Without a care

No worries there

A hand that's always been

Waiting for you

Holds fast and true

A love without and within

A goodness that never ceases

A wholeness made from our pieces

Swept up, assembled, and true

Once dead, now alive, made new

A way made where before there was none

The journey thought finished, newly begun

We all like sheep have gone astray

Out here in the hills

This wilderness surrounds and we bleat into the dark

Prints in the mud that track our steps

Each cloven foot that wanders

Tracing

Trails in the mist

Sheep and shepherd share the dance

One behind the other

Call and response

The tattered fabric of union

Across the crags where we fled

A hand upon the thread

Follows into the deep

Songs in the shadows

Sheep and shepherd share the language

One behind the other

Call and response

Welcomed to the table

Stealing the bread

Crumbs on our mouths and in our wake

Hunger in the bones

Sheep and shepherd share the ache

One behind the other

Call and response

Steps follow

Patience

We've left his side

But not his heart

"Therefore confess your sings to each other and pray for each other that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective."

• James 5:16

I wonder if we took seriously what James said that things might be different?

If our dialogues contained more confessions and questions,

More 'I don't know's and 'That's a good question's, that we might understand-

The holes in the whole of human logic, rather than that of the 'them's and 'those'

We might see humans, instead of 'Dems', 'Pubs', and 'Libs'

And that all of these have gone astray, whether to the Left or the Right

And we might understand what it means to be

One nation under God

One nation in utter need of God (1)

I have confidence, then, that if this was the way

We might be more ready to pray

For one another, for each other, together

To forgive one another, each other, together (2)

And build the kingdom of God with one another, with each other, together

Perhaps our leaders would not be so quick

To twist Christ's words into knots

And take his name in vein

To garnish the sins for which he died

And we would cease to follow-suit ourselves

Cease to enable the wolves in sheep's clothing to remain as such (3)

And so falsify our faith to our children (4)

Cease to seek justice where it is absent (5, 6)

Cease to turn a blind eye to the wrongs of our society (7)

Cease to drag Jesus through the mud of our hatred

Cease to throw him as salt upon the wounds we deal (8)

And instead let him season us as salt of the earth (9)

Maybe then, we would want different things

Righteousness over the perception of being 'right'

The salvation of our enemies rather than their condemnation (10)

To play a role in their redemption rather than their undoing (11)

To tell the truth when we say we love God,

'For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen' (12)

That the work of God would be seen in us,

As lights in the darkness, (13)

By their warmth, as Jesus said, "if you love one another," (14)

And not by their political party colors 

Maybe then, we would be as he so prayed, "that they may all be one" (15)

___

1. 2 Chronicles 7:14
2. Colossians 3:13
3. Matthew 7:15-20
4. Matthew 18:6
5. Proverbs 7:15
6. Leviticus 19:15
7. Psalm 82:3-4
8. Matthew 7:21-23
9. Matthew 5:13
10. Romans 12:14-16
11. James 5:19-20
12. 1 John 4:20
13. Matthew 5:14-16
14. John 13:35
15. John 17:20-21

What will the page contain

This sprawling parchment where you dwell?

What will the message be

Writ by the ink within your well?

To the young nation of America

Of independent condition

I am grateful for your freedoms

But not your contradictions

I believe that you are meant to be

A union more perfect still

Let’s examine what now stays our steps

From ascending that noble hill

“Liberty” is the song you sing

With ringing chimes and tolls to aid

Such virtue calls for stronger stuff than that

From which your cracked bell was made

With words you list so many things

That are quite worthy pursuits

Yet in practice these words of yours

Do not match the things you do

Your Declaration claims as equal

All, with rights are imbued (1)

Then ought life, liberty, and happiness exist

For migrants and their children too? (2)

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses”

Is engraved on the sentry at our shores (3)

Who lifts a lamp to guide those masses

Unto the lock and chains that bar our doors

And what is to be done, Land of the Free,

With regards to your ever-persistent delay

To make good upon your proclamation

To break the chains of the slave? (4a)(4b)

What good is it to loose the stocks

Whilst forging bars of steel? 

Rebar for the stones of bondage

Roads for wrongful judicial wheels? (5)

The God you name as your Sovereign

Has spoken today and so long ago

Of many things you practice proudly

That shamefully ought not be so

“Have no other God’s before me”

To guide where our worship is due (6)

Where we should bow most humbly before the altar

We erect idols red, white, and blue

“Love your neighbor as yourself”

Is the second highest command (7)

Yet to be selective about our neighbors

Is upheld by law throughout our land (8)

To laud the wicked and condemn the righteous

“are both an abomination to the LORD” (9)

We acquit Barnabas and crucify Christ

From our seat beneath Damocles’ sword

Oh prodigal nation, now repent

And turn from your unjust ways

From stolen land to bloodstained hands (10)

Promises broken, freedoms stayed

Now take heart- your sins cannot outnumber

The mercies of God whom you have oft' forsaken

Clear the thrones of your hearts and courts

Of the idols his place have taken

Make right the wrongs as he so guides

In the ways of life everlasting (11)

Learn the meaning and so enact

The fruits of true righteous fasting (12)

No one is perfect, this much is true

But we must do better still

If we claim to be one nation under God

Then we must learn and do his will

Love the Lord with your heart and soul

And the world entire of neighbors as yourself

The love of God above all things

O’er power, status, and wealth

Forsake the things that contradict

True freedom leaves no room for hate

Until the former is known by all

America is not yet great

___

Recommended viewing/reading:

1) Text of the US Declaration of Independence:

2) TIME magazine updates on family separation:

3) "The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus:

4a) "An Introduction to Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow" (length: 3:30):

4b) "Slavery to Mass Incarceration"(length: 5:50):

5) "The State of American Prison System" (length: 3:22):

6) Exodus 20:3

7) Mark 12:28-31:

8) Wikipedia summary on recent immigration policies:

9) Proverbs 17:15

10) VOX ("16 maps that Americans don't like to talk about"):

11) Psalm 139:24

12) Isaiah 58:6-14

Teach me, Daniel

Belteshazzar

A name does not define

The whole of who you are

Lead me, Daniel

In paths narrow or broad

That the feet of the faithful

Before me have trod

Comfort me, Daniel

Through the pain of withdrawal

You know the way

To lose some for all

It is hard, Daniel

Yet must we still

Stand against man’s idols

And bow to God’s will

Show me, Daniel

How faith is done

From cells to thrones to lion's den

Thus hearts of kings are won

Thank you, Daniel

For spreading the fire

God’s spark in one's heart

Alights the world entire

The trail danced through shrubs and tree groves in a path that seemed to be modeled after the flight pattern of a butterfly. Broad palettes of colorful flowers were spread over the terrain while cloud shadows slowly marched over the terrain like lofty guardians patrolling their territory. I produced my map and began jotting the trail curves as I went, lest I forget the playful turns I had been rounding. 

After a half-mile, the soft grass and vibrant flowers faded to a rocky and muddy terrain, as if the grand paintbrush that enlivened the land had streaked out of color at the end of a long stroke. The trail gave a few more mischievous twists around some boulders before becoming soberly straight as it brought me down into a small valley. Clouds were gathering in the sky as though they found something of interest down below and had called to some friends to bear witness. Though it was midday, the daylight dimmed as I entered a canopy of leaves and branches. Seizing the light that remained, I looked down to sketch the latest developments in the trail on the map; the scratching of my pencil and the windblown leaves whispering to each other as I worked. 

Taking a glance over the top of the paper, I froze as my gaze followed the trail for a few more paces before colliding with a wall of rock interrupted by a round void of darkness: A cave swallowed the trail and its mouth waited in hunger for me. I looked back at the map and saw former portions of my path that were drawn straight for a length and then suddenly diverted, sometimes for miles, in wide arcs to avoid passing through previous caves and features of this kind. 

However, something was different this time. I wanted to follow this trail. I wanted to draw a straight line on my map. 

I pocketed the map and approached the cave. The wind, whispering moments before, was amplified into a low, damp breath as it heaved out of the mouth. I stooped to peer into the cavern and saw a pinprick of daylight at the end; a solitary star in a void of space. The invisible fist gripping my chest loosed a little and I took one last look about me; around me all was cold and gray, before me was darkness, ahead of me was life. I took a breath, entered the cave, and pursued it. 

____________________

I slept with the hall-light on until I was in middle school. My door and one eye were always wide-open while the 3,000 candle-power hallway light cast its all-protecting lumens in a circle bright enough to give a mole cataracts. I don't know what age I was when this stopped but I was old enough to feel self-conscious about it and question if I was breaking some unspoken rule regarding age-mandated sleeping environments. 

I received a response to this question by a classmate in computer class. We sitting side by side on old computers that were cutting edge at the time and are probably now used only by non-conformist grandparents who need email and IT personnel who need an over-sized doorstop. The program we were using was a "get-better-at-typing" game that displayed a computer keyboard and a pair of beautiful translucent hands that were purple and poised perfectly over the keys like the fingers of a master pianist. My hands were not purple and resembled chickens sifting through the keyboard for grain, pecking each key sporadically with gangly index-finger necks that protruded from my fists.

Amid the uncoordinated tic-tac sound of 7th graders learning how to type for the first time, I contemplated my plight. Half of me was tethered to the nightlight with cords of fear while the other half was being pulled into darkness by chains of shame. I wanted neither. Despite the years of protection I had received under the nightlight, I began to resent it and the need I felt for it. I also resented the notion of sleeping in the dark. Whose idea was it anyway to create a culture of fairy tales, nursery rhymes, and movie trailers on daytime television that are rife with images of horrors that lurk in the dark, feed them into the sponge-like minds of society's children, and then shame them for finding it difficult to sleep comfortably in the shapeless void where terror and madness lie in wait around every unseen corner? I felt as though I was expected to justify myself before a jury for breathing oxygen. My nightlight was not only rational, it was a basic living essential. If I had the proper legal authority at the time, I would have written an 11th Amendment declaring it illegal for anyone to question, criticize, or cock their eyebrows at one's use of a nightlight.

Surely I was not the only level-headed thinker around. I decided to take this question to the authorities; to have them examine the illogical case being brought against me and boldly declare before the watching world that I was firmly in the right and should be spared any judgment or critique under penalty of being poked in the ribs.

I conveniently had access to such an authority in the 12-year old classmate next to me who was picking his ear with the pinky finger of one hand while limply swatting his keyboard with the other.

This was my big chance. I was ready. I was going to accomplish two things in the ensuing conversation:

• First thing: Shuffle off the burden of hiding my nightlight dependency, thus kicking that nagging shame in the mouth. 

• Second thing: Receive validation from a trusted source regarding how difficult it is to overcome said dependency...and maybe even permission to stop trying to overcome it because nobody else was bothering to try either. 

My mission was clear and my arguments were sound. I chuckled to myself as I imagined how I would strut out of the classroom with victory under my belt. Maybe I would purse my lips to one side, throwing my shoulders with each exaggerated step, winking and pointing at the cool kids with both index fingers.

I assessed the tools I had available to me with which I would build the discussion. The conversational orbit between pre-teen boys is a selectively small one and tends to gravitate around the following:

• Video games

• Pokémon

• Video games about Pokémon

• Things pre-teen boys think are stupid

This last category is by far the most frequented subject of choice among conversing youngsters. It's content is updated almost by the minute, ensuring that all participants can contribute something to the discussion. Entire friendships have been forged and broken on its grounds. Aware of this risk, I threw caution to the stuffy classroom wind and offered a cordial invitation to discourse:

"Dude, you know what's stupid?"

His response dripped with the enthusiasm of an eager participant:

"Uh?"

Without even trying, I was able to conjure up a list of items to discuss and I was sure my classmate would agree. I would build his approval from the ground up, starting with the small things like lockers and algebra while masterfully building a rapport that could handle the nightlight issue. I could do it. I would do it. The time was now:

Me:        "Whaddya think about those lockers?"

Dude:     "Man, I can never open mine! Like, do I turn the dial left, right, left, left? Or left, right left,                   right?"

Me:        "Seriously! And what about algebra? Like, whose idea was it to mix-up numbers and the

                alphabet like that?"

Dude:     "I know right?! If you ask me, I think whoever thought of that should sit on a porcupine!"

Me:        "Yeah! And you know what else is a pain in the butt? Still not bein' able to sleep with the

                light off at 12 years old!"

Dude:     "I hear you brother! With a blanky and teddy bear to boot!"

Me:        "You know it!"

Both:     <chest bumps>

This is the script that was playing on repeat in my head while we were talking. It came to a startling halt like a needle being jerked off of a spinning record right about the time when I realized my classmate and I weren't on the same page about how confusing algebra was at its core:

Dude:     "Algebra's not hard at all man. I think pretty easy."

Me:         ...

Dude:     "You don't?

Something was wrong. That wasn't on the script. In my brain, there were red lights flashing and sirens wailing while little versions of me scrambled around looking for a response, rifling through filing cabinets, and frantically flipping through databases to find a response that would get us back on track.

Me:        "So uh...I've always slept...with the hallway light on and...I um...still haven't gotten used to

                sleeping with it off"

Dude:     <blinking confoundedly>

Me:        "Um..."  "Stinks, right?"

Dude:     ...

Me:        "...know what I'm talkin' 'bout?"

He kept staring at me while the purple hands on his computer screen were frozen in sharp contortions, as though they too had heard my secret and were in shock. After what felt like three-and-a-half days of silence, the corners of his lips began to curl and his eyes narrowed at their edges. I saw the tips of his teeth emerge in a cursive smile. He seemed to be assessing my situation as a lion casually considers the parts of a trapped gazelle he should like to nibble on first. All at the same time, the classroom slowly became a courtroom; either side of me surrounded by a jury of fellow students who tic-tac'd away on court-logs that were recording every detail of my depraved lack of coolness. His eyes flashed and I knew that he, as the judge, had come to his conclusion and was ready to pronounce his judgment. The lion was ready to pounce. The guillotine was about to drop. My pupils shrunk to pin-pricks; I could see nothing and was left only with ears that would not cease to hear both my pounding heart and the sentence heaved at me with a mocking, "poor baby" tone of voice:

"Aw poor Andy, can't sleep without a nightlight?"

The courtroom disappeared. The judge and jury disappeared. The purple hands disappeared. Everything evaporated in an instant and I was in a black, formless vacuum. It was as though I had been preserved during a split-second rupture in the space-time continuum that sucked away the earth, the stars, the universe itself, and left me in its wake.

There is no air in space but apparently there is sound. Every inch of the expanse around me echoed with "can't sleep without a nightlight" in haunting, mock voices that were speaking, singing, chanting, whispering, and wailing like a crazed choir of inmates. The sinister song reverberated over and over like an eternal record on loop.

Back in reality, my classmates had filed out of the room and it was time to go to lunch. I drifted out behind them like a wide-eyed toad on a lily pad being dragged about by a lazy current, carelessly bumping into things without flinching. The existential void of never-ending woe has a way of making you impervious to outside stimuli.

The darkness and the voices eventually faded away but I probably spent the rest of the day in a distant fog with a drooping jaw and a billion-mile gaze: cemented in the cafeteria, oblivious to the chaos-jungle of middle school behind me; glued to the bus seat like a dashboard bobble-head; frozen at the dinner table while my family gently placed french fries and chicken nuggets in my mouth, smearing in mashed potatoes as an adhesive if they fell out.

This isn't exactly the picture I want to leave you with. You might say that this day was not my day. I wasn't exactly on my A-game so-to-speak. Good grief, out of the vast encyclopedia of awesomeness I've been the cause of  why in the world would I share this excerpt with you? The truth is, things changed that day. They didn't end then but they changed. That's what this is all about. Sometimes I think God withholds the eraser on "bad" days in our life chapters because they change us. Remember how my fear of the dark dictated so much of my sleeping and waking life? Remember how desperately I sought my classmate's validation? That pillar of anxiety lost a chip in its foundation that day. It took a while for the next chip to fall but it fell more easily than the first. Each one after that came more easily and more quickly than those before. As the years went by it shrunk, crumbled, and lost its power. The debris left-over from its destruction still clutters my life at times but its slowly being blown away in the breeze.

That night, I climbed the stairs while the hall-light watched. It's electric glow and hum always seemed so warm, inviting, trustworthy. This time it buzzed and turned angry shades in a way I never noticed before, like a jilted bully whose target has become deaf to their taunts. I reached the top of the stairs and stared back. I smiled, dragged the dimmer switch to reduce the raging light to a dull glow, and got ready for bed.  

I fear no shadow

For I have not

Learned the anxieties

That your years have taught

But I do know light

'tis the greater force

Can banish darkness

From succeeding its course

"Let your light shine"

So Jesus said

And by his light

Our steps shall be led

So what shall we fear?

Be not made to believe

That darkness is stronger

Than it may now seem

Come, let us shine

Shadows rise even now

Let us "be strong and courageous"

I will show you how

You can never have as much as you want

Or stretch, prolong, add to it

You've only that which you were given

When you began your journey through it

Passing days or counting minutes

Prone to waste, abide, or need it

'tis water through the hands

No man can ever catch or keep it

Some will say they have the power

To rearrange, contrive, or make it

But 'tis only subject to one Master

Who does not need and yet creates it

We may have much or hardly any

Blissful, abundant, afraid to lose it

The crux is not the quantity

But the quality of how you use it

"What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes"

- James 4:14b (NIV)

Your mind will be full of numbers

And your mouth of foreign words

Pythagoras and algebra,

Nouns, adjectives and verbs

Your eyes will scale the volumes

Of human knowledge and intellect

Your hands will know the weariness

Of assayed essays to inspect

Your feet may know the tempo

Of the clock and it's demands

Your back, the weight of pressures

And industry's circumstance

In all these things, remember

Let your heart remain unchanged

Save for the things the Lord himself

Undertakes to rearrange

Your value was predetermined

And cannot be added to

Resumes and accolades

Are not the sum of you

Things like these do have their use

This much must be conceded

As a spade in the farmer's hands

Has use to till the land that's seeded

But spades and rakes cannot suffice

When a meal is in demand

The eternal soul can ne'er feast

On scraps from finite lands

Our devices are often thought to be

The ends and not the means

We idolize the hills we climb

And the accomplishments so gleaned

Yet wonder is a mighty force

We all possess at birth

Unto a world that trades for trinkets

Such things of priceless worth

"I count it all as loss" 'twas said

About that once thought as gain

By one who had much more than most

And had nothing all the same

"that I may gain Christ", he said

Who saw the truth behind

The veil that shimmers in the winds

Of shifting trades and trends and times

We once were told to be like these,

The children in our midst

They who see with sight unshielded

Those things aged eyes have missed:

The face of God, the form of Heaven

The Holy waiting in the wings

A world that is not bound by time

And countless, wondrous other things

The thought of it is daunting:

The learning we now possess

Though strive we might to grasp it

Will fail us nonetheless

The thought of it is humbling:

The wisest teachers you may meet

Are they who hear the voice of God

While blowing bubbles at your feet 

Thistles and thoughts - a pair of like kind

Bristles get caught in the fabric of mind

Hooks that stick within cognitive space

Crooks that wick due peace from its place

These that some with ease brush away

Are thieves for some who endeavor to stay

Sapping the vine to thirst-ridden strings

Rapping the mind with repetitive things

Estranging all reason from the false and the real

Exchanging in treason a known for a feel

Drawn in by aroma of flowering notions

Brawn into coma by reductive motions

Bear I these thoughts by prick of the stem?

Dare I get caught in their poisons again?

Hither have I a thorn in the flesh?

Whither contrive the remedy best?

To leaven the mold that hems me today

Heaven has told me that there is a way

Every one captive, these thoughts that advance

Devilry active made weak by faith's stance

Jesus, the maker of all things and I

Frees us, the breaker of all things that bind

He who rends man from the leeches of sin

So intends to make whole his pieces within

From fading of hearts to rage-waters of mind

Come wading, Lord Jesus, 'tis yours to preside

Announce and lay claim, once more if you will

Pronounce by your name, "Peace, be still" 

It seems some days are tessellations

A fractal recapitulation

Thus, for some, is desecration

Yet yields another's jubilation

And here have we a complication

A puzzle for just contemplation

Accept thy patterns with hesitation?

Or with joy ascend unto thy station?

See thou routines as desolation?

Or priceless gifts worth re-creation?

Are the fires of life a motivation?

Or an all-consuming conflagration?

Are the ticks of time your ear's vexation?

Or heralds who bear blessed proclamation?

Know the status of thy situation

Is not beyond manipulation

Contentment, hear this attestation

'tis a path now due our navigation

The Lord who laid this road's foundation

Will aid when bent toward deviation

They who steer toward Heaven's nation

Will find a sound orientation

God who set all in circulation

So sees us in our oscillations

And can redeem their ruination

Providing needed sustentation

Scattered pieces, 'tis our relation

Our days are such, in aggregation

The Lord, with humble fragmentations

Can forge his glorious constellations

To my Grandfather,

whom I’ve always loved but never knew:

You are a distant star to me.

A mysterious diamond shines in the night-sky back of my mind

whose light is just now reaching me…

When I see your picture, you look back at me most intently

as if to tell me

that although I never knew you, still you knew me.

As though to ensure that I’ve received a message you sent back then,

back when I could barely talk that is just now being delivered to me.

To tell me that you cared for me.

And like a star dies,

you shone across a universe of time that preceded me,

casting rays that stretch into days that you would never see.

Your messenger knocks at today’s front door,

sent from a source that isn’t there any more.

And here’s the rub:

This one way communication that passes without hesitation

From twenty-seven years past,

this signal reception brings back

your face and a million questions that I can’t ask

But had I the chance…

If, in a dream, I could return to my oldest memory:

You’re looking back to me, fixing the TV

so I could see the fans on the screen

while I swam in your chair; a sea of faded upholstery.

If God gave the opportunity to me

to take a single question to you in this scene

I know just what it would be.

No need to scour my tomes of question marks,

I know just the one that captures the sum of its parts:

“How did you do it?”

How did you do it?

And in that moment I hope you’d see

the countless questions inside of me,

that I’ve bundled within the one

the root from which the others grow from:

How did you grow up poor yet live such a rich life?

How did you capture the life-long respect of four sisters?

What was it like seeing both World Wars, Vietnam, the Depression?

How did you circumnavigate the country as a teenager,

sleeping under your car at night,

scraping concrete off of bricks to pay your way

for food along the route,

and making auto-repairs when you broke down

with no one there to show you how,

like patching your radiator with oatmeal for crying out loud?

Can you tell me how?

Can the life you lived then teach me now?

How do you make it through when so much is required of you?

How do you know you’ve done all that you can do?

How do you raise a family that will carry-on long after you’re gone?

How do you keep them safe in your heart while the world tears itself apart?

How does a father love a daughter into the kind of woman you taught my mother to be?

How does a father love a son into a man that he can be proud to be?

How does a husband treat his wife with honor and humility?

How do you nourish the family tree

with roots that drink deeply

from a well of strength and integrity

that won’t run dry when all that’s left of you is your memory?

Grampy please,

how did you do it?

Now let me expose the reason for those questions I pose,

to explain why I plead for answers to these,

for by now it should be plain to see:

These queries that I ask of thee,

Are the same that are being asked of me

It seems…

It seems to be that I’m on your journey,

overwhelmed and understudied but I’m learning

I’ve got so much to lose and I’m confused a bit.

I’ve been given a commission but need a clue what to do with it.

Made a few false-starts in life but trying to follow-through and be true with it.

It’s hard to live a good life in a world that is crude but somehow you did it.

So I might follow your footsteps but these shoes are too huge to fit.

But if you stood in mine now,

could you please tell me how

you wore yours so well?

If you could see my circumstance

if I had the chance

to tell you my plans,

would you applaud my stance?

What would you say to me

as I scrape the ground with my hands to the plow

trying to carve a small nest for my seeds to rest,

where they can settle in, where their roots can dig in

and sprout their first leaves on this family tree?

How can I do for them what you did for me?

To place a star in their sky?

Though all the world be shrouded in night,

give a bright, guiding light?

Is this something you can teach me to do?

You are someone I look up to

my methods and strategies are few

so I wonder: “How did you?”

This is no idol worship.

I’m sure you made mistakes, no man is perfect.

But there are those God leads,

like threads in a weave,

in and out of our lives for times of need.

Or to provide lessons to learn.

A foundation to stand on

when life calls us forth for our turn.

One more thing I need to mention:

I’m told, in some ways, that I’m your reflection

Same lips and nose and facial bones, I know

But there must be something deeper than those.

Is it true?

Are there things of me that are of you too?

Do I do some things the way you used to do?

And what of me? This ever-itching mystery:

Though you I never knew,

what did you know of me?

But like the moment we shared when I was two:

You, looking across the room to me and I, lost in your chair

looking back up to you -

This is all the recollection I’m due.

Of my one and only remembrance of you.

I can only pose questions to you.

And they echo within me still.

But I’ll hang on to this image.

For that was the moment -  just months before you left.

Though your heart gave out it feels like theft,

Yet somehow you live on despite your death

Right there -

In my youth, you gave me my oldest memory

To a toddler who could hardly speak

You deposited to my life’s treasury

And with a single glance, conveyed your legacy...

That star in the distance,

winks and casts its rays

from history to this day.

A shine that is lasting,

I'm searching and asking.

Always asking:

Grampy,

how did you do it?

You'll remember in fragments

What for me is a dream

Your recollection in pieces

Mine blurred at the seams

From each other we'll gather

And contrive some whole

A form of this mem'ry

That is ours to behold

Whether with youth or with age

No mind can perfectly grasp

The minutiae of moments

As they slip to the past

So join with me here

In imperfect recall

Amid fragments and dreams

Let us treasure them all 

A mystery of grace: watching one grow,

The unfolding of life: a breath-taking show,

The mind: grasping at what will be, although,

So shall it be: what will be, now being - before you know 

The chair, a wonderous marvelosity

The chair, with silent generosity

Will give you its best

A moment to rest

The chair, devoid of all verbosity 

I have no words to tell you how

To cherish the moment of here and now

But watch me closely and you will see

For such an art is first nature to me

I know not of time nor how it is measured

Save that the present is a thing to be treasured

And when it passes, I'll welcome the next

And savor it fully; that's what I do best

So come with me and I'll show you the way

To discover the secrets God has hid in this day

Close your eyes, just a moment or two

Be here and be thankful - that's all you must do 

The heart now sleeps within the chest

And dreams of where it is suited best

Yet, slumber spited, finds no rest

The heart yearns for things beyond the self

Past status, position, or material wealth

Of all places, the heart lists for somewhere else

The heart is a curious thing indeed

Akin to the paradoxical acorn seed

A tiny shell that hides a towering tree

The heart was given a thirst it seems

That cannot be quenched through earthly means

But ‘tween the banks of eternity’s streams

The heart is a story that will forever entail

A stout longing to find the hidden trail

A yearning to peer ‘round this present veil

The heart and its ways are akin to the rebel

Creative in manners to frustrate and meddle

To disrupt the plans of one willing to settle

The heart, after all, was forged in desire

Then set in a body amid the earth’s mire

To inspire its bearer to reach for things higher

The heart is a diamond that we borrow on loan

Not a trinket to hoard or trade or to own

And the God who made it is calling it home

The heart, in the end, leaves the body for yonder

For it was created to live a full life that is longer

And carries the pulse of a strength that is stronger

Today is a brand new world

Every color and shape, to me

Is a glorious work of invaluable worth

For common things hide the miraculous inside

Do you see what I see? 

I wonder sometimes, if there's a thing I can do

To best hold on to my memory of you

For the lives we live seem to differ in pace

You are growing so fast while I'm frozen in place

Was it a month, a week, or an hour ago

That your very first tooth had begun to show?

Now with three others where I thought there were none,

You've already arrived when I've only begun

I wonder sometimes, what it must be like

To see as brand new what I thought was common in life

All things are miraculous and more mysterious than not

Such things are the things that, somehow, I forgot

You are a master, by nature, of a most precious art

To love like a child and to be childlike at heart

May you never lose one single grain of this craft

It will lead you to truth when simple days have gone past

I wonder sometimes, what great changes you'll make

In this mad, spinning world that seems to orbit 'round hate

Children, they say, are a God-send indeed

And God sends what can mend this shattered world's need

In your short time you've made quite the start

For you've melted the ice of this calloused heart

May it never be said that you have nothing to share

You have strengths that will come when their time is prepared

I wonder sometimes, if God gave me you

To teach me the miracles that he can do

To make known the manner of love he conveys

Through the lamb and the lion in which he's portrayed

For a lamb I will be, by your side as you grow

A friend and a guide, the most gentle you'll know

But should any fool dare to wish you harm or disgrace

'till death or Time's end, I'll be the lion they face

I wonder sometimes, if I'm doing things right

To figure by day and to ponder by night

What can be done to preserve what has past?

How best can I make this memory last?

Can I save you from worry by keeping you small?

If I could, would I notice you growing at all?

Can this be the reason that it seems to be

You've acquired your age so suddenly?

I wonder sometimes, how the sum of times wondered

Renders the remainder of days that are numbered?

Alas, it is true that no effort can add

One single minute or second of life to be had

So teach me once more, my child my dear

To be unprepared for right now and right here

To give each day the patience and marvel it's due

That I may cherish each moment with the wonder of you

We don't have a big home, but we have a home

There aren't too many rooms to heat, but we have rooms to heat

We don't have a lot of money, but still we have some money

Nor is there fancy food to eat, and yet there is food to eat

Though riches have their grandeur, we have what is grander

We don't have too many things, but indeed we do have many things

No gilded clothes upon our backs, but there are clothes upon our backs

Others may not our praises sing, but with reason for praises we often sing

We've no space to flee from each other, but alas we have space to be with each other

A hungry soul thinks it desires more stuff, but a hunger-slaked soul no longer desires more stuff

The quantity is small of our heart's contents, but quantity does not make our hearts content

They say if we had more we would have enough, yet what more could be had since we have enough? 

Teach me, Daniel

Belteshazzar

A name does not define

The whole of who you are

Lead me, Daniel

In paths narrow or broad

That the feet of the faithful

Before me have trod

Comfort me, Daniel

Through the pain of withdrawal

You know the way

To lose some for all

It is hard, Daniel

Yet must we still

Stand against man’s idols

And bow to God’s will

Show me, Daniel

How faith is done

From cells to thrones to lion's den

Thus hearts of kings are won

Thank you, Daniel

For spreading the fire

God’s spark in one's heart

Alights the world entire

I began a 10-day experiment on October 30th. For 10 days, I am:

1. Setting a timer for 15 minutes

2. Writing what I can during that time

3. Stopping when the time is up

4. Posting what is written without any final editing

For additional context, check out the first post in this series by clicking here.

START

A man may change and turn back again

To the things he knew before

And again might he

Morph suddenly

To be what he was once more

Whether personality or actionOr a manner of deedsHe may try one outBut come only to doubtThe fruit that would be born of such seeds

My youth was marked in a manner of sorts

With whimsy and spontaneous action

No methods, no planning

And small understanding

The garments of childhood fashion

A-ways down the road, through the passage of time

It seems that a change had set in

To consider approach

STOP

It was difficult to think of a theme for this fragment. With the election tomorrow, I had considered a continuation of "Fragment 7/10: Political". Then I thought of writing about my earliest memory or trying to write fiction but wasn't too attracted to the idea. It was only then that I decided on what would become the central theme to this poem.

From my childhood up until now, I've observed myself waiver between the objective and the subjective. There have been periods in which I operated more from a place of spontaneity and there have been others in which I've been very methodical and planned-out. Now, I'm trying to figure out the various parts of me that resonate more deeply with one over the other. Music is where I satisfy the spontaneous part of my brain; I play what I feel and I feel what I play. Work is where I become organized, filed, and automatic.

This poem was an attempt to capture some of that process-switching that occurs throughout life. As we get older, we become different people and yet we are the same person. If I were to meet you on your 10th and 40th birthdays (and never in-between), there would be certain qualities about you that would have changed completely while others would still be recognizable, even after 30 years. Some of that change comes about because we learn how to change. Some of it happens because we simply grow into it. Some of it is a combination of both.

I began a 10-day experiment on October 30th. For 10 days, I am:

1. Setting a timer for 15 minutes

2. Writing what I can during that time

3. Stopping when the time is up

4. Posting what is written without any final editing

For additional context, check out the first post in this series by clicking here.

START

There were two peoples once

Who tried to live amongst each other

Though differed in their trade

Yet were brother, sister, and mother

One folk used their hands

To join, construct, and build

Their knowledge of wood and tree

Guided the laws they willed

The other folk sailed the sea

To gather fish and oyster

With rules of tides and currents

They formed a close-knit cloister

They shared their hard-won fruits

And the wisdom with which they grew

STOP

I'd like to finish this one later on. It was going to be a fairly straight-forward commentary on the current political climate in America, with the central observation that nothing can separate a people more distinctly than when they must decide between each other who will govern them. But whatever words and comments I could think of were awkward and cumbersome. So I decided to try a poetic analogy. Sometimes a simple idea is best communicated with analogy that gives it a body and a personality that we can observe in action.

Analogy doesn't have to be poetic though. The reason I chose a poetic form is because it provides a sort of template that helps guide the writing process. Each stanza above is four lines long, so I know that I can communicate the supporting details of the main idea into four-line bits. The second and fourth lines of the stanzas rhyme so once I have the second line written, my word choices are conveniently narrowed. In the second stanza, for example, the second lines ends with "build". There are plenty of words that rhyme with "build" but as this is a political commentary, the word "willed" can be used in a sentence to describe what this people group desires. From that came the phrase "Their knowledge of wood and tree guided the laws they willed". This template way of writing makes the process much easier by providing a sort of fill-in-the-blank form of writing. Having an infinitely blank canvas on which you can use an infinite number of words or forms of expression can be intimidating and creatively debilitating. Poetry can be a guiding form to help you narrow your focus to the words, ideas, and phrases that best suit the idea you want to communicate.

The world is at war and we are all a part of it. Battles are sometimes fought with bullets, sometimes words, sometimes attitudes, actions, or inactions. The evidence is all over the news and current events, especially within the past few weeks. But the world has been at war for a long time:

There was a blind beggar on the side of the road. While Jesus was getting ready to restore the man's sight, his far-from-perfect disciples asked "...who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"

John 9

There was a woman in a synagogue. She had been crippled with a bent spine for 18 years. Jesus healed her when he saw her. It was the Sabbath, a day in the week where it was illegal to do any form of work (such healing others or being healed yourself). The religious leaders took note of this crime and made a public announcement, lest anyone be led astray: "There are six days for work. So come and be healed on those days, not on the Sabbath."

Luke 13:10-17

Jesus was invited to the house of a religious leader named Simon to have dinner. While at the table, a woman barged in whose sinful reputation was despised by all who knew her. In a display of repentance she collapsed to the ground and kissed Jesus feet, wetting them with her tears and using her hair as a rag to clean them. The Pharisee saw this as a masquerade and said to Jesus, "If [you] were a prophet, [you] would know who is touching [you] and what kind of woman she is-that she is a sinner."

Luke 7:36-50

Do you hear the common thread in all of these stories? In each one, there is a collision of the following:

1. A person in pain

2. Jesus' desire and ability to heal that pain

3. Indignant onlookers who question and accuse: Who sinned?...They broke the law...She is a sinner...

These scenarios happened about 2,000 years ago. However, these three elements are still intersecting today.

Friends, there is tragedy in our midst. Within the last few weeks, lives have been taken. Bullets were fired, blood has spilled, and grief has ravaged the lives of those left in the wake. In this, we have substantial evidence of item one in the list above: our very brothers, sisters, and neighbors are in the darkest depths of pain.

When a wound is sustained, there is often a pause between the damage and the sensation of pain. In this space belongs the second item. The people of God, casting off all judgment, must enter in to fill the gap and be there for the wounded to fall back on when those crippling, relentless waves of pain inevitably rush in and knock them off their feet.

Sadly, the third item seeks to invade this holy place. Judgments and accusations have robbed the mourners of their sacred silence and thrust it upon voices that speak with mercy and grace. Those expressing their despair are decried for "playing the race card". The reputations of fallen victims are criminalized with reports or rumors of past crimes; their death presented as a just consequence.

Condolences toward affected families and friends are splattered with endless debates about gun control, racism, and the justice system.

This is not what was meant to be.

Let us consider again the first item on the list: A person in pain.

This is what we, the human race, are facing at this very moment. In our families, our schools, our jobs, our neighborhoods, our country, our world, there are people in pain. The black community watches as their friends and family are shot down in senseless violence. Law enforcement officers see some of their own killed in chaotic protest. Our children watch helplessly as the world they will inherit from us is racially divided before their very eyes.

Remember our first three scenarios? How did Jesus respond in each of them?

To the justice-minded disciples who sought to place the blame for blindness, Jesus directed their attention off of the sin and onto his intention to heal. "Neither this man nor his parents sinned..." he said as he proceed to love and heal the man. The blame-game would not help and it was not the point.

To the Pharisees, indignant that a woman had been healed from an 18-year long infirmity 'against the law', Jesus directed their attention off of the debate and onto the suffering woman and the common-sense compassion due toward her: "You hypocrites! Doesn't each of you on the Sabbath untie your ox or donkey from the stall and lead it out to give it water? Then should not this woman, a daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has kept bound for eighteen long years, be set free on the Sabbath day from what bound her?"Debating the hot-button issues would not help and they were not the point.

To Simon the religious leader, Jesus directed his attention off of any gossip and onto the woman: "Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair...her many sins have been forgiven--as her great love has shown."

Attempting to justify withholding mercy from someone by digging up their past would not help and it was not the point.

Do you see it? In each instance, Jesus never wavered from his commitment to loving the people in need, regardless of whether or not they had a criminal background. He didn't waste time settling the crowd's complaints. Settling all of the debates and accusations would never alleviate the suffering of the individual nor lift the responsibility to do something about it off of the surrounding community.

What about you? In the wake of our present chaos, which characters in these stories do you most resemble? Whose words are you speaking? What lessons are you spreading to your community and children about responding to the needs of others? Are you speaking words of grace, mercy, understanding, and healing? This is what you were made to do in times like these. Your words and your actions are designed to do better, more productive things than to pollute the ears of the suffering with political banter and self-justified bitterness.

To those of us who are Christians, please remember that when we decided to follow Jesus...

1. We surrendered the right to condemn anyone: Romans 2:1-4

2. We signed-up to help those in need: Psalm 82:3-4

3. We surrendered the right to return 'fire with fire' and to hate our enemies. We agreed to love our enemies and forgive them, even those that commit the crimes: Matthew 5:43-48 & Matthew 6:14

4. We signed-up to believe that "God so loved the world" that he wants everyone to have a chance to know his love and forgiveness in Christ. This includes criminals, their victims, those who have different beliefs, politics, skin color, income, sexual preference, or citizenship status: John 3:16

5. We surrendered the right to step back and let God do the work of the above-mentioned belief while we look grudgingly on with folded hands. On the contrary, we agreed to roll up our sleeves and join him in the effort: Matthew 28:16-20

6. We signed-up to do the things Jesus did, not just talk about them: James 2:14-26

7. We know that we are only able to accomplish all of the above by getting to know God and letting him shape us, our words, and our actions: John 15:4-5

Our words matter. Our actions matter. They can destruct or they can construct. Whether through anonymous prayer, social media support, live in-person service, or speaking up for those who can't speak for themselves, we are meant to make a beautiful difference in the lives of the suffering.

It's time to do it.

There are valuable lessons to be found everywhere. Today, let's take a few from the:

Kitchen Sink

Lesson 1. A single dish left unclean invites it's friends to join the scene

That lasagna and bbq chicken was fabulous. Please send more. You can just leave it in the sink like last time; we'll take care of it.

Sincerely,

The Kitchen Mice

---

11:48pm, exhausted, and have to wake up super early tomorrow?

Time for bed!

Aaand maybe one Youtube video. Just one.

4 hours, 33 cat videos, 15 Facebook posts, and 13 Wikipedia articles later: oops.

Lesson 2. Clean it before long or the junk will stick on strong

That oatmeal I had for breakfast? It would have been a cinch to rinse it off right after I ate it. But two days later, those oats have become one with the ceramic. Forget the sponge, break out the jack-hammer.

---

Those misunderstandings I had with a friend that I never sought to resolve because I thought it would be weird and difficult in the moment? Well I finally got around to it because the years until I did so were, well, weird and difficult.

Lesson 3. A loaded sink starts to stink

There's no use crying over spilled milk. But there's no helping it over the waftings of a weeks-worth of milky cups and cereal bowls in the sink.

---

Ever put off something to tomorrow that had to be done today? I have.

I once had a car that made a creaking sound when making turns.

I thought to myself, "Probably nothing," and promptly did nothing about it.

Months later, I was told the sound was coming from the rusting, disintegrating metal joints that hold the engine in place. Turns out it was no longer safe to drive as nearly all of the joints had worn away and the engine was on the verge of dropping out of the bottom of the car.

I thought to myself, "That stinks."

Lesson 4. An empty sink is a drive-thru where cleanliness is met; not a garage where filth is collected and kept.

My hands are full. I'm holding plates and a rectangular pan, both splattered with remnants of an extra saucy casserole. The sink is empty.

For the past-week, its shimmering interior walls have been hidden from my sight beneath a mountain of dirty bowls and tupperware containers that I tossed in while passing through the kitchen. I am tired and tempted to repeat last week's habit. Doing so provided a fleeting pleasure as I bypassed the need to clean them and moved on to other things. But every time I entered the kitchen they leered at me like a stack of unpaid bills, reminding me of my mounting debt to cleanliness.

I step up to the sink and marvel once more at its spotless interior. I set the dishes down. Then I pick up the sponge.

---

Mistakes can be our greatest teachers or cruelest tormentors but the choice is ours.

The lessons we can draw from our mistakes teach us how to live better lives. Far too often I've traded those lessons for unproductive regret or the temporary relief of ignoring the issue, letting them pile up in my 'sink' and perfuming other areas of life with their stench. As you can see via the previous three lessons, all I achieved via those strategies were some sleepless nights, awkward relationships, and a dead car. No thanks.

I like the idea of confronting my mistakes as they happen (because they will), learning what I can, and then moving on for crying-out-loud. I've spent too much life trying to re-do things that have already happened. There's so much more life to live now than there is in the past.

If we confess our sins, [God] is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.

1 John 1:9  

But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

Phillippians 3:13-14

The Heart and the Mind

Are powers entwined

In the vessel of the soul

Both at the oars

Aimed at far shores

To reach the self-same goal

Though, at the start,

They seek a clear mark

They oft' waver from their course

For the sailors here

So quickly veer

When, their own way, they enforce

They insist, you see

To sit peculiarly

In opposite-facing fashion

And each with an oar

They try for the shore

In such incompatible action

For to row with one oar

Fixed to the ship board

Will cause it to turn to one side

So they paddle a bit

Grow weary, then quit

And hope to drift in with the tide

While the one facing shore

Starts to slumber and snore

His mate wakes to desolate sea

"We've drifted off course!"

Comes his panicked report

And rows to behold the shore's trees

As you can tell

This does not bode well

For the ship to arrive where it yearns

It merely rotates

When a sailor awakes

And the bow trades its place with the stern

Yet once and a while

With their tempers riled

Both sailors are awake and intend

To contrive a way

To sail through the bay

Reaching land and long journey's end

"I have it this time!"

So shouts the Mind

"Let me row from now on,

I know the maps

Of the safest pass

We'll be there before long."

"Nay let me

Our captain be!"

Quoth the Heart in passioned reply,

"I know and I feel

That the wind has revealed

The way to traverse beneath its sky."

"Leave thy feelings behind!"

Retorts the Mind

Between heavy strokes of the oar,

"They shift and they change

And oft' rearrange

To be not what they were before."

"Your map lines are dead!"

The nettled Heart says

Who begins to heave and to row

"They know not of the wind

Or the storms we've been in

For they were drawn so long ago"

With more indignations

And self-justifications

The sailors continue to fight

And the oars they put in

Make their ship spin

An endless circle through day and night

Their battle will last

With no peace to pass

For both Heart and Mind are stubborn

Yet here between

To disrupt the scene

Comes at last a power to govern

The boat that spins

And the sailors within

Forsake all save their will and their pride

They see not the clouds

The enveloping shroud

Or the flashes that shatter the sky

The rain and the waves

Now lifts and staves

The blindness that hides our ships' fate

The spinning is ceased

As the oars are released

But now it is much too late

For all around

A clamorous sound

As the storm unleashes its rage

And the sea beneath

Here earns its keep

As a force of untamable gauge

A torrent of blows

From above and below

Assail the humble vessel

Whose crumpling frame

Is not meant to sustain

The war between ocean and metal

Great waves burst forth

As an army of sorts

Like mountains in rapid succession

With increasing might

And likewise in height

Chaos in ordered procession

And then comes a crest

A wave at its best

That heaves the boat up to the sky

Then with a rush

And strong downward thrust

The wind hurls it back down in reply

When it finally lands

In the angry sea's hands

They close in for damage and pain

For their final act

To undo the intact

Rips the vessel in twain

With destruction complete

The tempest retreats

As the night begins stealing away

The torrential downpour

Soon is no more

The last rain drops greeting the day

Now we find

Our Heart and our Mind

In the wake of their trial and woe

Battered and weathered

And no longer tethered

Giving thought of which way to go

"At last!" they now cry

"No more shall I try

To muddle my plans with thee!

Our boat is now split

I am free to commit

To myself and my own strategy!"

So the Heart grabs the oar

And looks for the shore

While the Mind does the same

They paddle and row

But nowhere do they go

In each place, their boat-halves remain

Each sailor assesses

Their respective messes

And frantically come to conclude

The Mind's torn raft

Is sinking and fast

While on a sea-rock, the Heart is marooned

"I fear we shall die!"

Declares the Mind,

"I in this water and thou on thy perch"

Resounds the Heart,

"With our ship apart

Here shall we end along with our search"

"Had I any wind motion,

I'd sail through this ocean

Too swiftly for my boat to sink."

The Mind thought aloud

Who was nearly half-drowned

Slowly submerging into the drink

"And if I had a map,

Of all these rock traps

I'd have the surest of navigation."

The Heart did reply

Between sobs and cries,

"But here I find my expiration"

A thing happens here

Amid madness and fear

That is not quickly explained

The waves and the wind

Once more enter in

But now for a gentl'r campaign

The water and air

Find the Heart there

And wash him down from the mound

They reach for the Mind

From under the brine

And to the surface again he is found

The two sailors float

Toward the other's half-boat

And, in truth, know not what to say

They think and they feel

On things suddenly real

And marvel how they came to this day

Sudden joyful tears

Dispel all their fears

With an embrace, they agree as friends

That the Master of these,

Sky, storm, and sea

Undertook their severance to mend

"Put your arm in mine,"

The Heart says to the Mind

"Hold fast, that our ship cleft be sealed"

With these instructions done

The ship halves acts as one

And a second purpose is revealed

"Aye!" the Mind claims

"We have fixed our aim,

For now we sit with the same orientation!

Take the oar in your grasp

And whether slowly or fast

Let us makes strokes in synchronization"

The sailors then find

With like-heart and like-mind

Their going is buoyant and straight

Yet one more question

A lingering perplexion

Is all that remains for debate

"Where is the shore?

It was there before!"

They ask aloud and in sync

For the storm had tossed

And carried them off

Much farther than one would think

The Mind looks down

Then all around

And spying the searock, gives it some starings

"I know this feature,

The map was my teacher.

From this I can surmise our bearings"

The Heart, for a while

With a tranquil smile

Listens, then slowly delivers,

"I feel this air

Salt-laden and fair

Whose winds are true guidance-givers"

Thus, a new start

For the Mind and the Heart

A pairing of wondrous strength

One hand to row

The other to know

A friend of lifelong length

Like a brother and sister

Although they may differ

Their bond is a symbiotic one

Whether storms or calm seas

Map lines or wind breeze

The life of one to the other is done

Both at the oars

Aimed at far shores

To reach the self-same goal

The Heart and the Mind

Are powers entwined

In the vessel of the soul

Whenever I think I've "caught" the Spirit in anything,

Whatever "the thing" was dies

You see, the Spirit is a being that will not be contained

It is best observed in its elusion

It is most at rest in its pursuit

It is fully seen as a flickering glimpse in the far corners of our sight

It is understood only when its mystery dances tauntingly above our intellect

It is captured only when it is just beyond our ever-reaching grasp

The Spirit is the fiery stallion that, dancing wild and free,

Will trample the cage of the mind

And set ablaze the mountainous plains of the heart and soul

Like a pot of boiling water with no flame beneath

Like a hiding child with no ghosts to be seen

Like free-falling within a dream

Fear is only fear

Like a knocking with no one at the door

Like the thought of drowning on a sandy shore

Like loneliness when real love is yours

Fear is only fear

Like a question when an answer is there

Like a soldier of imagined warfare

Like furrowed thoughts perceived as a glare

Fear is only fear

Like shadows seen through the mist

Like rustled leaves in the wind's hiss

Like something that does not exist

Fear is only fear

Wake up! Today could be the best day yet!

See the light peeking through your shades? Arise! Let fly those nylon barriers and let the bed-room of your soul experience the pain and the joy of the birth of today.

No more the soft comforts of pillows!

No more the idle warmth of those womb-like blankets!

Let sleep give what it can deliver yet not rob what it could take.

"Come!" beckons creation around you. "Come forth and seize life. Gently flee from sleep and fiercely smuggle the dreams of night into the living day."

The sun will invite but will not command

For preserving free will, God does demand

The invited in question may surely respond

With a ready embrace or a shrug and a yawn

For the greatest of days, the embracer may find

Or the greatest of days, may the sleeper decline

So come, seize life, before it is past!

Awake! Rise now, while the invite still lasts!

Two figures strode together

A small child and a man

With thoughtful, steady steps

They journeyed hand in hand

The landscape embraced the two

And the shadows that stretched ahead

Their silhouettes converging

Upon the path where they were led

They trod through fanciful woods

Wafting music, colors of every shade

Yet with every stride they took

All of these began to fade

They gazed on their surroundings

And talked in hushed tones

With sudden springs of laughter

Interspersed within their prose

I was carried along behind them

By a wind of gentle kind

That veiled me to observe

The travelers speak their mind 

"We're almost there", one voice said

"I can feel it in the wind!"

"Where are we going?", replied the other

"Where does this pathway end?"

The first sang, "You'll see for yourself!"

"You'll find out soon enough!"

After the echo of these chuckled words

Came a deep and reverent hush

The travelers turned 'round a bend

And stood a moment still

They stared, pointed, shared a glance

And approached a rising hill

At its base the child turned

And raised his hands up to the man

Who seated the boy upon his shoulders

And the upward climb began

Their steps fell heavy upon the slope

A grassy distance to the peak

And halfway to the top

One of them began to speak

One voice said, "I've always loved it here!"

"Yet why does it now fade?

For this is a different kind of night

Than what usually precedes the day"

To this there was no reply

And they climbed on in quiet thought

The boy squeezed round the man's neck

Then both turned their heads aloft

Diamond stars glinted above

And grew steadily in their size

Within them shone colored things

That at last were clarified

The sky danced with these colored vessels

That shone with people and places

Living picture frames that gathered in number

Until they filled the heavenly spaces

The travelers pointed and laughed

And I joined in joyful revelry

For every star that shone in the sky

Was, to me, a distant memory

Some of the faces smiled and cried

While I did just the same

For I felt all that which was forgotten

For what remembrance could not tame

The celestial dance continued

As we again turned to the road

For where our path ended

Stood a mystery to behold

A door fixed in place

With no wall to lead through

Nothing behind could be observed

Save an expanse of darkened hue

The moving lights glittered

In cascades across the door

The man lifted the boy

And on his feet he stood once more

The voices, breathless, now began

To speak in softer ways

The man kneeling by the boy

The door, the master of their gaze

"Do you know now where we are?

Where the wind has brought us to?

This is where the journey continues

There is so much ahead for you!"

The second voice halted

And struggled with it's speech,

"I am afraid I do not know

What am I here to meet?"

Then came the reply, "You are afraid

But you now well know,

The only one who can go through this door

Is you and you alone!"

"You must not stay

For you are only passing through

But the memories that dance above

You can take from here with you"

With this the stars began to shrink

And streak away from their place

With long-tailed flight through the door

The frame with their light enlaced

"You are not unprepared

For the road that lies beyond

For the wind that I have followed

Will tell you what path to tread upon"

"I have so often dreamed of what you will be

Beyond these borders here

And now that is for you to know

But not for you to fear"

The second voice gave reply,

"Now I understand

That this door is for me

To pass through without you in hand"

"But one more thing before I do

Embrace me before we part

For of all the memories I take with me

You will stay forever in my heart"

The first voice spoke again

In a way curious to the listener

For with every passing word

It slowly softened to a whisper

"In a moment you will see me no more

But this, of course I will do

For no matter how distant time parts us,

I will always love you"

Then the boy reached with eager hands

As the man picked him up again

They twirled 'round in the embrace

Known only by the greatest of friends

The air chorused with laughter

A pure and child-like sound

Then the twirling figure slowly stilled

And the man stood alone upon the ground

The light swelled around the door

The gentle wind grew fierce

The stoic door swung open

And all darkness around was pierced

The light spilled forth

And shone upon the man in his place

As he looked up and turned towards the door

Upon him I saw my face

With every step he took

I felt myself do the same

Until I passed from the top of the hill

Through the shimmering door frame

_____

I woke to the sound of the wind in the leaves

As they played upon the hill

And I heard the sound of the child's laughter

Indeed, I hear him still