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.

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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

Trust (a Reflection)

I haven’t written or posted on my blog in quite awhile but recent events have caused me to reflect on the issue of trust. I heard this morning someone of a news program speaking about the loss of trust between the two major political parties today. This didn’t happen overnight, this broken trust has been slowly gnawing away at the very foundations of our society and now we are reaping what we have sown. Can we ever regain our trust? Can we heal what has been broken? My fervent hope and prayer is, yes, we can but only if each of us are willing to see that we need to be part of the solution and not part of the problem. So, what follows is something I just finished writing, it’s not complete, it’s still a rough draft, but it’s all part of my own process to recognize my own complicity in what we face today. It’s a start on a long journey towards bettering myself, and in turn, bettering my small section of this world.

Trust

Trust, it is something we all seek, to trust. We are born trusting, first in our parents, to take care of us, hold us when we are hurt, feed and clothe us and help as we learn to navigate the world. We trust that our friends will be there for us, when we need help, when we are going through difficult moments in life. We trust our partners, again as we live together, work, play and experience life with all of its ups and downs. Trust is earned and for many giving that trust is difficult, stemming from times when that trust was broken by people whom they thought truly cared for them. Trust is the issues we see today in our political, social and religious systems. People no longer trust our public servants to actually serve the needs of the people, in politics we are witnessing politicians being self serving and only serving the needs of the party. It’s about being in power, being held in thrall to the special interests. They use social media to help propagandize their political objectives and many, like those who followed Jim Jones, have drank the “kool-aid” and are blinded by their own self righteous attitudes. Our religious circles have nothing to brag about as we have seen in the recent revelations within the Roman Catholic denomination, with allegations reaching right up to and including the See of St. Peter. To be honest, in my life not only have I been hurt by those whom I trusted, I have also done my share of hurting those who trusted in me. It’s inevitable, we are after all human beings, at times we get tired, at times we are distracted, at times we are not fully engaged with listening. Our humanity gets in the way, we enter into relationships, many times without counting the costs of that relationship. Right now, it seems that trust is in short supply. This lack of trust in those places that we had placed on pedestals of honor have now become nothing more than tarnished relics of a long gone past, a past that in hindsight looks to be all sunshine and roses until we uncover the truth. There are no answers, there are no quick fixes to this issue of trust. No one, not a President, or Politician, no Priest, Bishop, Cardinal, Archbishop or Pope, have that deep wisdom needed to heal our brokenness. The awful truth for many, is that to heal this brokenness we need to fully examine our own complicity in what we are seeing today. Can we be honest and admit our own moments when we broke trust, when we, through a thoughtless word or a thoughtless moment, have hurt another person? Can we find it within ourselves to seek healing, not in blaming the other, but in reconciling with those whom we have broken trust with, by listening to one another? It’s not easy, we each come with our own hurts, our own darkness, our own deep feelings. Yet, that is exactly what we are called to do, to listen, to be fully present to each person. We are all made in the image of God, “Imago Dei”

albeit, a much distorted image, but nonetheless despite our brokenness, it is there. As an Episcopalian, as a Christian, as a human being, I am challenged daily to respect seek and serve the Christ that each person reflects, no matter how I may feel about them personally. We now face a time of great transition, our society, our world, our very existence as the human race, depends on each of us to take a good, hard look at ourselves and see where we have fallen short of truly listening, loving and caring. It’s way too easy to share social media postings that affirm our agendas, that feed our own needs, it takes courage to recognize that not all of them serve the good or build trust. A wise person once said that each day we awaken is also the first day of the rest of our lives. We don’t know what day or time we will no longer grace the world with our presence but until then, we can all strive to be a little more compassionate and willing to listen to one another. This doesn’t mean that we won’t be challenged, that everything will miraculously change in that moment, but what it does mean is that we will become ourselves a bit better, a bit more caring, a bit more like that image into which we all have been born.

The Retirement Journey, So Far.

I sit here reflecting on what retirement has meant so far as the third month slowly passes. I sit and write, I also read but I’m still on a journey, towards what, I’m not sure. These moments in life where we sit between what was and what might be are good times to take stock of what is important and what is not. Usually, when I’ve transitioned from one life event into another, I would allow the darker aspects to take root and depression would be planted. This time, I’m in a different place and although there is uncertainty, I don’t feel any anxiety or urgency just to do something. There is a certain freedom that comes when you don’t feel rushed into making a decision that may or may not be the best for that moment. Strangely, I’m okay living in this in between time. I don’t need certainty what I need is time to pray, write and reflect. Priesthood, mine in particular, had it’s moments of good and not so good which has shaped who I am. Now I have the opportunity to examine this shape, like a sculptor who examines his work once he’s chiseled away a bit of the granite. Carefully the artist takes their time to ensure that not too much is chiseled away too quickly, they also must follow the granites veins, look for what the stone is saying to them. I can examine my own life thus far in the same way, not going at it with a sledge, but carefully chiseling away at it, following the natural flow that presents itself as I work at the larger piece. There is plenty of rock to work with, it’s just knowing where to start and how much to begin working on. Writing, like any art, takes time as well as talent. Well, time I have, it’s talent that is suspect. It’s easy to read books on writing, it’s easy to get lost in the authors words of wisdom, but the real test is comes in actually writing something. Parker Palmer, author of many books filled with wisdom, said, and I paraphrase here, that writers just need to put out their stuff for all to read and see to get some idea if they have anything of worth.

August 10 Journal Reflection on Writing

All around us there are the sounds of construction. Hammers pounding away as workers put down shingles on a new roof, the beep-beep of construction trucks backing up to unload all that goes into building a house, pipes and frames and HVAC equipment, while in the almost completed homes the sounds of saws buzzing away, windows being put in and in some cases the finishing touches. Across from us are several large digs, the soil that once covered the land now in piles along the huge hole, where some have had cement poured into what will soon become the base frame. It’s a busy place, from early morning till late afternoon, the workers trudge to and fro doing their assigned jobs so that one day someone will be able to have a new home. We moved into our house a month and a half ago, brand new with more room than we ever had before. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a full, albeit, unfinished basement. Our master bedroom has this nice space, the one I’m writing in right now, an extra little sitting area where I can retreat to and allow my thoughts to flow. We have a sunroom, that will be nice once the cold winds of winter arrive and we will no longer be able to sit on the deck, then there’s that, a deck. The deck is positioned perfectly, in the late afternoon with the sun setting into the west, the deck is shaded and pleasant to sit out on while in the morning with the sun rising in the east, our porch is the one shaded, there we can enjoy our morning cup of coffee. Yes, we do have a porch, I know isn’t that awesome but we’ve never had one before. Walk-in closets, a first floor laundry room, a full two car garage although we only have one car. I was thinking, if I could only have had this back up in Massachusetts I may not have moved, but we didn’t and in fact to have a house with all of this would have cost us way more than what we are making and so, here we are living in Smyrna Delaware. It’s really not so bad although we do miss a few things like decent shopping stores like Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s and Wegman’s, and we definitely miss fresh, Atlantic fish, Cod, Haddock and the occasional Swordfish, all of which are hard to come by down here. There is also, how do I put this, slowness to this part of the state, a slowness in everything that is done. To drive means being behind a slower driver who may or may not signal his/her intentions. In the grocery stores you encounter them in the aisles, browsing ever so slowly, examining each package before putting it in their cart or putting it back on the shelf. Now, with so many retiring here one would think, “hey, they are old and old folks are slow,” but surprise, even the young folks are slow if not slower. There are times when I feel that I am in a tortoise vs. hare race and I’m the hare, just trying to get what I need, then get out of the store. Okay, I know I sound frustrated, but that is the way with those of us who grew up in more metropolitan areas. Growing up with traffic, with noise with the congestion that comes with it, is the cross I bear as I try to get used to this slower, measured pace. Maybe there is a lesson, one that I need to learn as a budding writer, slow down, take your time, allow your mind to wander and just write. Write with no agenda, write with no end point or even a well developed theme, just write. Maybe later, maybe in what I’ve just written there is something that will take root and grow into an essay or a story or even a poem. Sometimes I feel that I’m trying to hard to catch up and that is actually holding me back from just writing. I want the words to be perfect, I want what I say to mean something, not just to me but to someone who is reading this, now, yes you, the occasional blog browser who does a daily random search and lands on my piece to read. Maybe it’s shit, maybe it’s okay, but maybe it offers something beyond the words, hope. That if you to are a beginning writer, an older writer who feels that life and opportunity have left you behind, then maybe this missive will give you some hope and courage to write anyway. I am far from perfect, my grammar sucks, if it weren’t for spell check then I would be doomed but still I write, my imagination isn’t dead. As I look out at those workers, as they go about building these homes I am reminded that even the best of them had to learn their trade, they had to make mistakes and try again, but that is the way of life. As writers, and yes I’m addressing all of you who blog, write poetry, essay’s, fiction, nonfiction whatever, just keep at it, make mistakes, but keep at it because now more than ever we need more writers, we need deep thinkers who are willing to go into those places where few dare to tread, to mine for words of healing, words of substance. So, what are you waiting for, write.

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

Lovers

I look into her eyes

deep blue waters

where I drown

in a sea of passion

love

eternal, precious

living love

that breaks chains

our bodies touch

we rise on a wave

high into the heavens

touching eternity

where angels dwell

and our hearts sing

a sweet song

the song of a love

that never dies.