As You Are
Welcome the willful
The lustful
The angry controlling voices within
Each will tell its secrets
When you are ready to hear
Some like a deer in a dark forest
Will watch you for hours
Or days
Waiting for you to prove
That you can be still
Others talk incessantly
Critiquing everything they see
But this is a test
To see if you can love
The beauty hidden in fear
The moralist says
"Do no harm"
But has no imagination
Can not see all that is lost
In the hunkering down
The safe negation
But at the big house party in your head
Full of blowhards and wallflowers
You will find everything
Everyone you need
As you are with yourself
So you will be with others
No Map
Stillness beside a slow river
Following the swallow's dance with my eyes
Listening to an osprey harassed by gulls
Sun on my neck singing a lullaby
I wait between
Dreams and striving
Willing to cooperate with my own birth
Willing only to work
At what must come to pass
Flow and flight
Ribbons of light
The Way is filtered
By clouds of knowing
Like sparrows coupling
In mid air falling
Together know
When to part
There is no clock or map
Apparitions
The kindly elders
That led me by the hand
Into the gated community
Of shuttered imagination
Became people haunted
By the things for which
They had no questions
Answers are thin things
Hollow and brittle
But they provide cover
For the ghosts that whisper in the night
And hidden canyons
For the banshees
That scream questions
From the agony of loss
The absence that haunted our forefathers
Casts a shadow across our land
It whispers and cries out
In every land-fill
And castoff community
Now as before
The first question is
Do you have eyes to see
And ears to hear?
Hand-Me-Down Glasses
What I'm always trying to say
Is the other thing
The "oh, yeah!" thing
That opens doors and
Complicates assurances
Not to prove wrong
But to wake up
From the shrinking tunnel
Vision of surety
I apologize for being a bother
For harshing your buzz
I know stuff needs to get done
But look back
Look and see what has become
Of us
And the gifts we've received
That first thought
Is not the first thing
It has a history
And an anchor
We can't see what we're looking for
With these hand me down glasses
More Silence than Noise
The Poetry is hidden
In the convalescence
Not the diagnosis
On the dark screen
Not the newsfeed
Consent to conflict
To nausea as process
These are the containers
The unwrapped pictures
The shadow contains the question
The question that leads
To the next question
The mystery that illuminates
Like the Dark Matter
That fills the Cosmos
There's more silence
Than noise
The Blank Page
Cleared of the clutter of hand-me-down desires
The blank page appears
Full of emptiness, boredom, and hunger
Some call it spaciousness
But only after the gnawing abates
There's nothing to be done about the boredom and hunger
Only wait
The waiting is faith and hope
Faith that there's more
More out there
More in here
Hope for something new
Surprising and unpredictable
The predictable is always available
Dependable
Saccharine
The blank page is dependable, too
Ruthless and cruel
It mocks and taunts
Woos and seduces
Like a projector screen
It receives, mirrors, and reveals
But it also opens like a door
A locked door
Keyed with patience and attention
There are no guarantees
You will find what you find
Maybe the detritus of an un-lived life
Or a few clues
Weighed down with dubious promises
Nevertheless
The blank page opens up tomorrow
The only other option
Is more yesterday's
Or the day before
Apocalypse
The desire to know
What cannot be known
See what cannot be seen
Hold what cannot be held
What needs do these desires replace?
When does the truth of vulnerability become intolerable?
The purveyors of certainty profit
From the imaginary amour they sell
God is more patient than I
Surprise!
I want to burn the fig leaves we use
To conceal our shared nakedness
In my fantasy
The shock of embarrassment
Is followed by hysterical laughter
Resounding across the globe
Healing all of creation
I long for the child to come
Who sees what we see
But says what we can not say
The Emperor has no clothes
זה טוב מאוד
Could it be
That the truth is found
In the golden hour
When the light is low
The shadows are long
And the day is remembered
Re-membered
The disjointed parts recounted
The dark moments reflected
With an eye for the story
That puts everything in its place
The tov me’od
The very good of creation
The space between
When shadow and light
In perfect relationship
Shine with beauty
When I Discovered
When I discovered
That the good questions
Lead to better questions
And a feeling of wonder
I became an awestruckdumbpilgrim
Drawn rather than driven
By the clues strewn along the way
While walking on the way
I found a church building
And heard music
Float through the open door
When I entered
I was asked for an offering
I gave my questions
My very best gift
They smiled and I felt at home
Until they stopped smiling
Eventually I realized that my offerings
Were more wrench than oil
To the machine behind the curtain
I slipped out the side door
Back onto the pilgrim way
Where I was surprised to find
I was not alone
Pilgrims had been pouring out
The side door for years
Some of them are driven
Rather than drawn
Their questions more snare than lure
And we the merry band of pilgrims
We've learned to seek refreshment
When they reappear along the way
"Live the questions now" we say
And proceed with the hope
"Perhaps you will then gradually
Without noticing it
Live along some distant day
Into the answer"
Saved
Look... love saves
Nothing else
When you love
You're saved from fear
From greed
From desire to control
Or do harm
Love creates:
What God loves exists
For as long as God
Who is love
Exists
What you've loved
Will always be
Divine image bearer
You want to be saved
From the hell of hate
And indifference
Now and forever
Love
Yes, there's a catch
To love is to suffer with
To bear burdens
To endure mistreatment
To return good for evil
But there's also a secret
Love is it's own reward
Wait and see
That which is born of love
Is worth the agony of birth
Without Weight
I am aging fast
Fatigue my constant companion
The wisdom of slow
Of rest
Of watch and wait
Once whispered
Is speaking plainly
But regenerative rest is a skill
Not taught in school
Church or
The market place
It is not found on screens
Or thoughts&prayers
One either/or I still believe
Is that everything is gravity
Or Grace
One can not overcome gravity
It can be fought
But it always wins
We can't beat gravity
But we can receive Grace
Only Grace can liberate
The good soldier
Who takes orders
In his sleep
Only Grace can awaken
The imago dei
The co-creator
Weary, I fall
Gravity wins again
Weary, I wait
And the wisdom of slow
Rises and
Resurrects
That which had been buried
A presence without weight
The Light Reveals but is not Seen
The light around the corner
Like the water that weeps from rock
Leaves stains on memory
And calls forth the future
From glory mirrored in matter
Of that which shines beyond time
We are lured
Forward by the music
Of fragrant breezes
Blowing the cottonwoodwinds
The hope in possibilities
Is greater than the fear
By which we think we know
The light around the corner
Reveals but is not seen
With Each Breath
The body dies and resurrects
Every seven years
After mites eat the cellular dust
What remains?
Only longing
Unquenchable constant
Like lungs grasping for air
Saturated then poisoned
We must exhale and begin again
The desire to take the breath
That ends all breaths
Is a suicidal desire
Neverendingness is life and lure
Those who warn
Against longing
And offer law in its stead
Settle for stale air
Having forgotten that Life itself
Can be trusted
And draws us indirectly
But definitely forward
With each fresh breath
For Children They'd Never Know
The rocky shoreline is a vanguard
Pierced by cold winds
Piercing the hulls of boats
But for the lighthouse
Built by men and women
For generations
Of children they'd never know
Hearty grasses and red-green ice plant
Cling to protected nooks
In thin soil blown there
By blind winds
Serving a story they'll never hear
The sun sings goodnight songs
In ever changing colors
As the wind grows still
The evening glass a mirror
For the darkening sky
To see the dance of light
Never to be repeated
The tower stands tall
Untroubled by endless days
Patiently awaiting the night
When it will be called upon
To welcome the blind and lost strangers
Who know nothing of the men and women
Who built the tower just for them
The Owl and the Plane
Hollow boned
Five feathered
Triple lidded eyes
Light and flexible with a
Broad field of view
One might say
Eyes to see and ears to hear
A dual stomach composter
Dividing bone from marrow
Wasting nothing
Missing nothing
Seamlessly fulfilling it's roll
Constructed of steel and plastic
Mined from distant lands
Fueled by toxins
Siphoned from a living community
Held aloft by waste
Noise and arrogance
Enamored by it's own brilliance
Blinded by addiction
Wisdom is unhurried
Appreciates the whole
And the long story
Is beauty all the way down
All the way up
And to the very end
The Conversation
"Do you believe?"
Sometimes
Ask my neighbors
They would know better
But I hope
And take the next step
"You can know what's true!"
I don't trust my knowing
Or any one interpretation
But I have faith in Love and Light
And so I watch and wait
"What if you're wrong?"
I'm sure I'm wrong
Just not which part
But I'm willing to see
And to turn
"Don't you want to be sure?"
I was sure
But then I looked around
And saw certainties
At the root of divisions
I'm sure that I'm in over my head
And that love is its own reward
"How do you live that way?"
You mean the way of not knowing?
It's not easy
But I live the only way I can
By faith, hope, and love
Holy Humus
Re-imagine your shadow
As seed
Which needs to be buried
To germinate in the warm wet darkness
To swell and burst
It's not ready for direct sunlight
Under which it would shriveling in shame
Let the cellular respiration begin
In the rich oxygenated soil
Of your soul
Where the humus and the holy meet
Only there will it find it's true form
And strength
Only there in the dark silence
Will it feel the upward draw
Of soil warmed by the sun spring
The loving lure
Which will feed it's final need
To reach and bloom
Divine Lure
Some longings can not be satisfied
Not even by God
Who is infinite
Satisfaction if finite
Can I learn to love this longing
To make of the pathos a prayer
To see as thief the offer of relief
What choice do I have
But to apprentice myself to Love
To let longing guide me home
The salesman
Religious or not
Sells products to slake my thirst
I've drunk my fill many times over
And still the thirst remains
I declare you friend
Dearest heartache
Never consoled
I trust no one else but you
Divine lure
To guide me home
As it Shapes You
Everything that falls away
Eventually blows away
The winds of (mis)fortune
That erode your sense of self
Cleanse your self of illusion
The pebbles and dust at your feet
Are partial histories
Blended, sifted, and forgotten
There is no recall of what you were
Or foreknowledge of what you'll become
Precarity and balance
Gravity and loss
These are the forces of Presence
Maybe you're safe here
Under this rock
Maybe you're not
There's only one thing you can know
And only you can know it
The wind has been whispering
This secret to you
As it has shaped you
Apocalypse Happened
We don't need scapegoats anymore
We've been forgiven
We can own our deadly desires
Better stories have been told
The enemy within
Has met the enemy without
Excuses are now moot
We've been forgiven
The apocalypse happened
Our sins unveiled
Projected onto screens
The faces of our neighbor
Our motives visible
In the actions of our enemy
The Mad Farmer Showed Me
The certainty seekers sought conclusions
And called it knowledge
I called myself a hobo spider
Pointed to my funnel web
And called it steel
The smiling bullies chanted
We are the law
And the law is good
I climbed to the top of the law
And dove like a swan
Into the cesspool
Seeping from its foundation
Some call me a contrarian
I confess
The falcon showed me I was wrong
The thermals are not the wind itself
But a mere change in position
The Mad Farmer showed me
His profit and loss statement
The red turned to black
And the black to red
And the compost brought sweet berries
Give Me Wonder
Every mystery inspires awe
A flash of light
Illumining beauty
Hidden in darkness
An irresistible lure
Drawing me past the terror of unknowing
Into the process of becoming
I crave awe
And the courage it brings
I sit down to feast on wonder
But I'm at the wrong table
The menu is full of assumptions
The house special
Ground certainties on air dried rationality
Served with a side of freeze dried confidence
I eschew confidence
It's cloyingly sweet
Assumptions relieve tensions
I'm better off holding
Knowledge is good
But awe is better
Give me wonder
Or give me death
I in Wonder Look On
I welcome this life event
Wide awake at three am
Half conscious
Thoughts from I know not where
Like alien strobe lights
Insisting
Insinuating import
I can be hospitable to disruptions
Because you are ever present
And relentlessly creative
Like all good healers
A non anxious presence
Calmly confident
Attentive to my fears
I attend without understanding
Ready to cooperate
But mainly resting patiently
Trusting
As you weave together
My disordered imagination
While I in wonder look on
Good Shoes
Facts may be true not false
Prooftexts may prove
But they over promise
More used car salesman than wise guide
More comfort than light
And once you hold them
They turn from beacon to weapon
Parables that knock you off your feet
Sacred images that lure and repel
Metaphors that reveal and conceal
These are your friends
They won't lead you astray
Because they don't assume to lead
They merely illumine
The stuff we don't know
Can't know and
Don't need to know
This is a fathomless place
Prepared for us to explore
We need a flash light
And good shoes
Trustworthy traveling companions
Not an antiquated map
Of ancient dreams
Projected through modern lenses
Risk Management
I believe in risky investments
They are very clarifying, inspiring
And can reap great rewards
But when power gives you the tools to hedge your bets
To shift the risk onto others
You lose the best part
And become a parasite
A tick fat with the blood of others
Not Scalable
Compassion thrives in the particular
In presence with a person
It can not be scaled up
Charity springs
From co-suffering
It is inefficient
It can not be mechanized
Generosity is response
Ability to share from abundance
Not a tax deduction
The Way is not scalable
It is walked
Shoulder to shoulder
One step at a time
In the Shadow
In the shadow of Angel's Landing
I draw a circle and wait
Small and fleshy
As vulnerable as dew in the morning sun
One by one explanations and answers
Rise and fall like days
I close my eyes and wince
And wait for them to pass
They rattle through my body
Until I slip my feet into the water
And watch them float away
Down the Virgin river
I return to my circle to listen
The breeze plays in the cottonwoods
And soars with a condor
Up the great red walls of Mukuntuweap
The straight up land
Here I can open my eyes
An awestruckdumbpilgrim
When I mingle with the hungry ghosts
That wander the earth eating all they see
My eyes offend me
Comparing and judging
Sickening my soul
I want to cut them out
Here there is wholeness
Holiness everywhere I look
It feels good to desire without consummation
To want the land to be
Forever as it has always been
Made in America
Yes, there are symbols
Branded on my forehead
Passions and rivalries injected into my blood stream
Jingles dancing in my ears
But your ideas masquerading as sunlight
Can't warm my skin
Much less illuminate my heart
Exchanging your branding for mine won't save me
From the lies I believe about myself
Or the false witness I bear
But if your eyes can see me
Behind the branding
And mirror the place
Where the human and holy mingle
Then, perhaps
You can listen me into being
And I you
Together we can be saved
From the Madmen
Making us in their own image
Wonder vs. Certainty
You seek certainty
I seek wonder
You ask, "why can't I have both?"
I don't know, maybe you can
I still seek wonder
Oh, I see now
You need me to seek certainty
Don't Tell
Radical ideas terrify people
Inspiring them to buy guns
And vote for authoritarians
Yes, Jesus has radical ideas
Don't tell people about Jesus
Drawn not Driven
Love is generative
It creates more love
This is its nature
Eternal, undying
Love is union
Perfect relationship
It is invitation
Never demand
It draws, sings, in-spires
Nothing is driven to love
Other Eyes
The streets are filled with eyes
Empty, hollow, pain filled eyes
I dig in my pockets
But find no answers
I return my gaze
See a spark of life
Buried in the fear and pain
A sad smile rises
From my aching heart
The spark flashes
Then dims
Then returns my gaze
Incomprehension
Followed by hope
Then recognition
All in a flash
And there at the corner
A slight smile
The light in her eyes
But, for now, it's still too much
The hydraulic bus door
The stink of diesel fumes
The awareness of other
First things First
Fear is more trustworthy than God
Unlike the Abba of Jesus
Fear will help you avoid the cross
You can count on Fear
To keep you alert
Prepared for the worst case scenario
Have faith
You can be certain
Life can be
Small, safe, and predictable
What can you expect from God?
Nothing, that's what
Unless you like meekness
Tell me, "How will the meek inherit the earth?"
You don't know, do you?
Because it's impossible
You know I'm right
I've seen your hidden thoughts
You already trust in Fear
Everyone knows it
There's no force more dependable
No strength stronger
Than strength in numbers
Iridescent
There is no True Self
Because there is no self
That subject that we experience
That dying and rising mystery
The blindness that sees
Is too small and too large
Grounded and gossamer
Shadow and light
To find one's self
To give one's self a name
This is the work of children
Before they return to the womb
It's the ambition of despair
The pearl of great price is hidden
Where it can not be found
But it's iridescence shines for all to see
A beacon, a lure
That draws and creates
Making all things new
Endlessly
Three Theologians
Three theologians walk into a bar.
One a lawyer, the second a poet, and the last an holy fool.
The lawyer, nose deep in the sacred texts, eyes the other two from across the room and comes to the logical conclusion that they are predestined for eternal conscious torment because of their unproductive life styles and apparent disdain for conventional society.
The Poet smirks, concealing tears, knocks back another shot, works long hours to squeeze out a metered couplet that reveals a different reality that the lawyer first denies then ignores.
The Poet crumples the paper upon which he's been scrawling and tosses it out the window.
The fool jumps out the window.
"God is the poet of the world, with tender patience leading it, vision of truth, beauty, and goodness.”
--A.N. Whitehead
Are you in love
Or in control?
Or is Love in us
Inviting, drawing, desiring?
Is love to be measured by power
Or is power to be measured by love?
How can the power of love
Displace the love of power?
God-in-love willing
In the original sense:
Wanting, desiring, urging
What can dissolve
The absolutes of certainty
And replenish a fluent hope?
Love is charged
With the beauty of our co-creative becoming
Its hope becomes us
Water
Imagine the Land
The Land before man
Killed God's civil engineers
Turning them into hats
For women in cities
Cities that turned water into sewage
Imagine that time
When damns fed the Aquaphor
And water meandered
And people meandered
Because God was still alive
In the Land
Then man came into his own
He discovered his power
The vulnerability of the Land
He realized that he could kill God
And live like a king
But the water did not die
It will resurrect the Land
Women have responded to the water
Thrown off their beaver hats
And invited men to do the same
To repent of their crowns
To join the water
And the women
To heal the Land
Become Human
Diminish
The power of money
That chain round the heart
Mental monopolist
Domesticator of the imagination
Shamer of love
Cleanse the heartless craving
The isolating need
Open your eyes
To become human
Is enough
Vulnerable to ache and loss
Bright with curiosity
Empathetically connected
I say it again
Because it has been forgotten
To become human is enough
Reactionary Thank-you's
Clutching certainty drove me into the open ocean
Bracing magnificent air
Opened up my lungs
Grateful for the simplicity of breath
The murmuring of communal fear
Echoed from the dark corners of my closet
"You don't know me"
And I sought a new teacher
I looked down my nose at
The willful ignorance of power
And saw myself defecating the blood of torture
The presumptuous confidence of disputers
And provocateurs
Banging on incessantly
Drove me into silence
And the musical evocations of poetry
Resonated like never before
Call me reactionary
And I'll own it
But I'm finding it hard to apologize
The Eyes of God
I can't see myself
Mirrors don't help
They don't see-in
Only God sees me
The eyes of God are mirrors
Love and light unfiltered
I long to look into those eyes
And see for the first time
I say to myself
A glimpse will do
But I know a lie when I speak it
Feel the soft gauze blurring my vision
So I look
Into the eyes of my enemy
For what he can see
The glimpse for which I am ready
Knowing without Knowing
I've been conditioned since birth
To eat dead animals
And believe
Supply & demand will save the world
The world that floats my boat
The rising tide that lifts all boats
Suffocating job seekers
Stinging ammonia eyes
The urgency of money
Clean air and water
Cost on a ledger
I fail to see
What I've been taught not to see
Chickens with their beaks cut off
Crammed together in filthy cages
Market efficiencies
Cheap food
Food that I eat unconsciously
People that I don't see
Costs on a ledger
Knowing without knowing
I know what the taxidermist knows
No more
Life abstracted
Justification of death
Death of the unseen
And the unknown
When I heard the prophet say
Only beauty will save the world
I knew like a lover knows
And I was no longer alone
But I was haunted
By what I could not unsee
The Christ Life
You can't kill the Christ life
Okay, you can kill it
Buy you can't keep it dead
This is the source of all hope
You don't believe in the Abundance
That's why you're afraid
That's why you hoard
And blame others for their lack
You believe in this thing
You call it the real world
The world of makers and takers
Criminals and innocents
Well, I don't see it
How can it be real
I see a life fecund
Cascading generosity
Yes, we've paved over fruitful soil
Chosen war from fear of lack
Lack that we've created
But the things we make
Even death
Will not survive
They were buried with the Christ
The way, the truth, and the life
Life will not stay dead
Death it seems
Is just a part of Life
Beauty Beyond Preference
To pray is to look
With sustained and reverent attention
To attempt to picture the vision
Once it becomes visible
Like a chameleon
In plain view concealed
To notice what it evokes
Calls forth from within
To start with "people, places, and things"
And through loving attention
Come to know and see
Divine essence
Radiating from each particular thing
To listen for the music
In water, wind, and movement
To find one's self worshiping
The gift and the giver
Because they are one
Beauty beyond preference
And finally to try
With sacrificial effort
Found only in gratitude and wonder
To make a poem/prayer
In honor of the unending particularity
The gifts that make a life
Deadly Cliches
I'm forced to write poems
While they quote cliches
And smile
Mouths gleaming with certainties
Suckled since birth
Is it an injustice
This forced-labor of love
This lonely calling
Not quite
My slavery is chosen
The longing itself is better
The ache more clarifying
Than stuffing myself on
Misleading half truths
Repetitious lullabies
Sung in familiar tones
For the incurious and content
Re-Membered
You can refuse the mantle
Of must do and must not
And re-member
The One thing
Like that time you ran
Into the street
Chasing the laughing child
Not looking left or right
Not thinking at all
The One thing
Is ever present
A hidden treasure
Discovered by the wholehearted
Which is you re-membered
Apocalypse Happened
We don't need scapegoats anymore
We've been forgiven
We can own our deadly desires
Better stories have been told
The enemy within
Has met the enemy without
Excuses are now moot
We've been forgiven
The apocalypse happened
Our sins unveiled
Projected onto screens
The faces of our neighbor
Our motives visible
In the actions of our enemy
Antithesis (the movie)
"I'm not doing that!"
I refuse to take a position
I refuse to hang a label on a person, like a cloak
I refuse to do anything that conceals the incomprehensible
Naming is self protection
An excuse to keep a safe distance
Love is meeting
Love is changed by whatever it touches
Love knows nothing
Only desire for flourishing
For fruit
I'd rather hang on the tree of forsakeness
Than wield the sword of certainty
What are Words For
The straw-man that you're talking to
On which you paint my face
That's not me
Neither am I certain
Do you want to win this fight
Or just have it?
Then have it
I'll watch and wait
When words are walls
And battering rams
And kind words wound
Silence is still an option
The Light in His Eyes
The god you claim to fear
Is a cartoon
A twofaced clown
Your awe feigned
Like a WWF fan
Naming yourself Truebeliever
Only exposes the lose threads
In the costume you've outgrown
The one fitted by the priest
In confirmation/bias class
If you really feared God
I might believe you
But you've betrayed what you fear
And it's not God
Unless "God comes to us
Disguised as our lives"
Concealed in the stranger
Without and within
Because I too fear this
Not the masked Punisher
Unknowable, ruthless and cruel
But the Light
That exposes the lies I tell
To protect myself
From the foreigner in need
And the light in his eyes
I fear the light in his eyes
And what they will call forth
Maybe you do to
Resurrection
Bless you
Executioner
Of my defended self
My liberator
I volunteer to die daily
By your hands
Your filthy hands
Covering my mouth
Suffocating me again
Saving me from becoming
The Accuser
Who better to silence me
Poltice of pain
The first wound
Surfaced before festering
The grit and sweat on your hands
Mingle with the poison of my last breath
The sour smell a reminder
Of new life to come
The Wire
In spite of how it may feel
The safest place
Is the tight rope
Where instantaneous feedback
Keeps you on the narrow way
Religion was born of awe
A sudden awareness
Of the overwhelming
Sacredness of each step
From which follows desire
To be awake
Able to respond
Moment by moment
To the ever changing reality
Life
Religion died
When it answered every question
Defined the way
Removed the necessary terror
Of being awake
Painfully alive
Discerning on the wire
John Muir Walked
Making miles over rough terrain
One must place each step with care
And John made miles
But he seemed to see
Every bird and tree
And take time to converse with all
Listening to the wisdom
Of water falling over stone
His journals suggest
An experience so thick
Sensuous
And worshipful
That I picture him crawling
Then rolling on his back
To apologize to and wonder at the Dragon fly
He just disturbed
There's a phrase well known
By those familiar with extremes
Slow its smooth
And smooth is fast
Maybe he didn't walk like I walk
Maybe he tickled the ground
With each step
His toes a sixth sense
The the rest of his senses
Upright and attentive
A conduit of wonder
Hidden
Why does the devil always demand
That the people denounce God
With words
Or symbolic action
Step on this cross
Or others will suffer
Denounce St. James
Thirsty pilgrim
And I'll give you water
That's easy
That's a diversion
Who is this "devil"
Demanding fealty to relics
Leading people to believe
That thirst is illicit
That people are less valuable
Than objects labeled sacred
The Devil is hidden
In vestments
The Christ is hidden
In the outcast
We Must Go Through
You must go through this
Your illusions must be exposed
Your bubble popped
So you can breath
Fresh air
You don't want to
I understand
I don't want to watch you
I'm sick of watching you
Embarrass yourself
Defending the indefensible
Conflating BLM with White Nationalists
Calling the humility of the scientific method arrogance
It's hard for me too
But you must go through this
I'm willing to suffer it with you
The Real World
I glimpsed a different story
But that was Sunday school
In the real world
There isn't enough
For me and mine
If I don't compete
I'll be eaten
Stories don't feed my children
Or protect my nation
Walls
Military might
And weed killers
A dependable source of energy
To power my home security
In these things I trust
You talk of neighbor love
That's nice for Sunday school
But in the real world
It's just a pretty piety
A foolish children's story
Don't bother me
I've got work to do
Clue
When I was ten
I took the tiny knife
From the Conservatory
Stabbing it into the
Sliding screen door
Slow and straight
I cut a one inch gash
It was a delicious sensation
The illicit pleasure of destruction
The babysitter quickly
Pulled my hand away
The scar was never repaired
And became a daily reminder
I was not ashamed
But I was aware
Second Naivete
I don't label
Or come to conclusions
There's too much going on
Too much I can not see
Or yet imagine
Curiosity and humility
My most trusted guides
They don't lead me
To premature conclusions
About anyone or anything
You could call me a child
But it's not my first rodeo
Unpolluted by Certainty
I am the Dunce
Exiled to the corner
Ignored because of my ignorance
What I don't know
Could fill a library
The grandest canyon
The depths of every sea
My bewilderment is vast
Fecund as a rain forest
Beautiful as the night sky
Unpolluted by artificial light
In Your Hand
Aspire for the good
You cannot yet live
Let others see you fail
Or risk blindness
The eyes of those who see
As necessary as your own
The good and beautiful
Lay just out of reach
But never out of sight
The good and beautiful
Are the lure
The pearl of great price
The only thing worthy of trust
They will not be held
Don't even hope
That thing in your hand
That's not it
Poetic Theorem
We remember that which makes an impression
Those memories form reality
Reality is created
By the chinks in our armor
The poorer the armor
The more reality
Defenses are protection
The source of inauthentic life
This theorem proves the Beatitudes
The defended
The strong
The wealthy and powerful
Are inauthentic
The undefended are real
And because of this they are blessed
They have the most reality to offer
There is an undefended self
In every person
The crucified Imago Dei
Trust Poetry
I love ideas
But I trust poetry
Ideas abstract
Detach
Summarize
Labels emerge
Efficiently
Poems cement
Ground
Picture
Evoke
Inefficiently
Whatever is lost
Is mourned
In a poem
Resurrected
Whatever is found
Is celebrated
In ideas
All but the new forgotten
Ideas birth ideology
Poems bear Presence
Loser
The word I hear Whispered most frequently
As I walk The Way with Jesus
Is "lose"
Lose the argument
Lose your expectations
Lose your desire to be
Seen and respected
Lose your need to know
Be a loser
You no longer need
Power
Privilege
Esteem
You are free
You can lose everything
In the Mud
First love
The ground on which
You walk
That living dust
That dies
So that you may dance
Then
Welcome the impossible task
Loving that which would walk
On you
Oblivious
How many times must we be told
Dying is living
Losing is winning
The task is gift
A game to play
A toy to mold
In the mud like children
Living and Writing
Living and writing
Demand the same
Reject the cliche
The easy
The lie
Attentive, vulnerable
Waiting
Ready to spring into action
Ready to spring a verse
That line
That act
Might do
But something in me
Knows
There's a more beautiful note
Aaah, the exquisite pain of waiting
Will it be worth it
The Perpetually Perishing Moment
The way of Jesus
Death and resurrection
It's like Wack A Mole
Victory through dying
Resurfacing in another place
If killing is all you've got
You're gonna lose
Best way to delay
Your inevitable defeat
Is to share power
The illusion of life everlasting
But power provokes resistance
Grows weary of the fight
Withers and dies
Feeding the boundless life
Found in the grave
Money is a Game
Money is a game
Musical chairs
Creating scarcity
And competition
It's driven by a story
The story of separation
A productive story
That drove us
To produce so much crap
That we turned this beautiful world
From a wonder
Into a landfill
There's no more room
To convert life
And the world
Into money
One day the landfill
Will be full of money
Jesus Tried
Jesus tried to interrupt my day
But I didn't let him
Said I didn't have cash
He pulled up his pant leg
Showed me filthy bandages
Covering a seeping wound
I had medical tape in my car...
Wu-Wei
We are lost in a hellscape
Carrying a map that leads in circles
With no way out
To exit
We'll have to drop the map
And look around
Composting Answers
I'm exhausted by the effort
Of maintaining an ugly story
An asphalt drive
Covering a field of green
I want to let the wild
Flowers break through
In time they will turn this freeway
Into nourishing questions
You talk as if you take credit
For the sun and rain
As if gifts are an illusion
As if we do not breath
The same air
Fear is baked
Into the cake
Of the ugly story
Only the fool trusts
Risks
Hopes
I will fast and breath
We live by many stories
One of which is
We don't live in a story
There is no beginning
No middle
No end
I will compost all answers
And wait for the cracks
That the flowers form
In the ugly story
Poetry vs Propaganda
Poetry is language humbling itself
Squeezing mud between its fingers
Dunking it's head in an icy stream
Language is meant to serve
To point
To evoke wonder
Propaganda is language
Drunk with power
Discontented from purpose
Insensible to the pollution
Spewing from its mouth
Restorative Justice
We spit at Jesus
The disappointing face of justice
With his torn and bloody sleeve
He wipes off our spittle
Returning his gaze
Meeting our rage
In his eyes
We see our shame
Born but mirrored
So we finish him
His last words
Forgive them they know not
His death a temporary relief
But he returns
Again with the eyes that see
Piercing our willful blindness
Maybe our punishment
Is crucifying a Jesus
Who keeps coming back
We wear ourselves out
Trying to kill love
Until we fall
Exhausted
Into the arms of God
The Bible or the Gun
Gun lovers
Love prooftexts
The leather bound bible
Feels good in the hand
A well balanced pistol
The verse a finely crafted bullet
The self a heroic sheriff
Maintaining law and order
With his Colt single action
Peacemaker
Everyone kept in her place
By the will of one
A violent man
With a heart of gold
Five generations later
Uppity people of every color
Round every corner
From every which way
How does the hero
Maintain order
The bible or the gun?
Who Will lead
Who will take the lead
Move beyond opinion
Forgo defensive data
Listen for the heart's cry
The divine longing
Who will suffer invisibility
The ache to be known and heard
To make space
For a question to emerge
And then suffer patience
Reject the leading question
And wait again
Embarrassed and silent
For the lightfull question
The wrench in the motor
That drives the auto-pilot
The third eye opens
You become visible
No one is sure of the answer
The celebration begins
I've Seen the Enemy
I've seen the enemy
And it's not us
It's the simple story
The common sense morality tale
That helps us sleep at night
Feeding dreams
But seeding lies
About an enemy other
Who merely believes
A different version
Of the same fantasy
Like the Resurrected Christ
Like the resurrected Christ
We walk through walls
Fear can't contain us
Or lock us out
We're not insensitive
Sometimes we feel naughty
Ashamed of our freedom
We hide from your gaze
But then we remember
We are your friends
Even though you forget
Divine Promises
"Love is light, not consolation."
--Simone Weil
Divine promises
Are like poetry
They offer everything you need
But almost nothing you want
They offer power to see
Not power to wield
Hope for surprise
But no hope of certainty
They evoke images of union
And harsh realities
Rather than wishful fantasy
To Be or To Believe
What can it mean to say
I believe in the hypostatic union
When I don't even believe
That my neighbor is real
I can only aspire to believe
To believe is to BE
The greatest risk of all
To experience my neighbor's
Hunger as my hunger
I'll need some better sermons
Who Told You
That You Were Naked?
I acknowledge no absolute authority
Except the good question
Which alone can save
From easy answers
Whispered by serpents
What Kind of Salvation
Makes One Vulnerable?
So many who claim
God's Incarnated Empathy
As their savior
Are suspicious of Empathy
It breaks down walls
Makes one vulnerable
Softens certainties
Build a Wall
OK I admit it
I've built a wall in my heart
And I've tried to make you pay
I don't know how to tear it down
There is no foreign leader to blame
No opportunity for Reaganesque posing
To get me out of bed