please choose to.

               Do not pass me by.

               It will not be easy for you.

               A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.

               The nearer you approach to me

               the blinder I may strike back.

               It’s irrational, but despite what the books say about man

               often I am irrational.

               I fight against the very thing I cry out for.

               But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls

               and in this lies my hope.

               Please try to beat down those walls

               with firm hands but with gentle hands

               for a child is very sensitive.

               Who am I, you may wonder?

               I am someone you know very well.

               For I am every man you meet

               and I am every woman you meet.

                                                                     Charles C. Finn

                                                                     September 1966

God is Blessing You, Right Now!

Rev. Alan A. Rowbotham

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 Rev. Alan A. Rowbotham, a Unity minister for over thirty-eight years, invites you to subscribe to his free inspirational newsletter, Spiritual Solutions.

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 (An article by John Harricharan)

Within each and every one of us is an inherent guidance system. We are not thrown helplessly into a seemingly cold and cruel world without the necessary tools for taking care of ourselves. Yet, most people go through an entire lifetime never realizing the power they have at their command.

This power is not the exclusive province of gurus, avatars or saints, but is available to all people as their cosmic birthright.

The power within lies waiting to be tapped by anyone who is willing to use its guidance. It is always there providing direction for our lives. But, because we are surrounded by the noise and activities of everyday, outside existence, we tend not to hear the gentle proddings from within. We become blind and deaf to the sights and sounds of our higher selves. To begin using this guidance, one must first be aware of its existence and then follow its directions. The following true life story is an excellent example of this principle.

Read the rest of this entry »

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Here’s a poem I wrote when I was in ministerial school about forty years ago, after recovering with sympathetic help from a difficult time and finding my spiritual connection again. My wife, Kathryn, found the poem when going through some old papers. Whether or not it is acceptable poetry, I do think the sentiments expressed have some merit and may trigger some reflection within you. So here it is:

The Listening Ear

Gently, gently, gentle touch, the hand of God moves on;

Pushing here, persuading there, the will of God is done.

If we would accept His love and put our trust in Him,

How easily we would glide through life; He’d grant our every whim.

But stubborn we, we think we know, and block the inner voice;

An ear that never listens, cannot hear the choice.

This way, that way, here and there we run;

Yet when we learn to listen, our new life has begun.

Love flows freely in our veins, our hearts then pulse with joy,

If we would learn to listen. With God we cannot toy,

And only use Him when we please; He’s not a part-time King,

But full-time, all-time, living now, as One with every thing.

All creation is the Lord’s, each hand, each leaf, each tree;

If only we accept Him now, then only are we free.

Take not a step, nor speak a word, not start a brand new day,

Without you listen to your God, and act upon His way.

God is Blessing You, Right Now!

Rev. Alan A. Rowbotham

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Rev. Alan Rowbotham, a Unity minister for more than thirty-five years, invites you to enjoy more articles on Spiritual Solutions and/or subscribe to the free Spiritual Solutions newsletter at www.spiritualsolutionsblog.com

Feel free to share this article in its entirety with a friend. You may also reproduce and publish the article if you include this reference box. Thank you.
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