Gerry and the Pacemakers arrive NYC, 1964

I wrote this poem back in 1981 after facing another incident of discrimination in my career as a fitness instructor. Though the episode itself was ugly, my attitude and beliefs turned it into an experience that opened a door of truth, a door that led me within, where I found peace and clarity about who I was then and who I am today.

Throughout my life, I have nurtured my ability to let go when my heart is hurting. I retreat to nature and turn inward, chanting the sacred syllable Om. I don’t do it every time, but when I do, I find peace of mind, body, and soul much quicker.

Om is a sound. Its history goes back thousands of years. It’s the sound of peace and the harmonious universe.

I chant Om to find my center. Wherever I may be, I find a place outside, in nature, to relax and absorb the surrounding presence of the trees, the ocean, the mountains, and the quietude of my acceptance.

That is what I did on that day.

I closed my eyes and breathed to quiet my beating heart, saying Om. When I did this, I became one with myself. Clarity came, and I found the ability to relax into my feelings. I found peace within. I became open and willing to see all parts of myself, both the good and the bad.

As I looked deeper, I let go of the critical parts of myself and accepted my good as well as what was happening at that moment. Instantly, my life changed. I freed myself from attachment. I learned to let go without resistance.

As a result, on that day, I received the gift of clarity. I saw clearly the difference between the dark feelings I had and the light within myself. Trusting myself, I walked through my fears and became fearless. The natural agent within stimulated my sense of sight and made things visible to me, like darkness contrasted with light.

I could see. I saw the positive experiences in my life. From my childhood, I saw the music, the dance, my family, and the simple things that brought me happiness, such as blowing bubbles or playing hopscotch with my girlfriend, taking dance lessons, and listening to music I also saw the negative ones, like falling and breaking my tooth in the middle of the street. And I accepted them all.

But, especially I saw the mama I was blessed with. She talked and reasoned with me. She gave me hope in ways I never suspected would bring me strength in the future when the hard times came. Encouraging me to hold my head high and not be afraid of the dark, she sang “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” Thanks to her, I learned to dance in the rain.

Thank you for following my blog. After you read this poem, please take a moment to listen to “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” as performed by Gerry and the Pacemakers. And hold your head up high. If I can do it, you can do it, too. 

Passionate Past

I remember the days
Not long passed,
The days gone bye
Of my passionate past

When life was
Pleasing, simple,
And free,
And my dreams
Shimmered or faded
With every
Hope I had.

Each dream that I dared,
Every star I wished upon,
Became an enduring light
And kept on keeping on.

Original text ©2024 by Karen Lynn-Chlup. All rights reserved. Image by Paul Schumach, Metropolitan Photo Service, New York City. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

In the spring of 1997, I went with my husband Chris to the Exposition Park Rose Garden, behind the Los Angels County Museum of Natural History, with a friend of ours.

Silently, we stood, observing the rows of roses, inhaling their scent, and absorbing their delicate beauty.

As in all of my life, I listened to my heart and did not touch them. I respected their boundaries and knew there would be other blooms to come.

Oh, though, how I enjoyed them!

Palette of Reds

As I walked through the peaceful pathway,
I spotted a fragrant flower garden.

Oh, how sweet the fresh scent
That filled the fields beyond my senses.

I wanted to reach out.
I wanted to touch the roses’ palette of reds
But I remembered, upon touching them,
Their sharp, thorny stems.

I recalled
The petals of the past
And
The new blooms
Yet to come.

One afternoon in May 1985, I had done my classes and chores for the day. Graduation was coming soon, so it was time to reflect, retreat, and take refuge, time to go to that quiet, secluded place where I could relax, and take a moment for myself and my mental well-being.

While sitting on my couch, with no interruptions, I reviewed my life and the series of events that challenged me to grow until I became the person I wanted to be. Certain mental images and positive convictions shaped me. They defined me. They transformed my being, molding me into this person I’ve worked so hard to become.

When I think back on that spring day, when a light of hope and joy appeared, bringing happiness and contentment, filling what had felt like an empty space in my soul, filling my heart. Something I succeeded at by pouring every effort into it.

Throughout those college years, I found my voice, my self-confidence, and a self-worth that no one could ever take away. The reason I fought as hard as I did was because that became my purpose in life—to live, to breathe, to exist, and to give back to the world unconditionally.

“I can do this!” I told myself. “No one is going to label me and call me a retard. No one! I am going to beat this system.”

Gratitude came to mind, gratitude for giving myself the strength, courage, and confidence to keep moving forward, especially in controlling my life’s journey and claiming my right as a person with disabilities to dignity and respect.

I was immensely grateful for my willingness, for my fortitude, for my determination to stay the course and achieve my goals and dreams, to leap over every hurdle blocking my path. Thus, giving thanks for all the experiences I faced and took on, I kept going over and over my life’s experiences. I struggled to believe I had accomplished all that I had.

How empowering, powerful, and life altering for that little infant who was going to be deaf, dumb, and blind, according to the doctors.

That little girl, who wore a full length leg brace, even learned to dance. I learned to read and write with dyslexia, and learned what 2 + 2 equaled. I threw away my leg brace at age eleven—never to wear it again.

Because of my grit and determination, and dance lessons with Al Gilbert, this all became possible, including taking on the system, and winning a civil rights case for my own education and for everyone else in this world. I rejected all critics, objectors, and people who tried to disrupt my life’s path and deter me from my destination. I rose above them all, vowing to be better than what they deemed or considered possible for me to become. It was time for me to accept all that I had mastered and manifested.

You see, I wanted to become the best person my mama Katie always wanted me to be. Therefore, I did everything in my power to open the doors for myself, and for others, too. Simply to fit into a world that didn’t accept me. Thank you, Mama.

Never Giving In

Maybe I can learn
To read
To write
And to spell someday

And when tomorrow comes
The trumpets will blow their horns.

For that day will be glorious
As all the effort,
And all the long hours of devotion and dedication
Of hard work, well done,
Will be reality.

My dream
Will have come to pass
I will be at one
I will be united
I will be at peace with my heart’s desire
Never again drifting into defeat!

I have taken many a walk in my lifetime, although nothing like the walk I took that day back in 1993.

It was a beautiful spring day in April. Alone, feeling free and at one with myself, I walked beneath the palm trees and blue sky, but as I strolled, my peace and calm faded. Even though ten years had passed since I wrote the poem I posted last week, the one about the gray-fisted cloud and my inner critic, another instance of unfair criticism had awakened him.

The feeling that arose unsettled me, which was unusual because I am a cheerful person by nature. Thus, I knew something was going on down deep inside me.

I came to a park bench, sat down, and listened carefully. I stilled my body and mind so I could hear what my beating heart was telling me, but instead, pain arose in my body and mind. Agony. Intense struggle. Distress. Not just sorrow, but grief.

The wind shook me to my core, once again reviling me with powerful, controlling emotions I didn’t want to face. But I did, guided by the force of nature. For the evolution of good to better myself.

Being outside calms my soul and spirit. It makes me feel at one with nature and quiets the critical voices with their derogatory remarks, and helps me fight positively, rather than defiantly or defensively.

Once again, writing a poem healed me. Nature and poetry heal. Nature is always there for us. Poetry is our human way of responding to nature’s love.

Song

The wind is blowing,
And as I look within
I look outside of myself
To view the stillness and
The quiet pondering
Of my heart’s deepest content.

The wind blows with much strength
And I,
I see glimpses of weakness.
Weakness all around,
Weakness of my past.
Weakness in others,
Weakness in the things we say and do.

So I reach out to nature,
Oh, what a nature!

A nature that hears me,
A nature that sees me,
A nature that feels the beating of my heart,
And which is all-powerful!
It’s a silent solitude
Which sings to me
Like the birds soaring in flight,
Like the chirping of their call,
When they call at my front door.

One Friday night back in 1982, I wrote this poem. My friend Robert and I had decided to take a walk from the West Hollywood apartment I shared with Mama up the hill to Tower Records on Sunset Boulevard. It was our favorite hang out place. 

“Let’s go,” I said in a merry voice as I put on my shoes, tied them, and headed out the front door into a lovely summer night with the temperature just right and a little breeze. The full moon lighting our way could not have been more beautiful.  

We climbed the big hill, breathing deeply, catching our breath, then with four more blocks to go, we saw the two Tower Records buildings. We had made it all the way. Since we didn’t want contemporary or pop that night, we went to the one with classical music. Smiling, enjoying the moment, we walked the final distance and through the door into a room filled with vinyl records and cassette tapes to browse. 

We stayed for well over an hour, then relished a walk down the block, taking in the beautiful gardens surrounding the homes we passed. Three quarters of the way down the street, I saw a snail sitting still and taking in the moon, just as we were.

My friend Robert said, “Why don’t you write a haiku about this?” 

I said, “All right.”  

And it was. 

Moon’s Glow

Bare silver branches
Alone under the moon’s glow
I see a snail…

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Original text ©2024 by Karen Lynn-Chlup. All rights reserved. Image by Mike Dillon (assumed based on copyright claims). CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons,