In the thick

In the thick                                                                                                 

The nearer you get to God,

the more you take Him for granted.

God becomes a necessary routine –

soap to skin, food to belly,

the hours allotted for sleep.

Daily we remember God –

to give Him His due

until one day we are shown

He’s due everything, every moment.

Then, life becomes a prayer.

You take it for granted God is there

because it’s His life, His due

and where else would God be

but deep in the thick of His own Self?

O child of God, make Him the center

until He becomes the everything.

Chortle

Chortle                                                                                                 

Somewhere between a chuckle and a snort –

this word invented by Lewis Carroll.

No one quite sure of the wordsmith’s

original intended meaning and pronunciation.

(He let the word speak for itself),

it’s precise nomenclature

in the common vernacular

summarily up for grabs.

Creation began

with the invention of a Word

(perhaps, an immortal chortle)

entering into the vernacular

and no one’s quite sure now

of its original meaning and intent . . .

as endlessly in a cacophony of fear and desire

we assert, opine, question and debate,

while the Wordsmith looks on,

lips pursed behind an upraised finger

in ambiguous silence,

letting the Word speak for Itself.

O child of God, Meher said, ‘Life is a jest’ –

surely worthy of a chuckle and a snort.

Horse-hoofed knowledge

Horse-hoofed knowledge

A lifetime of wandering here and there

among the trees looking for the forest.

A plastic sequin on a cheap gown –

such it is that snags the mind –

spangles not only worthless but pernicious

for they divert us from the real and the true.

At ocean’s shore the galloping horse stumbles,

unable to enter deeply where it can neither

stand nor swim or float; rear or whinny –

do anything other than drown

in wild, flaring confusion.  We cling

to the shore and the horse that got us there. 

Numerous lifetimes it takes to know

we do not know, can never know

anything of the ocean, anything of where

the horse is a foreign, ineffectual creature;

anything but the dust-ridden,

horse-hoofed knowledge

that keeps us ever on the scent, ever

following one false trail after another.

O child of God, the mind reigns in duality

but can never leave itself to reach beyond.

The unfolding answer

The unfolding answer                                                                           

A man of deep faith, just as a man

without faith, asks nothing of God.

Life itself to such a man 

is the unfolding answer to all prayers.

Pain, fright is there – but not anxiety;

loss but not grief;

failure without disappointment;

solitude without loneliness;

death (we are told) without termination.

Perched on the tip of the bow,

a man of faith is serenely poised

to receive, to pass along

only what he’s given; responsible

for nothing but vigilance and acquiescence.

He gets the big picture, the ocean view,

recognizes the nuances, though as yet,

is unable to grasp the details.

Less than a hair’s breadth (the Masters say),

separates heaven from earth –

it requires an unhanding,

an atrophy of judgment,

a relinquishment of presumption.

O child of God, life itself to a man of faith

is the unfolding answer to all prayers.