Will You Be My Friend?

Reading blog posts over the past couple of days, I’ve found that 2007 has not begun as well as I—and perhaps, you—had hoped. I have found that there are quite a few folks in pain— loneliness, fear, emptiness, loss proliferate numerous blogs.

Although I don’t feel the need to express my own disappointment and alarm at what seems to be a bleak future, I do want to address the loneliness, fear, emptiness and loss that I have encountered in my own life and what appears to be the lives of others.

Yesterday I remembered the words of one of my favorite poets, James Kavanaugh. I have previously posted one of Kavanaugh’s poems with which I personally identify—and that people who know me well believe describes me to a “t”—There Are Men Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves. Now I want to share with you another of his poems:

WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND?

Who am I? I am not sure.
Once I was a rabbit's grave and a basketball hoop on
the garage, a cucumber patch, lilac trees and peonies crawling
with ants. I was stepping stones and a mysterious cistern,
grass fires, water fights and ping pong in the basement.
I was a picket fence, a bed and maple chest of drawers
I shared with brothers, a dog named Sandy who danced.
Friends were easy to find. We climbed trees, built grass huts,
chased snakes—and we dreamed a lot.

WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND? Beyond childhood.

Who am I? I am not sure.
Once I was predictable. I was educated, trained, loved—not
as I was, but as I seemed to be. My role was my safe
way of hiding. There was no reason to change. I was approved.
I pleased. Then, almost suddenly, I changed. Now I am less
sure, more myself. My role has almost disappeared.
My roots are not in my church, my job, my city;
even my world. They are in me. Friends are not so easy to find—
and I dream a lot.

WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND? Beyond Roles.

Who am I? I am not sure.
I am more alone than before. Part animal, but not protected
by his instincts or restricted by his vision. I am
part spirit as well, yet scarcely free, limited by taste and
touch and time—yearning for all of life. There is no security.
Security is sameness and fear, the postponing of life. Security
is expectations and commitments and premature death. I live
with uncertainty. There are mountains yet to climb, clouds
to ride, stars to explore and friends to find. I am all alone.
There is only me—and I dream a lot.

WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND? Beyond security.

Who am I? I am not sure.
I do not search in emptiness and need, but in increasing
fullness and desire. Emptiness seeks any voice to fill a void,
any face to dispel darkness. Emptiness brings crowds and shadows
easy to replace. Fullness brings a friend, unique, irreplaceable.
I am not as empty as I was. There are the wind and the
ocean, books and music, strength and joys within, and the
night. Friendship is less a request than a celebration, less
a ritual than a reality, less a need than a want.
Friendship is you and—and I dream a lot.

WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND? Beyond need.

Who am I? I am not sure.
Who are you? I want to know.
We didn't sell Kool-aid together or hitchhike to school. We're
not from the same town, the same God, hardly the same
world. There is no role to play, no security to provide, no
commitment to make. I expect no answer save your presence,
your eyes, your self. Friendship is freedom, is flowing, is
rare. It does not need stimulation, it stimulates itself. It trusts,
understands, grows, explores, it smiles and weeps. It does not
exhaust or cling, expect or demand. It is—and that is enough—
and it dreams a lot.
WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND?

~ James Kavanaugh
1971