All of Creation

All of creation
Calls out to be known.
Now, it is not only God
That knocks at our door.
The blessed multitude cries out to us,
Simple and naïve,
Plain and unadorned,
Abandoned, yet ever receptive to us,
Calling, and yearning for a love,
For a love.

Each thing proclaims its own uniqueness,
That it is humbly worthy,
Testifying to itself and its attributes,
Begging to be known,
If it would please us
—to be known.

With a consciousness humbled,
Stripped-down, yet incomplete
Each living thing,
And each mute and motionless substance,
Every transfixed article and stubborn object
Calls out to our consciousness
To be known
—to be known.

And, loveless dullards that we are,
Sleepy, indifferent, lame-minded,
Hypocrites of the soul that we are.
Dense, hardwired automatons,
Single-minded self-interested fools;
Selfish, flat-earth worshipers of senseless sensation
and meaningless icons of the mind
Restless revelers of paralytic boredom;
Empty broken-hearted cast-out-of-Eden sophomores;
Half-brained false witnesses to untruth.
Our doctored testimonies yield
NO EVIDENCE OF GOD!
And this is what we call our life.
And this is what we call our life.

And yet our salvation and our
Redemption is near.
Our new-found self-awareness
Is at hand,
All around us,
Ready to greet us
Closer to us
Than we would dare
—than we would dare

Say hello to what
You were indifferent to and greet
The SELF, so LARGE and WIDE
That you have ignored.
So subtle, yet not so elusive
Not so elusive as ourselves
—as ourselves.

Spirit tends toward smallness
This I know—yet can not explain.
Such is the nature
Of the great soul of the world:
The inbetweenness of identity;
The strident humility of uniqueness;
The mutual abasement and accommodation of creation;
The contented play of the many and the multitude;
The each-in-itself, in-its-own-way, in-its-own-place.
Each shining artifact of God
In its singularity and in its many aspects,
Waits, not quite hidden, yet largely
Undiscovered and unmapped,
Waiting to be known.
Waiting to be known.

We see our own loneliness and separation
There, in the abandoned not-myself
—that seems so blank and neutral,
So indifferent and easily analyzed,
So passively manipulated,
So purposeless, so dead and not-alive!
O, if the heart could see.
If only the heart could see!

 

 

Collapse

One day they all just left the hive
And went somewhere to die.
Their life had collapsed.
They refused to continue living in their home.

There were all kinds of reasons.
I think that they just committed suicide.
They wanted to tell us something
And it was the only way.

Some considered that perhaps
the pollen of the flowers was becoming sterile.
Others said that the habitat
of the wild bees had been lost
And their tame cousins in their little boxes
could not bear the stress of modern life.

Parasites and viruses,
Pesticides and fungi,
Genetic meddling,
Climate change and
Electromagnetic radiation;
A failing immune system.
The long siege of the 21st century.

The bees had seemed to be happy
in their little homes
and even seemed to thrive.
“Why did they have to die?”
People asked.
“What will happen now?
And what will become of us?”

 

 

Conspiracy/Black Ops

I
Thoughts fall from the sky,
like weapons that soon will explode.
They intend to kill as many people as possible.

Thoughts of mass destruction!
Evacuate! Evacuate!
Stop the thoughts! Stop the thoughts!
But there is nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

They are vicious and relentless,
but they do not fall,
They are suspended in the air.

I cannot grieve in advance—only panic!
When will they fall?
Where will they explode!

II

The truth will step forward.
It is standing there in the line up.
It just has to be pointed out.

The truth will step forward
and be acclaimed.
There is no one else that can do the job.

The truth will step forward.
Will it do so voluntarily?
Does it have the courage?

The truth will step forward
—that authored
so many anonymous rumours.

The truth will step forward and
deceit will retreat into the shadows,
fearful for its life.

 

 

 

I Saw That the World Was Green

I imagined you were surrounded by flowers.
It cheered me to see you
smile because you were glad to see me.
Your love and the sky were vast and intimate.
I was sorry that I had forgotten that,
and I saw that the world was green and alive.

I imagined you showed me a portrait of your mother,
(admitting that you weren’t a very good artist).
You had captured an essence of her,
a part that had refused to surrender.
She was seated at the dining room table.
All was set and in place.

Then I noticed cut flowers were the centerpiece;
an offering without a name,
a grace that did not have to be said.

Then I listened quietly to the Earth.
To Her anger and broken solace.
I could not admit what She wanted to hear;
That Her grief was my own and that
I felt the same pain.

Then I heard you repeating “forgiveness”, “forgiveness”
as a question or a prayer, asking; “How?”; and “If?”
—that all of those named would reconcile,
And that silence would lose all of its anger.

 

 

 

I Was in a Burning House

I was in a burning house,
The house in which I nearly died.
That burning house was my ego,
My selfishness, lust, and unforgivingness,

Homelessness has given me back my freedom.
Love has given me back my self.
I will build a new house
Which is safe and cannot destroy itself.
The time to change is at hand.

You are the God
Who I was warned about;
The God who leads me on,
Who makes captive and makes free.
The God Who dwells within.

 

 

 

Little Star

Each day I pray to the little star,
giving thanks that we have come so far.
I pray that we remain awake,
both for the world and for thy sake.

Some say that you are up so high,
though you meet us by and by,
both in our deeds and in our sleep,
in our joy, and when we weep.

You speak in all that we can see!
Wondrous is your company,
when we listen to what you say,
witness behind the light of day.

You are the co-joining arc,
the world-incarnating spark,
the until-now unseen star
that reminds us who we are.

 

 

 

The Redemption of Faust

Faust was recently reborn as a female.
She had been very busy in her previous life
—Getting into all kinds of trouble
When she should have known better.

The devil was upset when she was able to ascend
After a restless life full of intrigue,
Murder, deceit, and seduction,
Indifference to the suffering of others,
And abandonment of responsibility;

She had been a maniacal, ambitious, and oversexed fool,
A puer, a dreamer, a bringer of despair.
She was able to witness her folly in the afterlife,
With Gretchen, who forgave her.

She saw that she perhaps
She had done some good along with the harm:
Overcoming the floods by constant vigilance and effort;
Countering the blundering Mephistopheles by
Refusing a passive life of ordinary comfort;
And living out her destiny,
However flawed and regrettable it was.

She had not meant to be cruel, but she had been
Obsessed with novelty and power
—As if by a magical spell.
She made a commitment to steer her life
Away from her previous temptations.

The world to which she has returned
Are her past fantasies and ideals fulfilled.
Nature is now completely subjugated
And what may have seemed magical two hundred years ago
Is now commonplace.

What can she do to break free?
Can she find the Eternal-Feminine in her heart?
Can she undo the chaos brought on by her selfishness?
Can she and Gretchen make a new world?

 

 

 

Morning

Forty years of learning how
To rule, but never overthrow.
My bitterness is ending now.
All my little selves in tow.

Decades my soul lay in want,
Insufficient to the deed.
I was a slave and a bon vivant,
An ascetic without need.

This is not an empty celebration.
My fire brings light, but not to burn.
I feel no woe or indignation.
The forty years, the forty years it took to learn.

I made promises to myself:
Work and pray. Work and pray.
Kept my spirits up; blamed no one else;
Enjoyed the novelties of the day.

Yet I’d stumble into remorse;
Asking, “To what purpose was I born?
Why did my life take this course?”
Saying, “I don’t want this any more.”

I fought myself and rarely won
Reward for not telling lies.
It seemed that my only consolation
Was “Death now would be unwise.”

I was constantly bargaining,
Making promises I could not keep.
Every night I was restless, waking
Up from a shallow angry sleep.

I can still say that I loved.
I was not bitter to the core.
Yet I could never get enough.
I always wanted more.
And this day I woke early.
Pleased that the violence now has stopped.
Light is on the horizon. Clearly
There is no reason to play so rough.

Kindness is not justice blind
When I allow myself to lose,
If I now make up my mind
Which of the testaments to choose.

I am no longer burdened with want
To be other than I am.
I will not be a grim contestant;
Rueful, proud, and solemn.

 

 

 

Winter

This summer seems endless;
Temperate and fruitful,
Abundant and plentiful,
All things easily within reach

The flow of the rivers steady
From towering glaciers
To basins unimaginably deep,
Feeding pastures forever green,

Our yields are fantastic;
Our resources almost infinite;
Our sciences
So marvelously applied.

That summer changed to winter
some time ago.
We disputed the
Falling crest of autumn

The world is failing.
Our paradise is over.
The summer is over.
We are already in early winter now.

 

 

 

Bridge To The Future

This new bridge will be made by our walking,
Defying both fate and what we think is real.
A subtle cosmic parlor trick is breaking
Down laws of time and habit like a miracle.

You have not walked this bridge before.
It is like a pasture open wide in all directions.
What you sow by your own steps becomes core,
Your willingness—your discretion.

To live the next two thousand days
Is a summons to fortitude and valour.
There is not a day to waste.
We will not wait a thousand years.

Do not say to the moment that it must last.
We will not be allowed to hesitate.
It is chaos—we spin too fast,
Yet no one can make the summons wait!

You have not heard it all before.
Something unknown is breaking through.
Wolves and angels are at the door:
The bully; the crone; the old love; the new.

In these moments we are all weak.
We can not say what we need to without crying.
But it is not necessary to speak
More than a few words to what has been dying.

What falls apart we must leave like dust.
Nothing heavenly stops our forward motion.
What once was seen as blind faith or empty trust
Is now our bridge, our sacrifice, our communion.

 

 

I Bear Witness to Love

I saw that I was love and every other was myself.
I realized that I was loved and that love had no boundary or limit
In time
In completeness
In beginning
In ending
In extension
In death
In life
In cause
In effect
In compassion
In gentleness
In immediacy
In truthfulness
In knowing
In jurisdiction
In mercy
In judgment of any kind
In quantity
In purity
In worthiness
In forgiveness
In authority
In patience
In beauty
In capability
In clarity
In depth
In perfection
In strength
In helpfulness
In humility
In flow
In resilience
In grace upon grace
In reliability
In attentiveness
In ego-shattering presence
In respect
In honouring
In friendliness
In unfoundedness
In soundness
In power
In virtue
In freedom
In errorlessness

 

 

Little Steps

Into the world the child is born
Gazing around and above itself
Wanting to move and
Touch what it meets
Eventually it stands upright
and lets go—amazed with itself!
Clapping its hands together joyfully
Celebrating its moment in the world
As it takes its little steps.

And a young adult
Surveys the world around it
Looking to itself and to what may be
Willing to master itself and the world
Happy that its time has come
Pushing forward into the world.

And an older person
Who had come into the world with purpose
Reflects and bears witness to their life
As they participated in it
And as it came to be
Pleased with what they and others
Have done and experienced.
So many days for such a journey!

And someone who has died
And finished with their life
Sees what they have done
For themselves and for others
The path and their own participation
The landscape and the roads not taken
And forgives themselves for their little steps,
Their little steps toward God.

 

 

 

This is What I Want to Say:

My words are like an echo
I have not heard before.
They take me with them.
I follow them around.
I am helpless without them.
They are all that they are,
And all that they can be.

Words can sometimes be reduced to silence,
They arise from silence and must eventually return.
They are a celebration of the moment,
The creative birthright of a moment in time.
And even when words are inadequate
It is wonderful that they
Mark their own trepidation with feeling.

Sometimes I have hurried to write something down
That took me many years to say.
I wish that I could write reconciliation
And forgiveness upon my own heart.
Prayers are useful then
—For God to write them in my soul.

I yearn to acquire a new language.
It is all that I can do to keep
From going deaf and dumb.
My hearing is so fragmented
I can barely respond.
I will not offend anyone if I try—
They would only hear me babble nonsense.

Say no more. Say no more. Say no more.
I wish that I could quiet down the noise.

My ears are ringing.
And my heart is full of doubt.
I forgive you, but please, say no more.
Whenever we speak misunderstandings arise.

When words speak for us
(as they sometimes do) they mean
much more than facts or convictions
I seldom say the world love.
Let me whisper it to you again.
Let us both strain to hear it
Until we both are sure.

 

 

 

Particle and Wave

I am loved
I am a particle
A speck in my own eye
A spectator
A spectacle
An inspector
A drama that is happening
in the instant
that I forget that I am loved

I am loved
I am a wave
A wave that comes to me
A wave that goes through me
A wave –pulsing
A happy joyful wave
I wave hello, hello!
I signal that I am one
with you

Together we join and bless,
join and bless
and part and depart
Join and bless and
ride and dance
We move
We are swept up
by the wave
—then separate again.

 

 

 

Time

The present is running away from me.
I reach out to push it away.
It gives up on me.
I have nothing to say.

The moment shifts, then reappears.
Something shuffles from the past.
Time estranges what is near.
The distance slows, then comes up fast.

My opponent is myself.
An ancient biography wants to be paid.
A past that belonged to someone else
Who can not, does not live this day.

It’s a tragedy
(They didn’t tell you this in school.)
Mockery, dishonesty;
This whole life to play the fool.

Only eternity can reduce this sentence
It has no right or wrong.
Each of us could be doing love and penance:
Rhyme and melody, rhythm and song.

The meaning is not what is given.
It is not what is given alone.
If I am either beaten or driven
I may not hear the meter, the rest, the tone.

It’s not that there’s not harmony here.
We do well enough for what we are:
Misguided hope and mistaken fear—
But each of us a luminous star.

It’s not that there’s not harmony here
—Each of us a luminous star.
Between misguided hope and mistaken fear
We do well enough for what we are:

 

 

 

Living on the Moon

You and I alone together
—what can that mean
when all the world is Yours?

I try to love You back,
but I do not know
how to extend my love.

You are the Sun,
yet I only see
Your shining reflection.

Here are ridges, shadows
and dark craters;
Appearances, appearances.

All is not what it seems.
Goodness prevails in Your world.
Here it is brief respite.

I know You.
At least I can say that,
yet here— all is confused.

 

 

 

For Marilyn

You and I,
We travel in circles,
Round the block,
Round the city,
Here and there.

You and I,
We circle each other,
Round and round,
In questions,
In conversation,
In embrace.

You and I
Are part of a circle,
Equidistant from the center that
We keep circling around.

I meet you there too,
In the center,
The center of our being,
Where we can be together
Without movement, or question, or hurry.

 

 

The Time has Come to Ask for Meaning

A part of each of us has been abandoned,
Made vacant by facts and pictures
And restless familiarity.

The soul’s young season
Of discovery and discernment
Was usurped early on, and
Its harvest of loves and interests
Became meager.

When the time came to ask
About meaning
It could not find the words
Without strain or distress.

For some, the feeling for truth had
Suffered insensitivity and neglect.
For many, an appreciation for beauty
Was stunted, pushed aside
By constantly manufactured images.
Others became locked in themselves.
Their moral sensibility and compassion
Became confused.

So many people do not know
What to do with themselves.
Boredom, emptiness, and fear prevail.
Selfishness binds them so tightly.
When can the soul look intently
In the mirror and see
Itself as it was meant to be?

 

 

 

God is Looking Large for You

God is looking everywhere to find you,
To see what you are doing.
Maybe you are kind of embarrassed
To hear that, but
He is really interested.
Maybe you’re not up to much.
You’re really not proud of yourself.
It’s not a good time for you now.
That’s OK.

He will find you right where you are.
He won’t ask you any questions
Or put you on the spot.
He’s not going to show you up
Or put you down.
He just wants to say hello to you
When you notice Him.

 

 

Where Love is Found

It often seems that Love is
tucked away in some closet and it’s only
there for emergencies or when we absolutely need it.
It is put on display in churches, art galleries, and museums,
but everyone is surprised when it shows up for real.

It can pop up in the middle
of an argument and make the blaming stop.
It sometimes appears as an unexpected detour or as an afterthought.
It may bring peace—when we feel uncomfortable or dissatisfied.
It will step right in and tell the truth,
when we could not admit that we were wrong.

Yet, when it is found in the heart
it never has to go away or hide.

 

 

It’s Not Unusual to be Crucified

It’s not unusual to be crucified,
though most people talk about it
as if it’s a bad thing—
All that useless pain to no end.

It begins by being pulled apart
from who you thought that you were
until your heart dissolves,
and your identity is broken.

Then what seems like wrath or mercy
descends upon your trembling and insignificant life
until the seemingly limitless pain
rinses clear and pristine

And your phoenix hopes
(which you thought had died)
return, poignant, transcendent,
demanding more of you
than you could ever imagine,

And you are chastised and grateful
for the entire experience.

 

 

End of An Age

It feels like tiredness,
Every day a not-yet.
So, so close to the divine,
And yet so far away.

I meet the stresses of the day,
The duties, the annoyances,
Death and distraction lurk everywhere.
My small complaints have no meaning anymore.

Sentimentality has become surface-like
Habits of feeling appear stale and artificial.
Emotions often seem passive or stubborn,
Yet love still breaks through at times.

My soul cries out
To be freed of its passions.
Another of its abundant paradoxes,
Its exuberant sorrow.

The heaviness will only be lifted
When we have come full term.
We are too far along to be stillborn.
All these changes are larger than ourselves.

From the silences that we can not decode
Peace will come—and a joyful release of pain.
Many healing hands will gather
And sing a child’s lullaby.

 

 

If I Sing Clear

No one can sing my song for me.
I am sorry if you feel lonely.
If I can sing clear,
For anyone to hear
Then they will listen
To what I have been given.

Everything that I’ve seen
Leaves me with so many questions.
Where did I leave off?
I did not mean to stop.
What do I want to sing?
There is still something.

If you find the melody.
The words will come easy.
Don’t ask when to start.
If the song is in your heart
You will mature,
And sing into the future.

Living large and living free.
It’s not about the money.
You know that it’s real,
If it helps you to heal.
If you have worth
You will find a purpose.

 

 

Who Is Your God?

Am G Am
Who is your God?
Am G Am
Who is your God?
C E7 G Am7
Is your God calling to you?
Am G Am
Who is your God?

Is your God love and light?
Is your God love and light?
Does She comfort you in the middle of the night?
Is your God still alive?

Does your God tell you lies?
Does your God tell you lies?
When you pray and ask Him why,
Is it simply black and white?

Is your God someone you love?
Is your God someone you love?
Is God a stranger you passed by?
Is your God someone you’d like?

Did your God fall from grace?
Did your God fall from grace?
No longer pure, now disgraced?
Did your God hide away?

Is your God someone you know?
Is your God someone you know?
Do you trust Her even when
You don’t know which way to go?

 

 
2012

I feel as if I am seated on a train.
I do not know where we are going.
Sometimes I hear others
talk about the destination.
I only know that I have been there before.

I seems I was always
in a hurry to get there
—and my happiness depended on it.
All of us rushing around—but still on the train!
As if there were no other route.
The longing brings me to tears.
(excuse me while I weep.)

Sometimes I seem the most desperate,
sometimes the least.
I would not mind
if you got there before me.
Some people blame the baggage.
Some people complain about the conductor.
Some say that we are there already,
but do not know it.
Some say there is no destination.
Some say there is no train.
A few say that we never got on.
A number insist that we will arrive soon.

All my life I have wanted to stop
the train—to simply be there already,
but I do not believe that it is a punishment.
Some say that there will be many definite stops on the way.
Some say that there are a constantly fluctuating series of detours.

I always wanted to make things better on the train
—hand out snacks, or help people be
more comfortable with their seating.

 

 

No One Can Take My Love Away From Me

No one can take my love
Away from me.
It does not belong to me.

You who do not belong
Away from me,
Take my love.

No, my way
Does not belong to me.
Take it, my love.

You who take my love,
You belong to me.
Take me.

Take my longing.
Take my love.
I am no one.

Love
Take my belongings
away from me.

Be,
And love.
Take my way.

You, who love
Take away
what does not belong to me.

My way is
One way to belong.
One way to love.

 

 

Beauty

I do not know what beauty is.
So I can not tell you or explain,
But it seems that you must
Love form, and stillness
And movement, and change,
And how things come together and unfold.

Some say that beauty is a puzzle,
That it can be known.
They will show you
Where it has been at work,
But they can not fully penetrate it.

Yet if you trace it carefully,
As if from beginning to end,
You will find its mystery,
A presence that both hides and reveals
An open secret that desires to be known;
Alive and complete.