It is more important to be alive than holy,
To be open to others rather than pious,
To be a sinner rather than a prude,
To be aware of oneself before judging others.
The greatest saint and the lowest sinner,
Brothers and sisters journeying together,
Pilgrims on the rocky path of life.
Perhaps in God's eyes not so far apart,
Each has depths unseen where grace does its work,
The chaos of life the binding force for it all.
We are told not to judge the hear
There are many rites of passage that most people go through as they journey down the road of life. Some of these passages are pleasant, others not so much….. then of course there are those that can terrify. I remember my first day of school like it was yesterday, 53 years ago. To say I was scared is an understatement, but I went, mostly because I had no choice, parents have a way of convincing children that they need to move forward.
Also beneath the fear there was also an excitement and th
In the morning the tree stood proud
For all to see.
Old, twisted from years of fighting the elements,
Trunk long and strong with limbs thick and rugged, spreading shade,
Roots deep in the earth, moist and fertile.
Centuries it existed alone,
Marked with wounds from storms,
Fiery strikes from the sky,
It beauty deepened by such.
Until one day it came,
Clouds dark and low,
Churning in dark beauty,
Struck in sh
I suppose that the last 7 years have been extremely interesting and enlightening for me and I have the internet to thank for that. In 1999 I sat down in front of a computer, learned how to connect to the internet and dove right in. Within a couple of days I was downloading, uploading, emailing, and getting drunk over all the information that was available to me by the simple click of an icon, or the typing in of an web address. It was like my brain became global; well I guess it did. For me
Simple, so obvious,
Yet often overlook.....what is really sought,
Often in ways self destructive,
As if we also seek to block that which is desired and longed for.
Sin, or ignorance, labels do not matter,
The fruit is the same.
The treasure hidden,
Is what we are made for
Buried in a field of confusion,
Longings that really build walls,
Until, if ever, what is needed is learned.
Seek to understand and love
In a small little known town,
A college stood unknown by most,
Famous in its own way, by the few needing to know.
Therein taught by a man of art,
Undistinguished by sight,
Yet in all others truly great in what he had to offer.
He had a way,
A path seemingly unique in the way it was trod.
Art became alive for those privileged to hear,
His poetic praises for beauty created,
Each piece lovingly presented,
Making art alive.
People around him blossomed for reasons often unkno
In the souls of those we meet,
Our loved ones,
The good and the evil,
And all the others more plainly garbed with natures gifts,
Bear the wounds of Christ.
Each wears the invisible stigmata,
Deep pain often not felt,
It effects however, are.
Loneliness, colder and darker than an artic night,
Promises not kept,
Passion for union never experienced,
Harm done to others and of course to oneself,
These are the fruits
The doe stood still,
As I slowly walked by that moonlight night,
Her graceful body finely sculptured,
With perfect curves.
The illusion of delicacy created by its simple beauty and symmetry,
A deadly illusion if tested,
For strong of muscle and sharp of hoof,
With razor edges sharpened is she weapon-ed,
Created for either defense or flight,
To a degree perfected beyond man’s simple powers.
A creature wild, apart from our projections of gentle beauty,
Allow thoughts to cease and simply rest,
A task seemingly difficult to achieve,
The mind has a life of its own seeking something to grasp,
Holding back the peaceful void, filled with simply the moment.
The desires, worries, fears and so much more,
Rivet our attention flinging here and there,
Often without true purpose.
Addicted to not looking inward where true peace beckons,
That would allow seeing the many dramas of life for what they truly are,
Passing events, soon to be forg
The soul young in world were all souls are such,
A place were children play,
In ways not often understood by the form that it takes,
Pain enough for everyone and all are invited,
Yet joy also,
Often eclipsed by the childishness often displayed.
None escape the sand box in which the games are played out.
In a world were doubt is pervasive,
Even true believers,
Though often denied,
Or perhaps it goes unnoticed protected by fear,
The cold morning beckoned me from my bed early,
Embraced by the quiet, waiting,
Cloudless sky deep blue, soothing in its beauty infinite.
Stars hidden by the silver light of the winter moon
Casting my shadow behind me,
The silence deep allowing the mind to rest.
Before me the path bathed in beauty,
Cast in silver upon the dark pathway,
Slow steps, frequent stops,
With only the moment real.
When the Christian finally comes to understand
who it is who stands before him or her.
Seeing deeply what faith demands,
The truth we are asked to embrace.
The highest and lowest,
Best and the worst,
Only subjective constructs
With no reality before infinite love,
Only the image and likeness seen.
When that time comes
If it ever does,
Will the light spread to others.
The reflective image hated,
Courage and humor
In the mid-seventies I used to deliver bread to some of the stores in Atlanta. One of my favorite stops was at a Big Star store at Ansley Mall. The mall was situated in a predominantly Jewish section of Atlanta with a large population of elderly. I would often wonder about the many oldsters that I would see there, most of them quiet; either shopping or sitting outside waiting for the bus, talking among them selves, enjoying each others company. Others seemed lost in their
I saw her one morning at the airport, waiting for someone to pick her up, lost among the hurrying throng that swirled around her, unnoticed, and soon forgotten if even seen.
Why she attracted my attention I do not know, but she did, and I guess that is enough. She was plain, poorly dressed, and she appeared so tired that if she dropped to the ground and took a nap, it would not have surprised me.
Sadness rolled off of her like cold from ice, fog like, it muted her effect on her surrounding
Slowly the disease gains it deadly ground,
The minds bright light slowly dimming,
Often forgetting where he is at;
The year he inhabits long part of history.
Thinking he is somewhere else.
Calling out for help to find his family,
Now long dead in their graves sleeping.
I want my mom, he says to me sadly,
Please give me a dollar so I can go home.
Over and over we have this discussion,
The same conclusion foreknown by all but him.
The loss of short term memory at times a bles
Will I be washed away?
I wish my heart was open
Allowing tears to flow.
A healing flood I deny myself,
The key hidden I know not where.
One day possibly it will not matter,
For the barrier will crumble perhaps.
I sense cracks forming in the dikes,
Allowing whatever behind to flow in freedom,
If only a little.
What is it like,
Will I be washed away?
In so many ways communicated tears.
The light is eternal often hidden beneath the pain,
Hope lies buried under layers of despair,
Fear fed by courage unused,
Deep in the void is the seed of faith.
Dark the path blinded by the light,
We stumbled while racing towards the finish line
I can remember the exact moment that I finally came to the realization that everything my parents told me was not true. It was not earth shattering, at least as far as trust in my parents went, for I guess I understood on some level why they did not tell me the whole truth at the time. Also I already knew, I was just not allowing it to come to full conciseness, I needed a shock to bring it to full awareness.
I was ten when it happened, just turned ten in fact. Also we had just moved to Pa
The young woman came and sat beside me,
Tired, care worn,
Worry sketched across her face
From the burden she lovingly bore.
The bundle small,
Unknowing of the love surrounding it,
Nor the danger it was in.
The child three days old,
Seeming perfect in its repose,
Content and safe in its mother’s arms.
Grandmother, Mother, and daughter,
A trinity of feminine hope and love,
Poured out knowing the horror that may come.
An endless vo
Opening the gate never passed,
Exposing paths never trod,
Brings fear and doubt.
Seeking truth does that,
Leading gently to greater depth and understanding,
In the end, knowing how little is known or understood.
Humility, the fruit of not clinging, allowing truth to grow.
Seeing others on the journey, fellow travelers well met,
Seekers of truth above all else.
Ideas of God let go of,
Childish projection, allowed dying,
Blinded by the light of the infinite.
The world within is a nation unto itself,
Fractured society it often seems,
Elements of destruction,
Also the desire for growth,
Live side by side often at war,
A ragtag army of malcontents
Seeking to drown those who are wise,
Who calmly whisper their counsel.
Complete satiation from fulfilled desire denied,
Only deeper hunger remains,
Worse still a deadly lethargy feeding off emptiness,
Driving one to seek with deeper desperation,
Something, anything, that can’t be fo
Winter sun in cold air crisp,
Leaves that crunch under every step,
Cool nights with delightful rain,
Winds adding to the beauty of the season.
Stars visible in sky clear of summer mist,
Silent, no sound except the gentle whisper of wind,
Caressing skin in a lovers touch,
Bringing peace as the gift offered.
This moment so much like the one before,
Yet unique as all moments are,
My blindness keeps me from the newness of this instant,
Which leads to a flatness,
Something that leads to despair.
Pregnant is what each moment is.
If I cannot see that,
Then I am asleep,
Missing the invitation to deeper life,
A transforming relationship beyond all time.
On the Moment,
In which all time is contained,
Fear is a task master hard to serve,
Offering protection from what life demands,
Back stepping a way of life,
Slowly draining freedom dry,
Into a corner back into, with only one escape;
Moving forward into life once again, if one dares.
Fear faced, backs down,
With anxiety and anger next to contend with;
A hard road to find peace,
Layer upon layer to discover,
The path to freedom
Not for the faint hearted.
Overly concern of what others think,
When in fact they really d
I was parked in the Kroger parking lot here in Conyers, Ga., waiting for Ed to return from a stop he needed to make. As I sat in my car, making my brain even more dead by listening to talk radio, which seems to be saying, that the world is on the verge of being made into a smoothie, by the blender of the world situation. Just add some ice cream for flavor, and let Bush, or whoever is made the current villain, press the button. Add that to looking out on a very crowded parking lot and well you