The Wait

Now we wait

in the midst of the noise

we wait

the anticipation grows

the need for light intensifies

our hearts are not filled

with the goods being hawked

so we get more

thinking to fill the emptiness

that will never be filled

so the soul waits

knowing what we do not

knowing that the true light

is so near, yet, so far

it knows our needs

even as we run

from the love reaching out

touching us deeply

and in the silent watches

we stand still

hearing the whispers of life

of peace on earth for all

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The Wait

I come to this place

to find myself imagining

where is my God

in the wildness of the wind,

where do I go to listen

for that voice so dear,

to once again hear that call

and feel the spirit within,

the wilderness is cold

the heart is broken

and now I stand here

in supplication and prayer

seeking the divine Logos

to speak to my darkened self

calling me from my tomb

into the light of the living One.

Heaven or Hell

The church sign asks

where will we spend eternity

heaven or hell

and I wonder

if that is what God is

a judge sentencing me

to a place of pleasure

or to one of torment

I wonder where,

where is the God of love

where is the God who cares

the world weeps

and I ask

where is grace

in this sign

or do I have to choose

curtain one

curtain two

both a dead end

so I choose to ride by

to love, not hate

to care, not ignore

to stand for life

and not for death

in the midst of confusion

where we don’t know our way

choosing love over hate

choosing heaven on earth

not the hell we created

The Blue Hour

The early morning begins to dawn

I sit on the edge of this blue hour

between two worlds of the passing night

and the beginning of a new day

not rushing forward but lingering here

watching the sun slowly rise in the east

as wood elves dance in the meadow

harvesting the dew laden moss

while a young deer grazes on cornstalks

that has grown tall and thick in the fields

and the earliest of birds begin to gather

to feed the hungry mouths in their nests

in this blue hour I am at peace

in the gentle glow of the dawns light

listening to the silence as loud as life

that shows the way to the one who loves

reaching out through the early haze

to embrace my heart with gentle hands

Spring of ‘72

In the spring of ‘72

we sat on the porch

of the old farmhouse,

in the warm sunlight

as the lilacs bloomed

their scent drifting

on a gentle breeze

talking

about the future

children, maybe

a nice house

a life lived together

both promising

we would grow old

together

our hearts bound

by a lifetime of love,

now we are old

sitting on the porch

gazing into a future

still filled with promise

of the love we share

as the sun sets slowly

on these closing days

My Journey in Words

In the past few weeks my life has changed. First, I retired, second, I’ve moved. Now I’m trying to figure out what shape my life will take, so I offer this small piece of reflection. It’s not perfect, nor is it finished but it is where I am at the moment.

July 11, 2018

Thanks, once again to Parker Palmer I have another mystery to unravel in my attempt at the writers life. Here he quotes Henry David Thoreau:

My life has been the poem I would have writ

But I could not both live and utter it

Now what do I do with that? What is the poem I would have writ had I the time to writ what it is that needed to be writ? For me this is the struggle, to find something that grabs at me instead of these various, meteoric thoughts that fly by quickly only too burn up in the atmosphere of my thoughts. I write, to put it mildly, trash even as I long to make sense of where I am in this world. Being deeply troubled by what I read and see, how does my small voice fit in the the greater narrative? Palmer seems to have found his voice, a voice that has been honed and worked on and re-honed to what it is today. Richard Rohr, (another spiritual author I need to read) writing about Palmer and his new book writes that “Our entire culture is in need of true elders, and you can’t be one until you have arrived there — chronologically, spiritually, and intellectually. Here’s a man who has arrived, with another book that’s a generous gift to all of us.” I am far from being anywhere near from being a true elder. I might be there chronologically, but the other two criteria are woefully deficient and need a good boost, a shot of spiritual and intellectual energy. I’m not too old to not have the desire to continue in my quest and even as the days grow shorter, I don’t feel desperate or anxious to get to that mythical somewhere. Maybe, for me, the struggle is the vocation, the purpose of my writing. The honest struggle of not paying enough attention when I was younger and now finding myself in the slow lane trying to catch-up. Now I’m back to the question, what is the poem I would have writ? What are the paradoxes that surround my life and where do they fit in with what I am trying to be as a writer, as a priest, now retired from the dailyness of being out there, yet still craving that need for contact? Now that’s a paradox, a both/and that will keep any shrink in business if one ever dares to try an unravel my inner workings. Today was a day of thoughts, not really journal material, or is it? After all what is a journal other than a place to vomit the crap that is floating on the interior and exposing it all to the light of day. It ain’t pretty and sometimes it smells, but that is the only way to come to understand who I am at this time in my life. I think that the only person that really gets me is Jane, the poor girl has had to deal with my ups and downs for the past 45 years and now she’s stuck with me on a daily basis as we negotiate being retired together.

Thrift Shop Volunteers

They do not materialize

with gossamer wings

no ethereal,

other worldly light

surrounds their bodies

they make no grand predictions

to young virgins

or calm the fears of shepherds

out in the darkened fields

instead they are just there,

every day,

with no expectations

helping forgotten people

listening to the stories

no one else will listen to

holding a hand

when needed

being a light of hope

in a world gone dark

doing this for no wage

or any praise

they minister in the wilderness

giving comfort to all

then go home in the evening

their light still shining

in the hearts of those they touched.