Sky blue coat

Sky blue coat                                                                                
 
I followed a map of the world.  It led
down a narrow path to the ocean.
 
From there I could see -- nothing matters
but the folding of myself into You.
 
Let love be my measure ... and my guide.
I’ve known love enough in this lifetime
 
to know it’s not blind,
but wide-eyed and vigilant;
 
not intoxication but an unearthly sobriety
penetrating the chronic delirium of the false view.
 
How wondrous the heart – at the same time
an encrusted anchor and a fluttering bird;
 
bruised rose and captured hare;
a torch, a goblet;
 
an upraised fist and weathered valise.
The pages where my story is written –
 
fold and tuck them away – into the pocket
of my Beloved’s sky blue coat.
 
O child of God, drop your bags and run
headlong into the Master’s arms. 

Spinning tales

Spinning tales                                                                                
 
I hadn’t a clue – so You scattered a few about –
sandal prints under my windows;
 
sacred threads snagged in the hedgerow;
Your blood staining the cross within my chest.
 
People wonder why I go on about this!
It’s ancient history, they say.
 
I’m like the angler whose trophy fish is mounted
          above the mantle –
I can’t stop spinning tales about it!
 
Especially when Your wine gets me drunk
and I feel again the excitement of finding You
          on the end of my line.
 
Gone forever -- the despair of empty nets
pulled again and again from the sea of illusion.
 
My nets are bursting now, my vessel in danger of sinking
under the weight of Your bounty.
 
Jesus must have smiled when I turned down Your street –
He’d sent me that way years ago looking for You.
 
O child of God, the Avatar is the fisher of men.
It’s His hook causing that pain in your chest.

(drawing by Rich Panico)

My heart's beating

My heart’s beatings                                                                          
 
I swallowed Your wine,
causing me to dance in the streets;
 
letting my heart slip out a bit
from under the heel of my brain.
 
Years later, Your wine sings yet – in my blood –
not with the rough immediacy of tavern songs
 
but with the hymns and psalmodies of praise,
an influence to my every movement,
 
a blood-part of me, the strength of me,
the heaven’s sake of my heart’s beatings.
 
When this cup is crushed, when my blood is dust,
(judging the Infinite from the particular), I pray
 
Your wine will sing through me still,
filling my veins and throat, core and skull
 
with Your ethereal light and song
on my wondrous way to becoming You.
 
O child of God, wine loosens your tongue and sends you
rambling beyond the bounds of propriety.

Fish out of water

Fish out of water                                                                              
 
That which is beyond imagination and conception –
call It the Ocean of Love to get a handle on It.
 
I am drawn to the Ocean –
where there’s no friction;
 
no property, no boundaries or partitions.
I’m weary of the animal coming out,
 
in myself and others, barking,
snarling through bared teeth.
 
I’m ready for the flood
to leave us paddling about
 
until we exhaust ourselves
and sink to the bottom.
 
You, of course, were a Fish out of water, a Pisces,
showing us how to be Piscean –
 
moving through this here-and-now
Ocean of Love gracefully strong,
 
lithe, colorful,
eyes unblinking to the Truth,
 
going about Your business –
the silent expression of Who You are.
 
O child of God, the Beloved, closer than your breath,
invites you to drown in His Ocean of Love.