Gazing at the moonrise

Gazing at the moonrise                                                                             
 
I should be sitting cross-legged by now,
like a high old monk, not a thought in the world
 
nor a question in mind, gazing at the moonrise
above the shadowed vale; blending in mutely
 
with God’s majesty and beauty.
Truly, what better way to spend my time?
 
Preferable to my polished routine down here,
my old song and dance, playing to the crowd;
 
my sweat and scuffle, trying to leave my mark upon the world –
like the spray-painted graffiti on those mountain stones.
 
But my legs won’t fold up like that anymore
or carry me up a mountainside, so I sit
 
in my darkened house to mingle if not quite merge
with the Mystery in a shuteye, heart to heart communion
 
upon the jagged edge of the mountain,
above the endless vales within;
 
my ancient Self rising with that distant moon,
receiving and reflecting His holy light.
 
O child of God, how peaceful is the pilgrim
whose Companion has taken him by the hand.

Haunt the shore

Haunt the shore                                                                              
 
This daily exploration of You has become my life;
no longer an attempt to discover who You are
 
but what You have to give me – this daily reception
of salt-tinged wine, sea-soaked bread.
 
Most would say I’ve turned away from reality
but You are the Reality I am facing now,
 
undistracted by the faithless and illusory.
I see now the process as a morning walk
 
down to the gulled-circled sea
to find what gift has washed ashore
 
expressly for me, each exquisite detail
fitting exactly my lack and need
 
as my Father lovingly provides
the means of my returning.
 
O child of God, haunt the shore
and let the Ocean come to you.

You loved me first

You loved me first                                                                                      
 
How could I have ever cared about myself
if You hadn’t loved me first?
 
Ever lifted my head, showed my face;
caught the acceptance in Your gaze?
 
Ever turned away from the interior drama,
if You hadn’t lured me through the door?
 
How could I have ever had faith in myself
until You picked me up, dusted me off,
 
patted me on the back and bid me to follow
on a new, trustful, itinerant path?
 
O Lord, how could I have ever had the courage
to love You had You not so kindly loved me first?
 
O child of God, love Him until every distinction
of time, space and person dissolves.

(painting by Joe DiSabatino)

Pull off the road

Pull off the road                                                                               
 
I’ve wanted to pull off the road for a long while.
I don’t care much about arriving anymore.
 
Almost a whole lifetime spent, rarely
carefree and cozy in this old world.
 
Fear is mostly what I’m made of;
not much love to counteract it. 
 
This old car stalled again at a crossroads.
Rather than attempt another repair
 
I think I’ll abandon it altogether;
strike out through the rough country;
 
find out for sure (or not) if there is
and always has been, a companion at my shoulder.
 
If He’s not there, I’ve lost nothing
I had before I started and surely
 
the desert will welcome me
into its warm and empty, ragged arms.
 
O child of God, Meher said most wayfarers
turn to Him only as a last resort.