An ocean away

An ocean away                                                                                        

I’ve been to India many times.

I’ve never quite felt at ease there.

It’s the oppressive, ubiquitous unfamiliarity –

ever a stranger in a foreign milieu,

an ocean away from home.  These days,

holed up in my hometown, homestead,

habitat, my own planet and (gross) plane,

I’m also ever slightly ill-at-ease,

every familiar thing now drenched

in a foreign light, heard in a disquieting way,

smelt and tasted seasoned with dust and ash.

Ill-at-ease in my own skin, my head and heart.

I’ve listened to You and told myself

so many times I’ve come to believe it

beyond any intentional, intellectual concept,

down to my very bones –

this world is not my home.

This world is not my home. 

O child of God, don't rest until you

get back to where you started.

(photo by Debbie Finch)

                     

A new banner

A new banner                                                                                         

I hoist the flag – salute my sovereignty,

my authority, establish my boundaries,

determine which way the wind blows.

Tattered, under sun and weather,

it’s blanched over the years into white,

the colors I cling to less and less relevant,

the governing body for which it stands

having picked up and moved to another shore.

This daily ritual is a mere adherence

to the only allegiance I’ve ever known,

containing in its discrepancies a freedom

only dreamed of, read about in books.

It’s a ceremony I’m only true to

because there’s nothing else to do

until my liberator arrives and we haul down

the flag together; reverently fold, put it away forever.

I’ll gather my things and follow Him

under a new banner into the great unknown. 

O child of God, Meher says the journey  

is from the bottom red stripe to the top pale blue.