Bottleneck

Bottleneck                                                                                                 

There’s a bottleneck ahead,
multiple lanes merging into one,
 
other vehicles escaping via numerous exits,
shooting off somewhere toward greener pastures
 
so that I end up alone on a narrow one-lane
strip of asphalt, overgrown and broken,
 
twisting through hill country and deep woods,
no road signs or mileposts.  I know not
 
what’s ahead or if I am on the right road
but it no longer matters. 
 
It’s my route, my journey,
my destination and now I know
 
I do not travel it by chance
and I do not travel it alone.
 
O child, if God is with you,
the journey and goal are secondary.

Castle in the air

Castle in the air                                                                                        

I’ve built a castle in the air, 

rooted precariously in the clouds.

I move through it daily inspecting

inconsistencies, shifts in solidarity

and alignment – yet also marveling each step

at its impracticable beauty and intricate improbability.

It began with a frail hope, then a desperate faith.

Now a feckless audacity keeps me

roaming its uncharted wings,

knowing what an absurd indulgence

my efforts are considered

by almost everyone stuck in the mire below.

Riding the clouds, built upon the wind,

having perhaps not a whit of substance

but, o I have found nothing

on terra firma to outweigh its promise,

its solace and my holy obsession

with its lofty, ethereal beauty.

O child of God, to reside within the mystery,

rise above everything on earth taken to be true.

A child of Meher

A child of Meher   

I heard of a man named Mercy,

those drawn to Him known as lovers

and ever since that long ago day,

in spite of my distrust, I have inwardly        

longed to be wholeheartedly

one of those sisters and brothers.

But how might a man of so little love,

so little mercy align himself honestly

with the lovers of the Lord of Love;

the Father of Mercy?  I have remained a beggar

outside the gates; listened to their songs of love,

even composed a few myself of praise and complaint,

expressing my allegiance, my hope for love,

my gratitude for the still-open invitation;

marveling at the path I have taken

since I first heard the mercy of His name.

O child of God, however stubborn your fears,

you could never deny – you are a child of Meher.

(drawing by Rich Panico)

The real mystery

The real mystery

You went on a trip around the world and arrived back

having never crossed your front porch.

Viewed your whole journey

through your living room windows;

between the same faded curtains;

behind the same smudged glass.

You arrived back at the beginning, immaculately self-preserved;

while your true adventure remains unexplored.

O child of God, pace the worn-out carpet of your own abode.

That's where the real mystery lies.