I Was Somebody's Kid Once Who Was Somebody's Kid Who Was...

[Guest guest]

When I was a fresh-faced kid of nine or ten,

I used to follow my Papa around everywhere,

like he was the last drink of water after a footrace.

He never made me feel less than equal to him in wisdom.

My father was no ordinary man, not in the least.

He survived, as so many do, an alchoholic dad full of rage.

He saw to it that his Mama and siblings all had food at night,

even though he was only a mere child himself, just twelve!

He had a bicycle he'd bought from his child-labored work,

and this after trudging four miles to school with a biscuit,

with only a biscuit and blackstrap molasses as lunch.

His cruel-cursed dad took his bike and traded it for whiskey! Man!

Can you imagine brushing your teeth with a frizzled twig? And salt?

In the age of the great dustbowl migration, God, the despair and hope!

My dear Papa was a fruit-picker in the California farmland's heart,

a cotton-picker, literally, in Fresno and that hot hell land.

Picking peaches so prickly-sticky it made a man out of women.

At seventeen years he enlisted to fight in the big one. WWII.

And did he ever see a monstrous version of God on Okinawa!

He was bayonetteed in the back and lived to be purple-hearted,

broken-soul hearted at having had to kill his own brother, back then.

He had nightmares for a long time and could never kill or hold a gun.

Not a deer, not a bird, not a single rabbit or squirrel, nothing died.

When my beloved father was back and raising us kids

like we were some real-life Walton's family, I tell you,

I know my life was a flat-out fall-out from God blessing.

We were always filled with food and love and a sense of communion.

My brother, Charlie, he was the card and the darling of us,

of all the rest of us kids, four wildly creative girls!

My mother too, she came from a world of despair and degradation.

Rapes and insanity, alcoholism, alzheimers, suicides, heads blown off.

It was a real confrontation to see who had come into this world to BE.

Well, I guess I've painted some weird picture of how I became Mazie.

Some splinter in the eye of God allowed Him to let me get away,

get ridiculously away with trying to kill myself at twenty-one,

and live to tell about it, to sing how beautiful the Light was,

the Love that was so damned incredibly beautifully brilliant,

It spoke to my MIND and told me it wasn't my "Time" yet, go back!

But with that singularly sweet promise of the dark one to come,

my Beloved spoke of the brightest Heart who would be my own.

And in waltzed Paramahansa Yoganandaji with his full Ocean of Lotus'.

I can never say enough of how grateful I am that my family was mine.

I was a darlinghearted daughter born as Fire and Joy and Pain and Love,

and this is the reason why I can never, ever stop singing so crazily,

so drunkenly appearingly mixed-up and mad, 'cause He makes me do it.

He always, forever, He has always been the Only One in this Light-Point.

 

 

Love,

Mazie

 

 

 

 

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