The green promise

The green promise                                                                                   

A wedding in Cana and the water is turned to wine.

Jesus saving the best for last.

An exchange of vows and then transfiguration –

on the tongues of true believers, water is wine.

A double-yoked life then,

and a conception:  an offspring –

the child you must become, father to the man.

An exchange of vows, a green promise

and a sweet new crush after the ripening

and the best saved for last.

O honored guest, through these daunting times

let us drink to the green promise,

the sweet crush, the saving

of the best for last, the best for last.

O child of God, to reach the Oneness

get drunk enough to obliterate all boundaries.

Only God

Only God      

It comes about – this happening

and no one can explain it; this identification,

this attachment – it doesn’t mean you exist.

Surrounded by these arising sensual events,

but who and where is their hub,

not to mention their origin?

Can you just conjure up a figure?

Create a somebody out of nothing?

Lifelong attachment results from

the notion you exist; a center around which

the senses circumambulate,

from which thoughts and feeling arise,

wherein histories accumulate . . . as well

as the attachment to the flesh and the material

which seals your fate yet again –

and that is you; you’ll be back

treading the same old mill

lifetime after lifetime

simply because you cannot accept

the implacable reality that you do not exist.

O child of God, only God is real. 

Only God.  Little ol’ you do not exist.

The journey that never was

The journey that never was                                                                   

A kind of exile you are now in

unable to walk the same aisles,

sit in the same pew as others,

hands folded quietly in your lap.

Your eccentricity showing through

the burst seams of your threadbare coat.

You’ve dropped the things you’re supposed to

care about; your interests few.  Old friends

(who never really were) have drifted away

while you to some measure have left behind

your loved ones, for their sake,

to go searching for the eternal connection.  

You follow the flow of an uncharted river

as you push toward oblivion

and wonder when this latest rug

will be pulled out from under your feet.  

It doesn’t really matter anymore.

It’s all a part of the journey that never was.

O child of God, should it be surprising

that the new life is nothing like the old?