‘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.
Jesus
for adults
“Suffer
the children to come unto Me.”
I was a
child when I first heard those words.
‘Suffer’,
it was explained to me, means ‘allow’.
Jesus
for adults in our church
was the
Lamb of God, but to the children
He was
the Shepherd and we were His flock.
Later,
from Meher, I learned Jesus was not here
to save
me from the cross
but to
show me the Way to hang,
shouldering
that weight for me
as far
up the hill as He could get.
Suffering
real, unavoidable, bitter as gall,
heavy
as those rough-hewn timbers;
sharp
as spikes and thorns.
Jesus
loved the adults from high on a cross
but He
took the children into His arms, heart to heart,
teaching
that our love for Him
is as
important as His love for us.
O child
of God, surrender is the way of liberation.
To
suffer means to allow.
Toddler
Each
morning I say the Prayers –
I have
for years – words well worn,
rolling
off my tongue slightly sweet – like prasad.
I begin
earnestly but, soon my mind
drifts
away like a lost kite; like a boy
gazing
from his classroom window
or a
toddler nodding off in the church pew.
Would
anyone fault that schoolboy
for
preferring the day’s green pleasures?
Or the
child wandering off to dreamland
under a
preacher’s sonorous tones?
I go
easy on myself, saying the words You left,
trying
to keep awake, trying to stay focused
on the
blackboard at the head of the class.
O child
of God, it’s arrogant to consider yourself more
than a
toddler playing at the Master’s feet.
Private
Stock
We’re
not the kind of drunks who
engage
in arguments and fisticuffs;
who
climb upon tables and loudly hold forth.
We
drift to the edges;
sink
deeply into intoxication;
wonderment
holds our tongue.
We know
when we’ve had enough –
the
wall we’re leaning against becomes the floor.
We
might be coaxed into singing,
cheek
to cheek with other drunks,
the
timbre of some clear
with
purity of intent,
others
raspy from longing
and a
lifetime of sorrow.
We’re
the ones with sodden hearts;
sour
breaths; befuddled brains.
If we
have a clear thought at all,
it’s
how extraordinarily fortunate we are
to have
found our way to the Tavern and been served
from
the Winekeeper’s private stock.
O child
of God, how rare is this gift of wine?
Few in
all the world have ever known its taste.
Hemlock
wine
Beware
of love, o pilgrim. It’s a barbed
hook;
a ball
and chain; hemlock wine.
It’s a
cliffhanger, a pyramid scheme;
a title
loan with ballooning payments.
Love is
a lake of fire – I say that
having
never entered the flames.
I’m
still leaping about on the griddle.
They
call You Lord of Love,
Father
of Mercy, yet, at times,
I’ve
found Your love to be quite merciless.
Forgive
my incapacity to understand.
Daily
my faith grows without evidence . . .
and
love . . . love is an apparition floating by
the
window of a haunted mansion.
O child
of God, let not the word love escape your lips
until
your heart knows enough to speak wisely.
Knowledge of the heart
There are deeper truths,
I gather,
than the grace of Your
hands,
the light in Your eyes;
more to grasp
than Your gown’s hem;
actions to be taken, vows
to uphold
beyond mere devotion and
remembrance . . .
but, whenever the
conversation at the table
gets too heavy, You give
a wink
and we leave the others,
taking our wine cups into
the garden
to view the stars, enjoy
the night air,
perhaps, share a poem or
two.
There’s work to be done
but, Lord,
let’s save it for another
lifetime.
While I have You here,
(if it be Your pleasure),
let me hold You and hold
You and hold You,
until this weary world
and my form within it
fades into dust and
nothingness.
O child of God, you’ve
grown dangerously fond of His wine
and that delicious prasad
called knowledge of the heart.
Lukewarm water
I once owned a tea set
of great delicacy and
beauty.
Over the years, it became
chipped,
stained, cracked and
broken …
and there were episodes
of destructive rage,
so that when You turned
up at my door,
asked if You might
trouble me
for a spot of tea,
all I had to offer,
in my extreme poverty,
was lukewarm water served
in the cup of my palms.
You accepted my gift and
I became Your slave.
O child of God, lament
not your recklessness and ignorance.
Had you been prepared,
His lips might never
have touched your fingertips.
Window of time
O Beloved, You were
silent.
Remind us of that
as the intellectuals
chase Your words
through the mazes
of God Speaks and Lord
Meher,
capturing them like
butterflies
pinned behind glass,
only their bright shells
left;
silent as if the man
Himself was behind glass
gesturing Truth through
that small window of time.
In our dark dreaming, let
us not expect words
to awaken us but the Word
of His Love,
the Real Word
we have been forever
longing to hear.
O child of God, listen
with the heart’s ear –
where words and silence
both strike to the core.
Nettle tea
The road to hell is paved
with good intentions?
I’m hoping it’s the road
to Paradise.
Ofttimes, I miss the mark
but, more and more,
my intentions are to
serve You.
My love-arrows fall short
and stab someone in the
foot.
I spread my cape on the
ground –
an elegant lady sinks up
to her bloomers in mud.
My cup of kindness . . .
often filled with nettle tea.
I’m like a man on a
crowded bus –
reaching to help this
one, I knock that one’s hat off
and poke my umbrella into
someone’s ribs.
Turning to apologize, I
wallop the entire third row,
distract the driver and
cause a rear-end collision.
O child of God, fondly
recall your Beloved’s promise
that God hears only the
language of the heart.
