So far, Cara love, this path we're on
has proven to be everything and more
than anything two travelers alone
could ever dream. We're seeking what before
was far away: the moon, the stars, the sun,
once distant beacons on another shore
wrap heaven's light around us: every dawn
is new and each night finds us wanting more.
And as I walk with you the sky begins
expanding and the shadows disappear.
We start to hope this journey never ends
and then, believing God has led us here,
we put our hands together and we pray
for perfect fires that never burn away.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Firkin
Been five days since I've looked at you
and taken in your lovely face
or held your hand or felt your skin
or fell into your warm embrace,
Five days its been since way back when
and even then I never knew
how many minutes it would be
'til I could be again with you,
'til I could be with you...
For five long days of in between
I've turned to dreams, I've turned to prayer,
but everywhere I've turned it seems
it's not the same as being there,
and even when we've done our best
with phone calls and text messages
it's you, yourself, your soul I miss,
I want to be right next to you,
I want to be with you...
07/25/16
and taken in your lovely face
or held your hand or felt your skin
or fell into your warm embrace,
Five days its been since way back when
and even then I never knew
how many minutes it would be
'til I could be again with you,
'til I could be with you...
For five long days of in between
I've turned to dreams, I've turned to prayer,
but everywhere I've turned it seems
it's not the same as being there,
and even when we've done our best
with phone calls and text messages
it's you, yourself, your soul I miss,
I want to be right next to you,
I want to be with you...
07/25/16
Monday, September 1, 2014
Preface
1
Memoir, if it's not too late
for a backward documentary, a journal reconstructed on whims and maybes making up for years of forgetting to take notes: whims for what and how much I choose to remember, maybes for all that cannot be said with certainty, which is nothing (whims) and everything (maybes).
Certainly there is purpose in whims and maybes. But it's not for me to say.
There will be, anyway,
an attempt at order and veracity, as there is, after all, a desire to be read and remembered. Chapter one: I was born. And in the end, I will simply stop writing. Which is what we all progress towards. Inkless we are born, and inkless we shall be in our final moment, but what stories there are to be tols, what whims and maybes to be written inbetween!
So let me begin.
2
The big chapters are daunting: love, faith, health, pride, humility,
so let me start with tamer subjects: diversions, distractions, digressions. You can skip this section if you want, but this is what defines me:
old fashioned poetry,
watching birds in their natural state,
listening to human music;
joys of discovery,
paddling down a slow river,
taking time for an arthouse movie;
aerobic meditation,
finding rhythm in routine,
sometimes changing the pace.
Noticing the rul of threes.
The big chapters, love and God and healing, the ups and the downs,
will be more important I suppose, or as important as story for posterity should be. But this is me, and this is my proper introduction. Chapter Two, then: I am alive. Maybe, whimsically, this will be the whole story.
3
And it is your story, too:
you, to whom I have turned, are in these pages, every one of you.
Sister Anne, who prompted me this summer with a passing what if. Brother Dan, who has inspired and reinspired the ink to flow. Brother Josh, who shows beyond scribbles what it means to live.
Son Andrew and daughter Kirsten, my flesh and blood, my dreams and hopes, wonderfully determined to be more than a reflection.
Mother Marilyn, and father Joe too, whose own faces I sometimes see in the mirror, and there you are in my smile too.
And more of you: friends, associates, neighbors, fellow congregants. Ghosts from the past, strangers I have yet to know, and many more whose names I'll never learn: thank you all the same, for being the faces I see in front of me and within me, the very mirrors to my soul.
4
As I write this I am sitting on the edge of a river.
I have found myself here many times, perched pretentiously where the Fisher King wept, where Sidharta attained peace, where many before me have waited and drawn pictures in the sand. There is a river in every big city, it seems, and streams across every page of history, throughout the world and even into the realms of mythology and legend.
I like a big river, an important river that connects with all others, a river with a famous name and a powerful flow. Give me Mark Twain's river, but let me find it as Huck did, a few miles out of town; let me sit along its rich banks with nothing but time, away from instructions and factories, unconcerned with obligations and inheritances. Let this be my Stillwater, full of life and purpose, with destiny beneath its gentle surface,
and tomorrow I may weep and seek and wait along these banks, but for today,
let me know this river's simple serenity.
5
Serenity: now there's a prayer!
A wish and a word: I might as well fly to the top of the world or trudge across vast deserts. I could just as easily become one with this big river.
"Calm down," says the ferryman. Yeah, sure, easier said than down.
If peace were as easy as pausing I would stop everything and let this water flow.
To know serenity, santi, salaam, shalom, I should not trouble you, or myself, with these opening chapters or the easier pages of this story, Let me skip right to the faith adn love and healing; let me sit down, close my eyes and surrender.
A wish and a word, to accept the things around me, just as they are, to not be afraid of the world I'm in, to find my perch a few miles out of town. A prayer, even before I confess my faith, before I know what to believe.
Here, at the beginning of my story: serenity.
6
The serenity prayer continues, seeking courage and wisdom,
but these too I'll save for the later chapters: perhaps I'll be bolder and smarter with experience and age, somewhere down the river a ways, past 50, 60, 70...
for now, though, it is enough to accept the things I cannot change, to let my fears be taken by the quiet current ---to simply be!
Existing, persisting, maintaining, remaining:
keeping my place in time, or the space, in any case, that I've been given for the moment. Here I stand.
And if, for the moment, I let intellect distract me, to exist somewhere between Kierkegaard and Nietsche, surely I would falter; likewise, if I let my blood boil within me, like a fanatic or a patriot, I might lose my place, this moment in which I find myself.
It is not too deep to pray this prayer though, a singular pray in need of being prayed:
Grant me, God, serenity.
7
So now I have the groundwork, the riverbank work, for the first several chapters of my story:
I was born, I am alive.
I have an audience who shares my moment and a studio that gives me peace.
And I have an opening prayer to accept what I've been given.
After this may come those chapters on love and faith and health and pride and humility ---maybe,
if I am drawn to write that far and if there is still ink in my pen.
And if, of course, I am whimsically stirred to remember those big daunting subjects when the time comes and the blank pages are before me. Or maybe, on that whim, I will simply set the pen down then and there, and let the opening chapters speak for themselves, being the heart and soul of what I remember.
Let it be, one way or the other.
But let me begin.
Memoir, if it's not too late
for a backward documentary, a journal reconstructed on whims and maybes making up for years of forgetting to take notes: whims for what and how much I choose to remember, maybes for all that cannot be said with certainty, which is nothing (whims) and everything (maybes).
Certainly there is purpose in whims and maybes. But it's not for me to say.
There will be, anyway,
an attempt at order and veracity, as there is, after all, a desire to be read and remembered. Chapter one: I was born. And in the end, I will simply stop writing. Which is what we all progress towards. Inkless we are born, and inkless we shall be in our final moment, but what stories there are to be tols, what whims and maybes to be written inbetween!
So let me begin.
2
The big chapters are daunting: love, faith, health, pride, humility,
so let me start with tamer subjects: diversions, distractions, digressions. You can skip this section if you want, but this is what defines me:
old fashioned poetry,
watching birds in their natural state,
listening to human music;
joys of discovery,
paddling down a slow river,
taking time for an arthouse movie;
aerobic meditation,
finding rhythm in routine,
sometimes changing the pace.
Noticing the rul of threes.
The big chapters, love and God and healing, the ups and the downs,
will be more important I suppose, or as important as story for posterity should be. But this is me, and this is my proper introduction. Chapter Two, then: I am alive. Maybe, whimsically, this will be the whole story.
3
And it is your story, too:
you, to whom I have turned, are in these pages, every one of you.
Sister Anne, who prompted me this summer with a passing what if. Brother Dan, who has inspired and reinspired the ink to flow. Brother Josh, who shows beyond scribbles what it means to live.
Son Andrew and daughter Kirsten, my flesh and blood, my dreams and hopes, wonderfully determined to be more than a reflection.
Mother Marilyn, and father Joe too, whose own faces I sometimes see in the mirror, and there you are in my smile too.
And more of you: friends, associates, neighbors, fellow congregants. Ghosts from the past, strangers I have yet to know, and many more whose names I'll never learn: thank you all the same, for being the faces I see in front of me and within me, the very mirrors to my soul.
4
As I write this I am sitting on the edge of a river.
I have found myself here many times, perched pretentiously where the Fisher King wept, where Sidharta attained peace, where many before me have waited and drawn pictures in the sand. There is a river in every big city, it seems, and streams across every page of history, throughout the world and even into the realms of mythology and legend.
I like a big river, an important river that connects with all others, a river with a famous name and a powerful flow. Give me Mark Twain's river, but let me find it as Huck did, a few miles out of town; let me sit along its rich banks with nothing but time, away from instructions and factories, unconcerned with obligations and inheritances. Let this be my Stillwater, full of life and purpose, with destiny beneath its gentle surface,
and tomorrow I may weep and seek and wait along these banks, but for today,
let me know this river's simple serenity.
5
Serenity: now there's a prayer!
A wish and a word: I might as well fly to the top of the world or trudge across vast deserts. I could just as easily become one with this big river.
"Calm down," says the ferryman. Yeah, sure, easier said than down.
If peace were as easy as pausing I would stop everything and let this water flow.
To know serenity, santi, salaam, shalom, I should not trouble you, or myself, with these opening chapters or the easier pages of this story, Let me skip right to the faith adn love and healing; let me sit down, close my eyes and surrender.
A wish and a word, to accept the things around me, just as they are, to not be afraid of the world I'm in, to find my perch a few miles out of town. A prayer, even before I confess my faith, before I know what to believe.
Here, at the beginning of my story: serenity.
6
The serenity prayer continues, seeking courage and wisdom,
but these too I'll save for the later chapters: perhaps I'll be bolder and smarter with experience and age, somewhere down the river a ways, past 50, 60, 70...
for now, though, it is enough to accept the things I cannot change, to let my fears be taken by the quiet current ---to simply be!
Existing, persisting, maintaining, remaining:
keeping my place in time, or the space, in any case, that I've been given for the moment. Here I stand.
And if, for the moment, I let intellect distract me, to exist somewhere between Kierkegaard and Nietsche, surely I would falter; likewise, if I let my blood boil within me, like a fanatic or a patriot, I might lose my place, this moment in which I find myself.
It is not too deep to pray this prayer though, a singular pray in need of being prayed:
Grant me, God, serenity.
7
So now I have the groundwork, the riverbank work, for the first several chapters of my story:
I was born, I am alive.
I have an audience who shares my moment and a studio that gives me peace.
And I have an opening prayer to accept what I've been given.
After this may come those chapters on love and faith and health and pride and humility ---maybe,
if I am drawn to write that far and if there is still ink in my pen.
And if, of course, I am whimsically stirred to remember those big daunting subjects when the time comes and the blank pages are before me. Or maybe, on that whim, I will simply set the pen down then and there, and let the opening chapters speak for themselves, being the heart and soul of what I remember.
Let it be, one way or the other.
But let me begin.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
We Will Draw Near
An interpretation of Karl Jenkins' Adiemus
Brother, may the Lord be with you
Like a shepherd in the field
Giving you the meaning of Immanuel.
May that mean the whole world to you,
God's world ever given to you,
Blessing you no matter where you are.
Sister, may a world of peace be
With you everywhere you go,
Everywhere the meaning of Immanuel.
May it mean that God will hold you
Like a mother holds her child who
Looks into the eyes of loving care.
Refrain:
And may God's face shine upon you
With an everlasting smile,
Giving you the meaning of Immanuel.
May you know that God is with you everywhere.
(We will draw near.)
May you know that God is with you everywhere.
(We will draw near.)
Immanuel!
Immanuel!
(Repeat Refrain)
Child, may the grace of God be
Something you will come to know
Living in the meaning of Immanuel.
As you wander through the fold and
Grow beyond the mother's hold, may
You still know you are a child of God.
(Repeat Refrain)
Brother, may the Lord be with you
Like a shepherd in the field
Giving you the meaning of Immanuel.
May that mean the whole world to you,
God's world ever given to you,
Blessing you no matter where you are.
Sister, may a world of peace be
With you everywhere you go,
Everywhere the meaning of Immanuel.
May it mean that God will hold you
Like a mother holds her child who
Looks into the eyes of loving care.
Refrain:
And may God's face shine upon you
With an everlasting smile,
Giving you the meaning of Immanuel.
May you know that God is with you everywhere.
(We will draw near.)
May you know that God is with you everywhere.
(We will draw near.)
Immanuel!
Immanuel!
(Repeat Refrain)
Child, may the grace of God be
Something you will come to know
Living in the meaning of Immanuel.
As you wander through the fold and
Grow beyond the mother's hold, may
You still know you are a child of God.
(Repeat Refrain)
May the hands of the father bless you.
(Immanuel!)
May the arms of the mother keep you.
(Immanuel!)
May the face of God shine on you.
(Immanuel!)
May the grace of the Lord go with you.
(Immanuel!)
May the peace of the world be in you.
(Immanuel!)
May you know God is always with you.
Immanuel!
Immanuel!
Friday, May 30, 2014
Simple Prayers
Simple prayers, each beginning the same.
For the sparrow reluctant to sing (an introduction to Melodia):
Thank you God for all that you give us.
Thank you God for everyone among us.
Thank you God for being here with us.
For the daily song discovered (an introduction to My Walking Song):
Thank you God for walking with me --- teach me to pray.
Thank you God for talking with me --- teach me to listen.
Thank you God for telling me what I need to hear --- help me to remember.
For untangling our lives (an introduction to Denouement):
Thank you God for the fields around us.
Thank you God for the winds that lift us.
Thank you God for letting us go.
For sanity beyond suffering (an introduction to A Starry Night):
Thank you God for the ground and the sky.
Thank you God for lights familiar.
Thank you God for places beneath the stars.
For the sun that rises over us all (an introduction to An Open Field):
Thank you God for languages and perspectives.
Thank you God for place and time,
Thank you God for poetry and possibility.
For unexpected moments (an introduction to The Pecatonica):
Thank you God for the winding river.
Thank you God for times together.
Thank you God for the banks that rise above us.
For all that we have to learn (an Introduction to Montrose Harbor):
Thank you God for small sanctuaries.
Thank you God for lakefront dawns.
Thank you God for everywhere our journey leads us.
For hope beyond the grave (an introduction to Mimus Polyglottus):
Thank you God for chances to smile.
Thank you God for lives to celebrate.
Thank you God for songs to keep singing.
For the sparrow reluctant to sing (an introduction to Melodia):
Thank you God for all that you give us.
Thank you God for everyone among us.
Thank you God for being here with us.
For the daily song discovered (an introduction to My Walking Song):
Thank you God for walking with me --- teach me to pray.
Thank you God for talking with me --- teach me to listen.
Thank you God for telling me what I need to hear --- help me to remember.
For untangling our lives (an introduction to Denouement):
Thank you God for the fields around us.
Thank you God for the winds that lift us.
Thank you God for letting us go.
For sanity beyond suffering (an introduction to A Starry Night):
Thank you God for the ground and the sky.
Thank you God for lights familiar.
Thank you God for places beneath the stars.
For the sun that rises over us all (an introduction to An Open Field):
Thank you God for languages and perspectives.
Thank you God for place and time,
Thank you God for poetry and possibility.
For unexpected moments (an introduction to The Pecatonica):
Thank you God for the winding river.
Thank you God for times together.
Thank you God for the banks that rise above us.
For all that we have to learn (an Introduction to Montrose Harbor):
Thank you God for small sanctuaries.
Thank you God for lakefront dawns.
Thank you God for everywhere our journey leads us.
For hope beyond the grave (an introduction to Mimus Polyglottus):
Thank you God for chances to smile.
Thank you God for lives to celebrate.
Thank you God for songs to keep singing.
Monday, May 26, 2014
House
This is our new house, same as the old house,
Where we once lived before moving away
Into the next house, the house before this house
Ran out of room for a family to stay.
We thought the next house might be the last house
To live out our days in an ambient way
But this is the next house after the last house,
Where we once lived before moving away.
We thought the last house might be the best house,
And it was nice for a year and a day:
It was a new house, a nothing-to-do house,
All we could want for the price we could pay,
And it was a big house, a two story tall house,
A dream house for those who like dreaming that way;
At least it was newer and bigger than this house,
And it was nice for a year and a day,
But we missed our old house, our used-to-be-cold house,
And found our way back to a place we can say:
"A house that is old is a house that’s well settled,
A house that is small can be comfortably warm,
And the house that is ours at the end of the day
Is the house we return to, the house we call home."
This is a good house, the house we remember.
We’ve found our way back to a place we can stay.
Where we once lived before moving away
Into the next house, the house before this house
Ran out of room for a family to stay.
We thought the next house might be the last house
To live out our days in an ambient way
But this is the next house after the last house,
Where we once lived before moving away.
We thought the last house might be the best house,
And it was nice for a year and a day:
It was a new house, a nothing-to-do house,
All we could want for the price we could pay,
And it was a big house, a two story tall house,
A dream house for those who like dreaming that way;
At least it was newer and bigger than this house,
And it was nice for a year and a day,
But we missed our old house, our used-to-be-cold house,
And found our way back to a place we can say:
"A house that is old is a house that’s well settled,
A house that is small can be comfortably warm,
And the house that is ours at the end of the day
Is the house we return to, the house we call home."
This is a good house, the house we remember.
We’ve found our way back to a place we can stay.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Filling in the Blank
Theistic evolution,
that god plus evolution equals now
is your answer, and all that remains
is deciding who God is. Yes,
and who are you and what is now
and where are we going from here?
I believe — do you want to know what I believe?
Not really, you say. Clever little
conversation stopper, and yet
you have learned that you can
tell everyone what you believe
if only you do not lead with a question.
Believe it and impose it.
But I believe you are right.
(Now do you want to know?)
Blank plus evolution is, you say,
and we fill in the blank with
Buddha, Christ, Mohammed.
Or godlessness, emptiness, chance.
You get to choose what leads you to now:
the blank is true, and beyond this
we may never know the empirical truth
but we will rest in our faith.
But I believe — a statement, not a question,
that I cannot rest in godlessness,
that Genesis is true, setting us free,
that God is the beginning and the end,
the Big Bang and the final Word,
the constant Grace and the now,
Immanuel. This is what I believe.
And you can call me, as you call yourself,
a theistic evolutionist with a neat little formula,
and you can rest in this, but now read on.
Read the poetry of John
and the songs of David,
the trial of Job and the angst of Qoheleth
Read the Gospels and Acts
and the letters to the early churches.
Read Revelation, and argue with it all,
question if you must, but register
all the incompetent hyper-human
history of one corner of the world,
the bumbling children of God,
trying to get to now,
trying to understand.
2
John wrote: this was Andrew’s random choice
for a moment of devotion, my sound request
in the midst of anger, vespers to escape
the disorderly storm...
and the soundless stream of consciousness
that flows into matins the morning after,
Where it is silent if not peaceful. I write
as the children sleep.
I read: the Word, capital W.
I underline: the Word of life,
the Life made visible.
I know: we saw it, we share it
and now I write, small w,
that joy may be complete:
yours, ours,
we share this Life, capital L,
as we live in each other’s lives.
And now I am writing to you, son,
because your sins have been forgiven,
this is true, and I am writing to you, daughter,
because you have come to know the One,
the creator and the forgiver
who has existed since the beginning.
I am writing to you, children,
because you have defeated the darkness
and come to know the Father of all fathers
I am writing to you now
because you are strong
and filled with the Word
and continually filling in the blanks,
discovering the One
who has existed since the beginning,
sharing the One who forgives, the One
who first said, “Let there be Light.”
Beautiful choice, Andrew.
And Kirsten, beautiful premise.
There will be anger and insolence
and there will be times of silence too,
But you, each of you, are beautiful
and you complete the Joy, capital J,
that helps me fill in the blanks
Of my own life.
that god plus evolution equals now
is your answer, and all that remains
is deciding who God is. Yes,
and who are you and what is now
and where are we going from here?
I believe — do you want to know what I believe?
Not really, you say. Clever little
conversation stopper, and yet
you have learned that you can
tell everyone what you believe
if only you do not lead with a question.
Believe it and impose it.
But I believe you are right.
(Now do you want to know?)
Blank plus evolution is, you say,
and we fill in the blank with
Buddha, Christ, Mohammed.
Or godlessness, emptiness, chance.
You get to choose what leads you to now:
the blank is true, and beyond this
we may never know the empirical truth
but we will rest in our faith.
But I believe — a statement, not a question,
that I cannot rest in godlessness,
that Genesis is true, setting us free,
that God is the beginning and the end,
the Big Bang and the final Word,
the constant Grace and the now,
Immanuel. This is what I believe.
And you can call me, as you call yourself,
a theistic evolutionist with a neat little formula,
and you can rest in this, but now read on.
Read the poetry of John
and the songs of David,
the trial of Job and the angst of Qoheleth
Read the Gospels and Acts
and the letters to the early churches.
Read Revelation, and argue with it all,
question if you must, but register
all the incompetent hyper-human
history of one corner of the world,
the bumbling children of God,
trying to get to now,
trying to understand.
2
John wrote: this was Andrew’s random choice
for a moment of devotion, my sound request
in the midst of anger, vespers to escape
the disorderly storm...
and the soundless stream of consciousness
that flows into matins the morning after,
Where it is silent if not peaceful. I write
as the children sleep.
I read: the Word, capital W.
I underline: the Word of life,
the Life made visible.
I know: we saw it, we share it
and now I write, small w,
that joy may be complete:
yours, ours,
we share this Life, capital L,
as we live in each other’s lives.
And now I am writing to you, son,
because your sins have been forgiven,
this is true, and I am writing to you, daughter,
because you have come to know the One,
the creator and the forgiver
who has existed since the beginning.
I am writing to you, children,
because you have defeated the darkness
and come to know the Father of all fathers
I am writing to you now
because you are strong
and filled with the Word
and continually filling in the blanks,
discovering the One
who has existed since the beginning,
sharing the One who forgives, the One
who first said, “Let there be Light.”
Beautiful choice, Andrew.
And Kirsten, beautiful premise.
There will be anger and insolence
and there will be times of silence too,
But you, each of you, are beautiful
and you complete the Joy, capital J,
that helps me fill in the blanks
Of my own life.
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