Saturday, April 13, 2024

The interior

The interior                                                                                        
Put away the road map.
You’ve reached the rim
of the interior – uncharted territory.
Echoes of travelers past
are all you have to guide you.
Hang up your boots. 
Time to stop begging door to door. 
The only footprints in the dust
have turned out to be your own.
But you should no longer be trying
to get from here to there.  What you want
is to fade away where you stand,
the trek now a descent from head to heart
taken by someone you don’t even know.
O child of God, become footless
to one day become headless.  

Tuesday, April 9, 2024


Love.  Look it up in the dictionary
if you care to read a human handful
of pallid descriptions – fondness;
deep affection; enjoyment. 
Love – the antonym of hate;
the opposite of fear. 
Will that do for an answer? 
Or, maybe, love –
the mystery beyond description.
There’s no definition in that crowded book
for that which we are most desperately yearning –
the Word to break our chains;
to pull us up from the muck
by our heartstrings. 
O child of God, keep your ear cocked
toward the otherworld silence of Meher.

Saturday, April 6, 2024


Forgive me, Lord, for refusing to forsake myself.
I’m just trying to protect (as You well know)
a child from being crushed by the darkness;
keeping at bay the bogeyman from under the bed.
I believe You (with all my faithless heart),
when You say that it’s only a dream –
still, my childish dreaming goes on.
I can’t shake myself awake.
That will take my Father’s hand, I suppose. 
Ask for nothing, You say. 
So, obediently, my lips are sealed
but my heart (with which I seem to have no truck), 
is ever begging You for comfort and release.
A child who has been forsaken by everyone he trusted
(who, one and all, turned out to be merely human)
(especially me), so I turn to the One
who says He’s above and beyond the human;
who says He is indeed my one true Friend.
O child of God, God is the child, the bogeyman,
the dreamer and the dream.  There’s no one else to turn to.

Tuesday, April 2, 2024

The big top

The big top                                                                                         
I got too close to the circus and it lost its charm.
Spied the tease of flesh between the fishnet,
the cheap spangles; the music’s blare;
grunting acrobats, exhausted clowns;
the pervasive beast-and-excrement smell, 
the exaggerated theatrics, the sawdust’s filth –
and the glamour was gone forever.
I walked out between the roaring stands
onto a cold spring pasture;
took in the breeze,
a new moon, the countless stars
and have never again been tempted
by the big top’s threadbare glitter
and the empty pitches of the circus touts.
O child of God, once you see the truth of the lie
you can wring no joy from the greatest show on earth.