The Years, the Tears, the Prayers, and the Pain-by Devi Nina Bingham

How many years have I waited for this moment? How many prayers have I whispered in the dark of midnight? How many tears have I shed, buckets of raging, bitter, and finally, surrendered tears? How many times did I beg and plead, as if a dagger had been plunged into my back, asking a merciful hand to please remove it? Until the years, the tears, the prayers, and pain became too much to carry. I laid it down like the dead child I carried in my arms for an eternity. I laid my burden down, and sang the song of goodbye-a song that no mother left behind wants to sing, and no lover left alone and barren has words for. There is no courage as costly as this. It cost me all to follow where my saviors were leading. It took everything from me, yet strangely, it gave me everything unseen, what I really needed and longed for. The pain traded with me, taking the sorrow and leaving me with nothing I could call mine. Still, it was a mercy because it left me its wisdom, what I most needed and had no idea how to get. Like a burned-out piece of wood I am; only a space remains that echoes of a life called mine. There must be space, or divinity has no room to dwell. I made room for divinity, that is all, and "I" didn't even do it, couldn't do it. It was done for me and to me: by the years, the tears, the prayers, and the pain. It softened the ground of my being and now the space inside is alive, fully alive with some kind of divine magic that is weaving a miracle. This is where I say thank you-for all the years, tears, prayers, and even the pain.

The Fates-A short story by Devi Nina Bingham

I bolted upright in bed, my heart pounding, but I was still alive. Yes, I was still in the land of the living. It was a terrifyingly real dream. Or had I died in my sleep and come back to life? Either way, I was back in my small, shabby apartment. What did the Fates have in store for me, I wondered, for I had met them. There was more than one; they were an imposing Group of Eight. That is what they called themselves: "The Group of Eight." My host had explained that they made all the big decisions about our destinies. By "our" I mean all of us; you and I-all of humanity. He had explained with a note of amusement in his voice, a low, echoing voice that sounded like rushing water, that humans erroneously believe that they are in control of what happens to them. But they, he called them the Fates, they showed me differently. Why had the universe conspired to tell its secrets to me? I was nobody-less than nobody. An unemployed writer. And if I wrote about it; would anyone believe me? 

I always believed there was a God and that He sent us here on a mission of sorts. We were expected to run an obstacle course of challenges and then by our deeds we would be judged. I learned these things at church, though they were not explained so clearly. They preached that we were children of God-that we had a Father in Heaven, and a savior named Jesus. All we had to do was to pledge our allegiance to said Jesus and we would be going straight to Heaven. It did not matter how evil we had been, as long as we had the Jesus card at the end of our lives, they would let us pass the pearly gates. But life's challenges-the pain and injustice were never explained in detail, mainly because Jesus never explained it, so the parish priest certainly could not. Like good soldiers we had a cross to bear, and if we shouldered through and didn't lose our faith in the process, Heaven would have a rollcall with our name on it. This is what I understood to be the mostly unspoken agreement between God and me. But this event showed me I was all wrong. 

But let me back up so you can understand the trajectory my life took before I met the Fates. Otherwise, my conversation with them will not make much sense. I will skip most of the drama of my childhood to say that my 20s and 30s were filled with alternating fun and angst. In my 20s I married a man, and in my 30s divorced him because I came out as a lesbian. In a confused effort to do what my Christian parents expected, I tried dating that man again only to get bored, and to get pregnant. I parted ways with him when I refused to marry him. I told him with an exasperated sigh, "I am a lesbian. How can I marry you?" But I kept the baby because I was raised by a religious mother and attended a church who drilled it into our heads that abortion was the worst sin, no better than murder. And this decision, to keep the pregnancy, would be the most the most monumental decision of my life. 

As a second-generation single mom, I struggled to work a fulltime job and then return home from 9 hours of work to take over as mom to a baby who was just 4 months old. This meant 4-5 hours of sleep at night, every night. I was dog tired and had no help. My mother was angry at me for coming out as a lesbian, so I was on my own. I was in my early 30s, but I had dark circles under my eyes from sleep deprivation. Yet I never questioned my decision to keep my daughter, or my ability to provide for her. But as Moriyah grew up, my work schedule required me to travel extensively which meant hiring a nanny to raise my child. The cost of daycare was killing me, but I stayed on this hamster wheel, working so I could pay an exorbitant daycare bill, and later a preschool bill until she was school-aged. Even then I had to afford afterschool care, and when I traveled, weekend care. And all the while I was missing the momentous moments I most longed to see: her first steps, her first words, all the milestones a parent is supposed to be there for and enjoy. But I consoled myself time and again by saying, "You did the right thing." The right thing. The right thing. This phrase the Fates acknowledged as being another faulty human perception, not necessarily the whole truth. 

As I gazed at the map of my life which stretched the length of the table, I saw how doing "the right thing" had been the right thing for my religious mother and for my church. But had it been the right thing for me, and for Moriyah? We were really the ones who mattered in this situation, not the onlookers, the ones who hadn't cared enough to lend a helping hand. It was my life. And yet I never asked myself, not once, if it was the right thing for me. The map of my life began to move; swirling and rippling topography moving backwards in time. When it stopped, I saw myself newly pregnant and exercising on a stationary bike. I knew this moment exactly-I remembered it clearly, because I had been wrestling with making a final decision. I asked myself, what is the right thing for this baby? The right thing certainly could not be abortion, I reasoned. And I could not imagine giving her up for adoption after carrying her for 9 months. No, I did not have the strength to do that. The decision was between abortion, or single parenting. An abortion would disappoint my mother and my church friends who of course were counting on me to keep the baby. But worse was the thought of an embryo being scraped out of my womb. That thought made me shutter. I watched myself wrestle with this decision, carefully considering all the factors. One of the Fates with long fingers like tree branches reached out and grabbed a pair of dice laying on the map. With a flick of his wrist, he rolled it. It landed on two, a dot on each die. The fate looked down at my life and saw that I had decided to keep the pregnancy, and to become a single parent. 

"Why did you roll the dice?" I asked him, though none of them ever spoke. The words came directly into my mind. 

"You thought it was your decision," said the Fate without looking up from the map. 

I stared at him straight for the first time. They all wore identical black linen robes, and their hoods were pulled over their faces like the Grim Reaper, yet I was not afraid of them. They did not inspire fear; they inspired awe. I couldn't see any of their faces, they were only shadows, a form instead of a solid entity. I knew they were eternally existing and wise rulers, a committee of spirits who had power over life and death and who could alter circumstances when they deemed it was necessary. I don't know how I knew these things except I was in a different realm where spoken word is superfluous, and knowledge is abundant. "Wasn't it my decision? I decided, didn't I?"

He pointed a spindly finger at the dice. "Two of you against the world," he replied. His words resounded like thunder echoing in my mind, and in a lightening flash I was drawn back to a scene playing on the map. Moriyah and I were sitting at home on our couch. I had pulled her onto my lap for some snuggles and declared, "It's just the two of us against the world." The two of us-and the dice had rolled the number two. 

"What does this mean? What if you had rolled a different number instead of two. Then what?"

He responded by picking up the dice and rolling again. The number four came up-two dots on each die. The map swirled and churned again until a different scene, one which had never happened in this life, appeared. In this world, I had decided not to have the baby. I went to the abortion clinic all alone because neither my family nor my church would support it. Then the map went dark like someone had turned out a spotlight. "This decision was four you," responded the Fate. He had rolled the number four.

"Yes," I replied, beginning to comprehend the game. "So, this is all a game?"

"Yes," he answered appreciatively, pleased that I understood.

"That means we are not in charge of the major turning points in our lives," I said.

"When it is a matter of life and death, Fate steps in." 

"I see," I responded. "So, we each have a Fate, but not fate as we commonly think of it. We each have an actual..." I paused because I had forgotten what to call them.

"One fate out of The Group of Eight helps you to make the most important decisions."

I appealed to him. "If it is our life, shouldn't we make the final decision?"

He shook his head as if I still wasn't getting it. "The roll of the dice determines your outcomes." Around the table the Fates nodded in silent agreement.

"I don't mean to be a bother, but why are there eight of you?"

"If what the dice shows is troubling, we discuss the factors, and then we take a vote."

"I see. Wouldn't it be easier to vote if your number were odd, like seven? Then one could be the tiebreaker."

"Clever of you to think of that. But we do everything by agreement. We discuss until all are in perfect unity. Like a jury," he offered.

"Does God control the dice?" I was still trying to figure out where God came in. 

"God has nothing to do with this game." 

"So it is a game! And are there different outcomes in different dimensions-I mean, in parallel lives?"

"Each dimension has a unique outcome. The roll in an alternative universe could be different."

"I see," I replied thoughtfully. "Why does God, or you guys, leave it to chance?"

"It is more exciting that way," the Fate replied. "A game in which the outcome is unknown is always more stimulating."

I began to get upset. "But these are real lives. People are suffering down there. People are doing terrible things to each other, and there is war and famine. Children are starving. Illness and hunger are ravaging whole countries! And you are up here playing dice with our lives?"

One of the Fates lifted a hand in order to speak. It was a softer woman's voice, which surprised me. "I know it sounds unjust to you," she said. "But according to your deeds your future lives will play out."

"So, there is karma?" I asked her.

"Of course. This is a perfectly just system that happens to be played as a game, that is all. In subsequent lives, the die shall be cast again, and you will be given exactly what is due you. Exactly."

"Then God must know what numbers are going to land."

"What numbers will land is an unknown variable, even to God," she explained.

"Ok. So, let me see if I have got this right. Whenever there is a big choice to be made, especially life or death, our Fate casts the dice. Whatever numbers land becomes our reality, unless the interpretation is too harsh and seems unfair. At which point you discuss it amongst yourselves and decide whether to stick with the roll of the dice or not. But all eight of you must be in agreement to change what the numbers show."

"Very good," replied my host, as if he were speaking to a child. "Think of it in this way: your country has a President, and a Supreme Court. Most of the President's decisions are made unilaterally. But sometimes it goes to the Supreme justices who have veto power. It is like that."

"Except this is all a cosmic game," I said, incredulous, and the Fates nodded in agreement.

"Where does God fit into all of this," I asked. "Does He know about this game of dice that decides our fate?"

"The Creator is pure awareness," spoke the female. 

"And may I ask-who are you? Are you aliens? I can see that you are not humans."

"We are concerned with the affairs of mankind and were chosen to manage your cosmic play," she responded. 

"A cosmic play," I repeated. "Is that what life is?"

"It is all a dream in the Creator's mind. God is dreaming," answered the female.

"And is this meeting a dream I am having or have I..." I stopped short of saying it.

"You will never die," replied the female Fate. "Death is another fallacy. Your essence will go on."

"Yes, but do I still have a body to go back to?" I asked, sounding more desperate than I wanted to.

"Your body is waiting. We summoned you to show you that life is a game. Therefore, you should not worry. There will be many chances to set what went wrong aright. And to show you that your Fate will always help you, no matter the role of the dice." I looked at The Group of Eight and felt a profound gratitude that someone was running the show. I was going to ask if I could return to my body when I awoke and found myself in bed. 

And that is how it happened, how I met my Fate. Whether it was a dream, or I died in my sleep and came back, I will never know for sure. But since it happened, in times of trouble I remember what I was told-that our circumstances are no more important than a roll of the dice to see how we will respond and what we will choose. I try and keep in mind that life is a game of consciousness that we will play over and over again until we get it right. So, lighten up. 

Writer's Workshop: "Master the Art of Book Writing in Just 7 weeks!"

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"The Sky Was My Cathedral: A Memoir of Childhood" by (Devi) Nina Dawn Bingham, MH

Available on Amazon.com in paperback, eBook, and audiobook:

CLICK HERE: Amazon.com: The Sky Was My Cathedral: A Memoir of Childhood eBook : Bingham, Nina: Kindle Store

The Sky Was My Cathedral: A Memoir of Childhood

The Sky Was My Cathedral is a memoir of Dawn's childhood, told in alternating voices, detailing her lifelong struggle with coming out. You get to know her younger brother Devon, cousins Patricia and Tony with whom she spent Summers, her religious mother Margarita who expected life to be a fairytale, and her alcoholic and abusive father Reggie who chased them down with a shotgun.

But the stars of the show are her maternal grandparents, Ruth and Leon, who were the glue and safety net for the entire "river rat" group. Bingham gives voice to over 50 years of existence which begins in California and ends in Mexico, demonstrating how each personality was the outcome of a difficult, and often scary, upbringing. The Sky Was My Cathedral is an honest, amusing, and occasionally heartbreaking reminiscence of childhood, as well as a shining homage to her grandparents' dedication to each other, and to them.

CLICK HERE: Amazon.com: The Sky Was My Cathedral:

 A Memoir of Childhood eBook : Bingham, Nina: Kindle Store                                               

Praise For:

5.0 out of 5 stars       Wonderous, entertaining, and strong storytelling

          Reviewed in the United States on September 23, 2024 Anonymous

"So much happened to these wonderful characters. Their growth & changes 

made perfect sense. This is a book that I will read more than once."

Golden Opportunity by Devi Nina Bingham

Just like the wind I move at will

and never stay too long, lest I

become a statue standing still.

I am a wanderer that prefers to fly.

Don't tie me down for I am a wheel

who longs to see more of the earth.

So tag along and bring your zeal,

the earth is ours and made of mirth.

Why be a tree when you can soar

above life's trivialities?

Besides all this, you're just a bore

espousing your sagacity.

The highest of humanity

are known to indulge their fantasies. 

Cast your cares and doubt aside

and be a fool who plays with me.

Leave your TV and come outside

where your soul can finally breath.

Remember, there's a child inside

who would rather play in the salty sea,

who would rather roam the countryside

then play grown-up and have high tea.

We all decide which "us" we will be:

a rolling stone or a steady rock.

And our hearts decide which will hold the key.

Be free for eternity

for this is your golden opportunity. 

Click here: www.amazon.com/author/ninabingham

,

A New Frontier-by Devi Nina Bingham

                                                                

Dreamt I of how the world will end,

of robotic aliens with guns.

Alone was I, without a friend,

waiting for the morning sun. 

Why didn't you come?

If you had been there by my side

no fear could grip my heart and soul.

My last breath would be glorious,

even if I died.

When Saint Michael cracks the final seal

that makes our deeds vainglorious,

when it's dangerous

will you be courageous?

Distance cannot part kin souls

no matter what we say or do.

In the end, we've severed wholes.

What was one rent into two.

Tell me it's not true.

Time has made a fool of me

waiting for you to awaken

as the earth trembles in fear

and sanity flees.

And if my heart is gravely mistaken

I shall watch the metallic sunset from here.

A new frontier.

As we shed a tear. 

Mortality-by Devi Nina Bingham

                                                          

Mortality

Monstrous is mortality

which stalks the soul until it dies

then free it is of stubborn pride,

brutality, carnality.

We mustn't cry.

If we had known the hardships then

would we have volunteered to come

and march like soldiers to the drum

and seen it to the bitter end?

A lion's den.

Bruised upon the wheel of fate

crushed is every tender heart

like puppets we are torn apart.

Fools we were to take the bait.

A sinless braveheart.

Better is the next bright star

than deception we are drowning in.

Where beauty dwells, and our own kin.

No battle scars or ruthless Czars.

We, sovereign.

Were we a cloud, pond, or tree

wouldn't we be much improved?

Even if we hardly moved

or were the tumultuous, romantic sea,

mortality removed.

Worlds beyond, now out of reach

we will cradle in glorious hands,

rule with care and give commands.

And simple species we will teach.

As was planned.

But today we are like childish fools

who dream of Heaven, and a God sublime.

Praying away our heinous crimes,

stuck here in this hellish school

we bide our time.

Survivor Times Two: A Poetic Memoir of Suicide and Divorce by Devi Nina Bingham, MH-Winner of the 2024 5-Star Award!

 

Winner of the Reader's Favorite 5-Star Award!

"In Survivor Times Two: A Poetic Memoir of Suicide and Divorce," Devi Nina dissects the stages of grief, showing how bereavement doesn’t affect just one person but also loved ones. Uniquely written, it will capture the attention of readers right away. The poems are an excellent way of showing what people go through, and also indicate the importance of writing our feelings down to help process them. This thought-provoking work also addresses stereotypes about grief, and how loved ones can support grievers. This is an excellent book, and I look forward to reading something else about mental health issues by this author. 5 stars!"-Reviewed by Frank Mutuma for Readers’ Favorite

"I truly couldn't stop reading once I started. Through each stage of Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance, "Survivor Times Two" invites the reader to experience the author's journey after her daughter's suicide and her marriage's collapse. Nina combines a raw, honest narrative with powerful poetic imagery to guide us through the five stages of grief. Despite the seemingly different nature of losing a daughter and divorcing a spouse, Bingham proves that loss and healing come in many forms. Really powerful." -James LaVeck, Life After Losses, Moving Past Grief, and Grief Recovery for Adults

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Heaven's Door by Devi Nina Bingham

When I was a child, I lived forever free,

imagining the world would be mine.

And like the bird, I knew how to sing.

To an innocent will, the cosmos consigned.

But as I grew, my wings did fall off:

the sun and rain, and years wore me thin. 

Injustices of love made me scoff

I could scarcely recall the child I'd been.

For life's bright magic will fade away

with time, and trials, and injuries deep.

No soul escaping its judgement day,

the adult within begins to weep.

Had I the choice to live once more

I would withdraw my hand from Heaven's door.

"Oceanview (Haiku)" by Devi Nina Bingham

                                                       

                                                      Oceanview (Haiku)

I abandoned life devoid of you

and called it happiness for I had to keep smiling

because I had the ocean view. 

"Heart of Gold (Villanelle Poem)" by Devi Nina Bingham

                                                                      Heart of Gold

Lonely is this heart of gold

though I refuse the best of lovers.

Longing that our story be told.

Helpless as a hostage in blindfold. 

Waiting for you and refusing all others.

Lonely is this heart of gold.

And even while our romance is old

the thought of you sends my heart a-flutter.

Longing that our story be told.

I can't understand a heart so cold,

your indifference makes me shutter.

Lonely is this heart of gold.

You may think my declaration bold

but like a storm that roars with thunder

I'm longing that our story be told.

Until the day you pass my threshold

I'll dream of you in disquieted slumber.

Lonely is this heart of gold.

Longing that our story be told. 

Are YOU an Intrapersonal Personality Type? by Devi Nina Bingham

                          Are YOU an Intrapersonal Personality Type?

I am an Intrapersonal Personality Type. This personality type is uncommon and thus pitiable, because it is not well understood. The Intrapersonal Communicator quite naturally asks probing questions not because we are nosy or busybodies, but because we keep an inner scorecard and are comparing our inner landscape. In truth, our curiosity may have little to do with others, but they assume we are probing to get under their skin or to make trouble when we are simply trying to make sense of our inner world.

My entire life I have been told that I am a “deep thinker” and that I ask “profound” questions (my religious mother told me that I ask too many questions), which has always puzzled me. Doesn’t everybody grind an unanswered question down until they have pulverized it, answering it from all possible angles? This need to understand life from the inside out has caused frustration for me in relationships because I have wrongly assumed that like me, other people want to discover the truth. What I have concluded through heartbreak is that most people do not, in fact, think very seriously about life’s mysteries, nor do they dwell on why people act in the strange ways they do. And they spend almost no time analyzing their own dysfunction unless they are forced to. The intrapersonal approach is perfectly illustrated by Rodin’s bronze sculpture, “The Thinker” because at the heart of my personality is a serious need to understand myself, which is why I ask so many questions and try so damned hard to understand others, even people who don’t care to understand themselves.

Intrapersonals tend to be introverted intellectuals who are drawn to psychology and the arts. If you know a counselor or an artsy type, there is a good chance they are intrapersonal and are off in some corner quietly analyzing life as if it were a chess game. This drive to tear life apart as a car mechanic takes apart a motor is relentless and insatiable and finds its outlet in the professions of analysis (think: psychoanalysis), and in the expression of art, and philosophy.

And this is the beauty inherent in the intrapersonal communicator: like nobody else, we can convey the essence of another person in words, or through art because we have, like Rodin's Thinker, sat and pondered our subjects at exhaustive length. To every misunderstood intrapersonal communicator, I can only say that I understand your need to understand-and that the world desperately needs you to KEEP THINKING.

My books: www.amazon.com/author/ninabingham

"Ballad of The Mousies" by Devi Nina Bingham

 

Ballad of The Mousies

"I must prefer this isolation, or I would change.

A tiny mouse sitting in its hell hole.

They say the obvious explanation is that I am strange.

They don't know my life, my heart and soul.

Try to catch me if you can, dare to corner me.

I'll scream as you bring the confining cage.

Not an eye has seen a mouse become a banshee.

Don't be the first to see my unsightly rage.

What is free should live free, as nature intends.

Some things it’s better not to disturb.

Like this ballad coming to an abrupt end

which recommends you leave the mousies

unperturbed."

To read more: www.amazon.com/author/ninabingham

"The She Inside (an Ode)" by Devi Nina Bingham

"The She Inside (an Ode)" by Devi Nina Bingham

"I wish to be

the she inside,

to scale the mount

and brave the tide.

Yet, I and me

won't dare to dream

the way she does

with starry eyes.

Dancing in magic moon beams,

while I keep my heart disguised.

Of we two, I am half her size.

If only we could meet between!"

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"Destiny? (A Shakespearean Sonnet)" by Devi Nina Bingham

 

                                                                            

                                                              Destiny?

Though you and I from countries strange,

imagined we a life to build. 

But this time, not to demand change

of she who charmed and held me thrilled.

The dream we dreamed shook our core

as we awoke to our final love. 

In seeing this, our hearts did soar

into the climbing clouds above.

"Your final chance!" said my worried mind,

"You must claim it now, or not at all!"

I watched as you were so resigned

to time's cruel march of vitriol.

"If it's meant to be, destiny will conspire," 

said she to me. "let's see what transpires."

Survivor Times Two Book Trailer-Life Is Not Fair

 

Available now on: www.amazon.com/author/ninabingham

Winner of the Reader's favorite 5-Star Award

Survivor Times Two Book Trailer-Butterfly

Available NOW at: www.amazon.com/author/ninabingham

Winner of the Reader's favorite 5-Star Award

 

"Without a Thought (A Shakesperean Sonnet)" by Devi Nina Bingham

                                                  Without a Thought

My home, my nest, my sweet, spicey abode.

Where my heart's at rest, my heart's at rest.

Safely tucked in a pocket that the sea bestowed

where I have been blessed, I have been blessed.

I don't have to see my mother, the sea,

I hear her voice foaming in the mornings.

Just to know she waits, she waits for me

and can rush right in, sometimes without warning.

A danger is inherent in every blossomed rose

when you pick a flower without a thought.

I have come to respect the ocean's highs and lows,

and to watch my fingers around the lobster pot. 

Lovers are the same, unreliable.

Nature is to blame, undeniable.

"Mercury" by Devi Nina Bingham

                                                                

    Mercury

Flying away, with wings on your feet

like Mercury, the swift.

Run away from the ghost that haunts you,

red lips that you once kissed.

Only the Gods fly fast enough.

Once, I held you up, your face to the sun, 

my interest rebuffed, 

we spilled the adoring cup.

Winged sandals' grace your feet

and another graces your hat.

Only counterfeit lovers will you meet

that deceive like the thunderclap. 

Who has the God's ears, yet won't know thyself,

he dashes from my arms.

Like the slippery metal, he prides himself

on his irresistible charm.

Silver and shiny, quick as a flash

was my beloved and blameless boy.

Who escaped the shackles of love as he dashed

making of love a sportive toy.

Lady of Troy, daughter of Zeus 

would have known him well. 

Captured by her alluring charms

he thought he could break the spell.

He failed to see he could not outrun

the heart that beat within.

Wherever he goes he comes undone

for he is trapped in Mercury's skin.

A tale of caution

to listen to the heart

when love is destined to be.

Even the Gods do not keep souls apart-

even mercurial Mercury.