The Legend of the Blackhand

Who were the men who drilled the holes for the dynamite to slip
into the sandstone cliff and blow up the petroglyph for a canal so short-lived?

The Blackhand, its fragments now washed by the waters and
sacred sand of the Licking River, once watched over this place
where no man would raise his hand against another man.

I hope my hands are black with the soil of the peaceful life I live.
As I stand before the now barren cliff,
I pray for a world that wears a Blackhand petroglyph.

June 18, 2003


I cannot continue to spend so much energy trying to solve this problem.

I am too smart for my own good.
I am too responsible for my own good.
I am too caring for my own good.
I cannot keep letting myself be jerked back and forth like a tetherball.
Wham! Wham!
It is time to cut the string.

No intervention. No solution. No amount of energy spent. No support system. No inner work. None of these will make the shift happen. All will help. But we have come to the point where we need a miracle and that will come from a Force outside of my control at a time that I do not know, if it comes at all.

I can rant and rave. I can pray. I can scream and shout. But God will do what God will do in God’s own time. God is not some genie to bend to my will who does my bidding if I know the magic words or the right actions. Let go and let God. Pretty simplistic but oh so true.

Sometimes holding someone’s hand is the worst thing you can do. They will never learn to swim. They will never learn to fly. It is so hard to watch them fall. What if they hit the ground? Holding onto them doesn’t help. I am not strong enough. They may fall anyway.

I can’t keep getting my stomach tied in knots worrying about what may happen. I can’t keep railing about the injustice of the past. I can’t keep losing sleep. I can’t keep neglecting other aspects of God’s work. I can’t keep pushing away artistic endeavors. I can’t keep neglecting other relationships. All because one person is being selfish.

It is time to think about other things. It is time to let my mind play. I cannot solve this. Period.

This is called real love. This is called perspective. This is called letting go. This is called letting God.

So be it.

Monday Monday Song #19 – Good-Looking Day

My it’s pretty and if you shoot me down,
it’s a good-looking day.
It sure is pretty. You can’t turn me around.
It’s a good-looking day.

No matter what you do.
No matter what you say.
It’s a good-looking day.

Slam the door. Leave me out in the cold.
It’s a good-looking day.
Reject what I say. Add to my load.
It’s a good-looking day.

No matter what you do.
No matter what you say.
It’s a good-looking day.

Stick out your leg. Make me fall flat on my face.
It’s a good-looking day.
Send me out to sea until I’m lost without a trace.
It’s still a good-looking day.

No matter what you do.
No matter what you say.
It’s a good-looking day.

Written October 23, 1989
Copyright Keith Lyndaker All Rights Reserved

When the Earth Shakes

When the earth shakes
and the rubble of buildings hides the dying in its wake,
will our walls break?
Will the tremors make us a people who seek to soothe the heartache?

Will we finally awake
to the realization that we are one body and cannot forsake
our duty to remake
a world cracked and broken by injustice, hate,
and earthquakes?


I am overwhelmed by the bigness of it all.
I feel small,
a whirling dervish of a dust mite in the spinning tempest of the Fall.

I am seized by a lethargy of soul.
I am an apathetic mole,
digging blindly through swirling muck gone chaotically out of control.

I wait in trembling doubt for some semblance of relief.
I am a falling leaf,
driven to a ground frozen by the chilling winter of my unbelief.

I am a laborer whose work is not in vain.
I am a summer rain,
cast from angelic clouds to soothe a world that throbs in pain.

musings of a creative soul


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