Baby steps

Baby steps                                                                                                       

These aren’t just poems – they’re baby steps (let us pray)

upon the bedimmed terrain, for poet as well as those,

perhaps, who read them and care to share my path

for a while – the gathered notes; the incoming mail. 

Correct me if I’m wrong, if you’ve jumped ahead

of the plodding gait. I expect no answer from these

(not at all) endless, internal, expedient musings,

longing deeper and richer each step for the clarity

and strength to run as an adult headlong

and heedless into the waiting arms of my Beloved.

O child of God, employ the illusion of movement

until a quenching comes in the everlasting stillness.

Paper dolls

Paper dolls                                                                                                        

Our lives are spent cutting out paper dolls –

the piecemeal extracted from the whole.

Our hearts set, gazes fixed

upon various relative, handsome,

scissored and brightly-colored figures

we prop up and manage;

with whom we play act for our own exculpation,

amusement and gratification

while discarding the ravaged sheets

from which they are cut, the origin     

and background, field and root,

never to humbly let things lie

unhanded and dormant in their contextual truth

but take up our scissors, our scissors,

again and again, to wreak havoc

upon this paper-thin, flimsy, fluttering world.

O child of God, how improbable and illusory

is the human predicament and personality.

Unhook your soul

Unhook your soul                                                                                   

The creature is tethered.  It tugs the chain taut.

It barks and snarls, scuffles and whines.

It lunges toward freedom.  It goes ‘round and ‘round.

For an Enlightened Soul or life itself

to free the creature, it must be persuaded or gain

the strength and wisdom over the years

to slacken the tether, move toward the axis

so that it might be unhooked at the critical point.

Liberation (apparently) comes not from struggle

but from retreat and acquiescence.

O child of God, let the creature recede

so that Love might unhook your soul.

Benefit of the doubt

Benefit of the doubt                                                                                 

The opposite of love is not hate but, indifference –

the great sin which comes from innocence

and its accompanying ignorance,

intoxication, insensitivity and immaturity.

When you doubt God’s existence give God the benefit.  

Pore over the scriptures, rather than the opposing arguments;

better yet, plumb the heart’s depths and its necessities. 

Ask Him whether or not He exists and ask yourself

whether or not He is essential to your existence.

You might discover after a time, meditative

and contemplative attentiveness to God

reaps benefits which are in fact

the God-sent answer and affirmation

your doubting mind seeks.

O child of God, give God the benefit of the doubt,

the fear and loneliness which at times overwhelms you.

The Great I Am

The Great I Am                                                                                       

To You, this poetry is addressed as supplication

and remembrance but, also, the holding of You

at word’s distance, at arm’s length;

the channeling of a shriek, rage and whine

into winsome couplets of polite doubt,

flattery and offhanded inquiry.  Absurd! 

The attempt to peer at the Infinite Ever-present,

through the glass of imagery and metaphor;

the attempt to confine God within a human skull,

carry Him on the tips of our tongues, fingers,

brushes and pens; to pledge our allegiance to That

of which we know a terrifyingly scant nothing;

to That which we fear and mistrust

instinctively and almost entirely.

O child of God, it’s no small matter

ever, to speak of the Great I Am.

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.

The Great I Am

The Great I Am                                                                                         

To You, this poetry is addressed as supplication

and remembrance but, also, the holding of You

at word’s distance, at arm’s length;

the channeling of a shriek, rage and whine

into winsome couplets of polite doubt,

flattery and offhanded inquiry.  Absurd! 

The attempt to peer at the Infinite Ever-present,

through the glass of imagery and metaphor;

the attempt to confine God within a human skull,

carry Him on the tips of our tongues, fingers,

brushes and pens; to pledge our allegiance to That

of which we know a terrifyingly scant nothing;

to That which we fear and mistrust

instinctively and almost entirely.

O child of God, it’s no small matter

ever, to speak of the Great I Am.

The exploration of love

The exploration of love                                                                                     

Love God, said my Lord, and become God.

Elated at having a strategy, I sallied forth

to do battle, to conquer fear and evil; self and will.

I woke up one morning after years on the battlefield,

sans compatriots or adversaries.  Two things I’ve learned –

I know nothing about God.  I know nothing about love.

My Lord knows loving God requires the exploration of love,

not the exploration of God and the systematic dismantling

of the mundane and human impediments which bar us

from the direct knowledge and embodiment of love.

Love God and become God.

Love love and become love.

O child of God, love God and awaken

to the reality of love.

By God's Grace - written by Austin Darnell, performed by the Darnell Boys

An emphatic breach

An emphatic breach                                                                                

In the pouring rain, the old man said,

I do not get wet and one day,

not as theory or concept

but, in a clear, emphatic breach,

I answered, of course, of course.

Somewhere from a dry, rustling field

where he stood and spoke,

the words reached me

over thirty years but more –

over centuries and continents,

oceans and dynasties –

a crack of the door,

the stones of the temple

and the lush gardens behind the walls;

the crumbling old myths.

The earth shook, dislodged a stone,

the shift of an ancient foundation

upon which everything I am

and seem to be, everything

I know and seem to know, rests.

O child of God, the flowers of the garden

unfold strictly according to God’s schedule.

By the way

By the way                                                                                                          

You and I are on a first name basis.

I’ve grown up with this intimacy –

praying as a child each night

for You to take and keep my soul,

allaying with Your name

my fear of death and harm.

Yesterday, I heard part of a speech

by a famous crusading atheist.

He’s made God the center of his life.

No one gets around You.

Everything is a part of Your work.

Every sin, every blasphemy, every ignorance

as well as every revelation and act of compassion

brings us closer to You. 

God, by the way, is the only One

with the infinite breadth of knowledge

required to know for certain

whether or not God exists.

O child of God, running from the Everything

is just another route into His arms.