True disciple

True disciple                                                                                     

They didn’t know You from Adam –

those who hanged You from a cross,

but Thomas fingered Your wounds,

made sure You were

Who You said You were.

I would touch Your wounds, Lord ... if I might,

to know the depths of Your sacrifice,

thrust my hand into Your side –

to explore the nature

of Your compassion and surrender,

but I haven’t the heart of a true disciple.   

I garland Your stone, praise You

to high heaven, endure

the small prices You ask me to pay ...

You, knowing and forgiving the fragility

                                                           

and cowardice of a heart so shallowly pledged.  

That’s why we call You Father of Mercy.

O child of God, ... whosoever will, let him come

and take freely the water of Life.

                             (from A Jewel in the Dust)

Garment of leaves

Garment of leaves                                                                    

Heart like an apple core –

that’s where the seeds are. 

People take you for a lunatic

but it’s just the inner thunder

giving you that far away look,

(as Adam must have looked,

gazing back across the garden pale),

impeding nimble strides and coherent speech.

What’s a man’s gait anyway,  

but a limping away from his destiny?

Or smooth talk if his seeds are stone?

The crooked path he follows

can only lead back to where he began –

the garden in the chest.    

It’s all there in the core – root, leaf, bark, fruit;

soil, water, sky.  Time makes us think

the apple in our hand is ripe and ready

to sink our teeth into.

O child of God, shed that garment of leaves.

Venture naked into the new world.

                           (from A Jewel in the Dust)

'Til spring

‘Til spring                                                                                        

I thought wine was the gift, so I complained

when the intoxication wore off.

Now I find seedlings of Your mercy

scattered everywhere –

roses along the spine, their scent,

years later, reaching my nostrils

and the still, quiet pool beneath my ribs,

the grassy meadows, the web of rills.

I’d packed for a long journey.  You motioned

for me to set down my bags

and share one last cup. 

Becoming inconsolable, drunk and unruly,

the taxi left without me.

You led me back inside.

There’s a garden in my chest

and You’ve invited me to stick around ‘til spring.

O child of God, whatever the Beloved has planned for you,

be sure it’s nothing like what you imagine.

                           (from A Jewel in the Dust)

Song -- Someone like You (with Beverly Smith and Carl Jones)

02 Someone like You

Darkness gathers

Darkness gathers                                                                      

I used to panic not feeling Your touch,

but now I know – You’re only adjusting Your grip.

You have Your hand on me! 

That’s the rare kernel of this odd, random life;

my comfort in this dreamscape

of impairment, bewilderment and fear.

I’ve gladly forked over all my cash.

The truth will come out in the end.

Someone will be by to collect my ticket.

I’ll give him the one You purchased.

Authorities will ask for my papers.

We’ll find out who I really am.

Darkness gathers as the train hurtles

toward the outer provinces;

the cold sharpens; tongues become stranger

and more raucous.

I panic when I get the notion I’m a lone traveler.

I don’t know where I’m going!  But Your valise is by the window.

Your scent lingers in the narrow compartment.

You’ve just stepped out for a bit of air.

O child of God, you want freedom from pain.

Love is an acid that dissolves everything you hold dear.

                         (from A Jewel in the Dust)                                     

Crossroads

Crossroads                                                                                       

A drop in the ocean exists only

when removed abstractly from its milieu;

then we may put it under a microscope –

assign it innocence or guilt. 

At the crossroads of a dreamscape,

which way is valid?  East or west?  North or south?

Of what use is an elaborate tea ceremony, 

if the drinking water is contaminated?

Truth concerns not Itself with choices.

Eruch said, ‘True love is no sacrifice.’

Suppose Abraham’s terrible freedom   

was established in the raising of his knife;

Isaac’s freedom in the trust of his father --

one surrender tucked securely within the other.

And perhaps there was another mutual surrendering --

beyond imagination and conception,

union requiring some sort of reciprocal dissolution --

the illusory drop absorbed into the oceanic whole.

O child of God, free will is cutting you to bits.

Only those who have no choice are free.

                                  (from A Jewel in the Dust)

Song -- Spirit and the Bride (with Beverly Smith and Carl Jones)

01 Spirit and the Bride

Song -- Thank You, Lord

Thank You, Lord

Book signing at Sheriar Books November 12, 2011

The good thief

The good thief

On Judgment Day, who will your theories

and opinions impress?

O child of God, will you stand before the throne

as a devout believer or as a man of faith?

Beliefs are straw a desperate man stuffs into a suit of rags,

hoping to keep at bay his dark, circling fears.

A man of faith is empty.  His strength comes from another source.

His coat flutters loosely from the crossbeam.

The soldiers gambled for Jesus’ robe

while the real treasure hung nearby, naked and vulnerable.

From another cross, the unrepentant thief railed against heaven

          with a bitter tongue.

His logical assertions condemned him to hell.

But, at the last possible moment, the good thief stole paradise.

He called out to his Beloved from a point of utter helplessness.

O child of God, will you go to your Beloved stuffed with worthless notions

or become a man of faith, empty and unafraid?

                                           (from The Garden of Surrender)

A house for starlings

A house for starlings                                                                          

Bit by bit, my love grows –

through the stone, thorns and tangle.

Spellbound by the moon

in the lake, I can’t lift my eyes

toward the true moon,

but I feel it in my blood.

By the way ... those stains

on Your sadra, are they wine ... or blood?

You brought out a rare vintage,

then shattered the bottle with the hilt of Your sword.

Grapes must be crushed before wine

can be served in long-stemmed glasses.

Thread is twisted and pushed through a needle’s eye –

now the mending can begin.

Once the gourd is hollow, it proves useful –

a musical instrument, a dipper at the well,

          a house for starlings ....

O child of God, it’s a process and a journey.

Impatient one, you are right on track.

                            (from A Jewel in the Dust)

A mutual sobriety

A mutual sobriety                                                                     

Ages ago I was stone.  You began

shaping me into a human being.

With that same great chisel and hammer,

I’m now being reduced to dust.

O Lord, it’s hard sometimes, to keep my chin up

under the rain of Your blows.

We have to stop meeting like this!

A few hours of carousing –

I’m hung-over, despondent for weeks.

This morning, I found

bits of clarity at the bottom of my cup –

I have no right to desire,

nor should I expect to stumble through

every hour, drunk on Your bliss.

We have work to do

that demands a mutual sobriety.

You, the sculptor with Your careful dismantling;

me, the stone – holding steady.

O child of God, the Beloved serves His wine

for medicinal purposes only.

His hammer blows chisel away the false.

                       (from A Jewel in the Dust)