Depended on others, I am

Depended on others, I am.


Depended on others, I am

Putting on my pants, I realized just how depended on others I am.
Who was responsible for the material my pants were made from?
Who cut up the pattern of the pants that my legs I did jam?
Who was the seamstress , where are those lovely folks from?

Wonder who was the packer who folded and wrapped those stylish pants?
Was it forklifted and boxed and ready to ship?
How many supervisors, managed and danced and went of rants?
How about the broker and lawyer and all that legal stuff on the slip?

Yet I feel I need no one , well that a joke.
I like to have the talent to create out of air,
there was so many task,many hands that carried this yoke.
They provided me these pants, to spare you from seeing me bare.

No one can live on this earth alone.
Even today’s hermit isn’t capable of providing everything
less he wears pants from plants,dead animals or stone.
and that still came from the Almighty God our King!
Period .

2014 Park


May a Loving Christ hear our prayers and grant peace and healing


To all my friends from A Devoted Life:

I would greatly appreciate prayers from you all.

My Dad is critically ill and in the intensive care unit (ICU) at the hospital.  He has a gangrene infection in his gall bladder.  He is too ill for them to operate and remove his gall bladder.  We were just told that he is on life support and is experiencing organ failure of the kidneys and heart.  We understand that due to low blood pressure there may be other organ damage.

My Dad has loved his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ for as long as I can remember.  He is the one that showed me what it looks like to truly love God.  His destination is assured.  Yet, we selfishly desire to keep him with us and earnestly desire our Lord to heal the infection within his body and restore his health.

We serve the King of kings and Lord…

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Inner Voice

I don’t remember when I first heard my inner voice. I cannot remember the first time I laid my eyes on my mother’s face. I remember little bits and pieces of my life before I entered school. I remember my little hat falling into the water of an amusement ride and crying my eyes out. I remember going to the next door neighbors to play with a boy about my age and his matchbox cars . I remember at the age of five, in the hospital, blind because of a procedure and my parents bringing me chocolate milk shakes which I drank with a paper straw, to this day my favorite drink and I search for paper straws. Often when I watch my grandchildren I ask how much will they remember of this moment I shared with them. Is it normal that I don’t remember so much of those formatives years? 


From the very moment I started watching and caring for my grandchildren I noticed that they were more than a little body that stumbled, and struggled to communicate, I would almost recognize a human whom was more fully formed than I expected. They would often behave as an adult whom was struggling with a traumatic  situation and was struggling to grab on to what ever works to communicate . I could almost see a light in their eyes at times as if their soul was welcoming my efforts to make them comfortable and entertained. I often stated and would like to believe that they just arrived from Heaven and they’re adjusting to life here.


As a caregiver for dying loved ones, I could almost see a similarity. The task where similar and their challenges to communicate, function and find comfort was little difference then the small children except more awkward. The light in their eyes would seem distant often as if they were in a different place, an another dimension. I would equate the last stages as if they were beginning their journey down a new birth canal, and at times it look like they were really working hard to accomplish some trek.


It is assumed that when I die that my inner voice leaves my body, after all it will be cold and stiff, not functional and decaying . It is speculation that at our last breath we depart with our inner voice (soul), to a destination that has been a mystery since the first death. Most faith’s profess that our inner voice has a path, a preferred  more comfortable and wondrous destination. 


The assumption of when our inner voice arrives is even more of a mystery, and one that has an unsettling debate with todays culture. I do not know when I arrived in my body, I cannot declare if I was a thinking mind while swimming in my mothers womb, Did I arrive when my parents fluids united , did I arrive just after I was introduced to the world, was I present while my father was looking for a suitable place to live and raise me. I don’t know this and neither doesn’t anyone else. I don’t remember crying in the incubator nor do I remember much till as stated above. This has always concerned me and truly wish I knew. Not knowing when I arrived makes me to lean to the assumption that life could very well begin at inception and need to be treated as a life .This is an unpopular view and unacceptable by many and I certainly can understand the rational of many viewpoints, but till I know for just when the inner voice arrives I can’t accept the pro choice view. 


As a Catholic, my faith leads to believe that our souls are able to return to God, to be filled with Love and eternal happiness. My faith also expects me to follow the guidelines of the Church as laid out 2000 years ago by Christ and the Apostles, and parts of the Torah or Jewish Scriptures. Catholic believe that life begins at inception and if you are a true follower of the Catholic faith you should accept the dogma. Even without this dogma I still would question and ask for solid proof just when does our inner voice arrive. 


This essay is not meant to be judgmental nor will it address most concerns and justifications of  pro-choice.I did not write this to condemn but to offer a pro-life view or explanation. This essay is my inner voice  speaking and it finds a need to speak. 


I gasp for air.



I gasp for air

with little hope,much despair

I gasp for air


My heart aches so

this pain and sorrow, much to bare

My heart aches so


I reach out to touch

They are gone,out of reach, they are not there

I reach out to touch


I strain to listen

to hear their voice,just on word I beg to hear

I strain to listen


I breath in to capture

just the scent of their being, the smell of their hair

I breath in to capture


My body quakes, it trembles 

inside it hurts, this is so unfair

my body quakes, it trembles 


I must grasp the truth

They are with God

I must grasp the truth


I gasp for air

with hope, for fresh air

I gasp for air 


The man in the Blue Pants


The Man in the Blue Pants

Quiet, dormant his demeanor is mellow

Exhaustion invokes it’s power on this fellow

Ignoring deliberately those he known to be intimate 

Totally unconscious of the surrounding environment

He will guilefully arrange his body in recline

Leaving very little obvious left of him to define

This person is to enervated for other’s rants

He just the man that lives here who wears blue pants 

How time cheats us out of those prime times

For surviving leaves little left for other crimes

Work, eat and sleep is this fellows agenda

In truth he really is a cuddly panda 



About the man in the blue pants


The other day one of my daughters was talking to my wife about her early childhood. The only memory of dad, me, was that I was the man that lived in the house with the blue pants. The blue pants was part of my required uniform at the time. I would come home, eat then either fall asleep in the chair or retired to bed.It wasn’t till my lay off when her teenage years arrived that we became acquainted. It was a shame that during my daughters early formative years my career was so consuming. Watching my children    juggle their careers and raising their children I often find it disheartening, sad and familiar. 

taken from notes from my journal May/2007 



Prayer Dare



This ship, this vessel filled with misguided fools


This earth, Man’s boat full of holes


Many lacking the necessary tools


Others becoming more like digital moles 


Wrong is the Human soul


Hurting, condemning, ridiculing each other


Unable to find peace, that righteous lull 


Totally losing sight of our Mother 


This world where prayer is offensive 


Considered uncool, unjust, incorrect and wrong


Prayer sanctuary of Joy is the Holy defensive 


Sad so many don’t hear this Sacred Song 


Let us Pray, Let us Pray


That this vessel can weather the storm


That Love will fill our Day


And Happiness will be the norm 

Let us Pray, I care to dare 

Let us Pray



© Park 2013