Whimsy

Whimsy

A bit of whimsy, says my Lord -
God's idle curiosity - striking up Creation,

freshly awakened, wondering , Who am I?
No whimsy, apparently since, however,

in this inevitable, sequential unfolding of existence
according to the inviolate laws of fate.

This is not a game of chance
(or whimsy) in which we are engaged,

not a contest or competition, this living creation
which is also an ongoing discovery;

this relentless interrogation
and its unraveling answer,

this is no game of chance.
Through alternate phases of sorrow, joy,

pleasure, pain, life and death we hurtle
at the ultimate mercy of the only One

in existence sovereign and almighty enough
to indulge in a bit of whimsy.

O child of God, surrender to the Inevitable.
No pause, no pardon, no rest, no turning back now.

O wayfarer

O wayfarer                                                                                                         

You ordered aristocratic Norina,

much to her humiliation,

to return, again and again,

to the ship’s Captain posing

the same question each time –

when shall we arrive?

Courteous, at first, annoyed and then irate,

he banned her, at last, from the bridge,

judging the Princess to have, somewhere

along the voyage, lost her mind.

A lesson in humble submission for Norina –

(and for every lover thereafter)

but, also, something more, sinking deeper

into our bones and blood and it’s this –

the Captain commands the ship –

plots the course, schedules the arrival,

knows precisely when and how

the destination should be reached.

Absurdity, sheer lunacy are our fears, inquiries,

gestures, inputs, urgencies and desires.

Lay back, o wayfarer.  Embrace and endure in silence,

the remainder of your lonely voyage home.

O child of God, so many lessons from the One

Who did not come to teach. 

(drawing by Rich Panico)

An effortless endeavor

An effortless endeavor

Seekers of God were drawn to You early on,
prepared to overcome every obstacle to liberation.

They begged You to instruct them in the Way;
to speak into their ears the Word of words.

You entered the Jhopdi one evening;
emerged wordless for the rest of your life.

Your fingers spoke - at everyone's insistence -
of love, obedience and surrender.

Love - not the least bit amenable to force or will.
Obedience - mere disciplined ambition

unless prompted by a guileless heart.
Surrender - a letting go, a giving up

of all hope and desires, low and high.
Love, obedience, surrender -

each an effortless endeavor,
dependent upon the Master's grace.

Eruch proposed determination -
not quite effort - but, something to do while waiting

for the buds to unlimber, the fruit to soften,
the wine to ferment in its ancient wooden casks.

O child of God, embrace the process.
It is that to which we must surrender.

The water of Jesus

The water of Jesus

Hope springs eternal, Pope observed.
A blessing, a heavenly confirmation.

But, one day, the teachings suggest,
we shall grow weary of it.

Faintly odious it'll become,
oily, brackish on the tongue,

and lose its allure, just another meaningless
babble for our ears to endure.

We'll see it as a substitute,
a tainted approximation of the Living Water.

One day its grip shall loosen; we'll let it slip
downstream through our prayer-cupped hands.

We'll lose our way, one day, to that well,
so that we might find another, taking freely

the water of Jesus, springing up also
in the human breast - of life everlasting.

We'll partake of that water, o seekers,
and never thirst again.

O child of God, whosoever will, let him come
and take freely the Water of Life.