Thursday, September 21, 2017

Elder beauty

Elder beauty  

Older now, I see it - the elder beauty,
the younger comeliness

ghostly about faces and bones,
the eyes, particularly.  Courage there also –

ah! the beauty of courage –
and patience that has volunteered

in our well-kept gardens.  Perseverance, too, 
and the consent of loss with so much gain,

continuing into our personal future
and that future’s ultimate demise.

Older now, I see the flesh give way
to the ancient, shining soul.

It shone through, Mani said
of Baba’s divinity.  It shone through

I see it; I see its subtle emanations  
in unexpected glimmers –

the elder, ethereal beauty I could glimpse
only rarely in my youth.

O child of God, what a bounty you have received.
And the Beloved is not through with you yet!


Sunday, September 17, 2017

Our guaranteed return

Our guaranteed return

The world’s a nothingness and God’s a myth,
Francis said.  You have shown me this.

You have shown me this . . .
setting Francis to roam

the nothingness, singing
‘neath that boundless starry dome,

down the ages, echoing words
awaiting, awaiting the flood

of the Word of words; Francis lost,
a mote in a dust whorl, left behind

by the Reality to Which the myth alludes
and his sentence clearly viewed,

stretching out a billion years
(he estimates) to get his heart in tune,

ready to sing the Real song. 
O Francis, I am with you.  I am with you

on the dusty plain, ‘neath the bell jar dome,
waiting for the Lord to take us home.

O child of God, let the longing pierce your songs
with the sweetness of our guaranteed return.




Tuesday, September 12, 2017

And the Word was God

And the Word was God

Small word -- god.  Like a grunt,
a groan breaking from our throats.

Capitalized, modified by the pious -- 
Used profanely by sinners.

Forgive us, God, this small begrudged word
wedged into our vocabulary as an afterthought.

Words of worldliness: pleasure, flesh, riches,
savored by our mouths: luxury, lavish; sexuality,

sumptuousness, triumph, lasciviousness . . . .
O pilgrim, take god -- that hard nugget of a word

and nurture it in your core 
until it breaks you open,

breaks your world apart,
until a tree from its seed grows, 

stretches, brushes leaves and branches 
against the farthermost ends

of your thoughts, depths, faith,
experience and imagination.

O child of God, in the beginning was the Word . . .
and the Word was God.



Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Love interest

Love interest 

Existence You compare to a motion picture
with God playing every role.

You, of course, are the love interest.
When Your face hits the screen

every pulse quickens.
Let the storylines get too sad, predictable

and You are thrown into the mix,
to stir up the plot by espousing

the most difficult task in existence.
Love God, You say.  Love God.

Again and again, You enter the picture
to round out and soften

God's rough edges, awaken
the human heart to love.  To love.

You make it easy -- so that we might begin
our arduous approach to God;

to love God, to become God,
to become God the Beloved.

O child of God, impossible to love the self;
next to impossible to love the Self.