Two ways of riding BI-cycles or reasons and ways for doing so….an argument for holding hands ((Bien tomados de la mano!): Se donner la main!

In Antwerp, Belgium
While riding bikes next to one another
We hold hands
To steady us
Through today’s
Rain. And
Not just lovers
Do so. But old and young
Friends, and even strangers
Hold hands while riding their bikes
Two by two
Into and through
We lose ourselves in
Today’s rains.

One would never see this
In America, where we ride alone
And pick the toughest terrain
To climb. We wind our way up-name
By name,
Getting there first, before the others-Per aspera ad astra
Up the sheer misted twisted silent Rocky Mountain.
And when we get to the top
It is raining, and we
Are all alone
Having won
Today.

Adam must’ve had a hard time
Naming Zebras on that day.
What a black and white task he was given, and yet zebras confounded him.
Giraffes, ok he got it—the tall neck of the sound Gu, the funny legs of the letter f
When coupled with itself;
Elephants also were easy for him—wise and mighty like El, but odd and funny like plants; but then
The monochrome striped horse walked in-
Like a circus act-
And he was silent for a second or two.
“Can I get back to You, God”
(Asking the most ancient of questions)
In fact, he thought all night about it
Til just at dawn it came to him
The zed ,the beit-the z the b-
then the open a of awe!
Zebra, he said to God, finally.
And God laughed
And said, ok man.
We’ll go with that.

Holding hands while riding bikes through rain:
(Bien tomados de la mano!)
Two raisons for riding bikes….

In Antwerp, Belgum
While riding bikes next to one another
We hold hands
To steady us
Through today’s
Rain. And
Not just lovers
Do so. But old and young
Friends, and even strangers
Hold hands while riding their bikes
Two by two
Into and through
We lose ourselves in
Today’s rains.

One would never see this
In America, where we ride alone
And pick the toughest terrain
To climb. We wind our way alone-
Getting their first, before the others-
Up the sheer misted twisted mountains
And when we get to the top
It is raining, and we
Are all alone
Having won.

Holding hands while riding bikes through rain:
(Bien tomados de la mano!)

In Antwerp
While riding bikes next to one another
We hold hands
To steady us
Through today’s
Rain. And
Not just lovers
Do so. But old and young
Friends, and even strangers
Hold hands while riding their bikes
Two by two
Into and through
Today’s rains.

Making art is like getting lost intentionally,
Then trying to find your way back home,
And you do eventually, but when you do
The house has changed. Sometimes,
Even locations.

The man at the bar who liked Baroque music

“I would come to your funeral.” He said to the old flute player sitting across from him at the bar. The man did not look up, lost, as he was, in his concise notations.

He had been listening to and notating baroque music across from him at that local pub all afternoon. And he had noticed his passion at transcribing each note so carefully. When he asked him about it, the older man with a wool newsboy style had pulled down nearly over his eyes, had looked up in what appeared to him to be glee.
“Oh, Bach understood the angels and people. He wasn’t just writing for kings, he was writing for God.”
Then he went back to transposing.
That was all he had really said. But he just liked him.
There is a whole life well lived, a true story, someone obsessed with what they love about life, and sharing that obsession in public-on stage.
He respected that sort of person. This man had clearly retired, and didn’t need the money from the music, just loved the music, and translating it for the next generation. He respected that.
So on his way out, he thought, if that man died at this bar right now, I would go to his funeral.
And decided to speak that out loud to the man.
When he did, it startled the man, and he knocked over his pint glass. It went everywhere. The notations were blurred. He looked up startled. He looked up at him as if looking at death itself.
“I’m not finished yet, so you’ll just have to wait son!” He said while desperately trying to retrieve his vanishing notes.

Blame it on Spring (seasonal confessions)

In Spring, life is so overt
I have trouble focusing on it all.
For in every direction
Something is busy blooming
Into itself ever more effulgently
Everything wears its name, so blatantly.
Winter is easy for me, as
The single blade of grass
Is all that’s left to say yes through!
Or a little girl’s left behind snow angel imprint. Or a stroke of fresh neon green graffiti
Some kid
Fonted at night in my alley.
It gives my real eyes
A point to gaze towards.

I was born in Spring
Which is why I can’t
Finish poems. Yes,
I’ll blame it on Spring!
Spring’s ADHD makes
Everything illuminated all at once,
So you need an automatic lens
To stay in focus.
I should buy one
While it’s still Winter.

Blame it on Spring

In Spring, life is so overt
I have trouble focusing on it all.
For in every direction
Something is busy blooming
Into itself ever more effulgently
Everything wears its name, so blatantly.
Winter is easy for me, as
The single blade of grass
Is all that left to say yes!
Or a little girl’s left snow angel imprint.
It gives my real eyes
One point to gaze towards.
I was born in Spring
Which is why I can’t
Finish poems. Yes,
I’ll blame it on Spring!


America speaks all at the same time. In Europe they take turns talking and listening. More responding, less reacting. That’s all.

In my dream last night, everyone I ever loved got to the top of this huge hill—like the Shuman street as a kid, but the scale was like the hill in San Fran near Frank’s. Mont Vista I think it’s called. And at the top was Europe and all the options of art there. And I was running a bit late, but got there, and started telling folks where they could go which would get them jazzed.

Is that an end of life dream Lord? Or a now, dream.
Should I start pushing things towards Europe Lord….I’m taxed here and not much use, aside from a few jokes at a sad time here.
Your dreams lead me into wonder. What shall we wonder about today friend, my oldest friend Jesus.

You are in a season of great change, but the Changeless One beckons. I say yes. Abide and the climb will be easier than imagined.

The world is so clamorous now. How shall I be silent and just abide in what is most Core?! The real world, what is really Real. The Real aspect of myself and all that is around me. How shall I abide there?

I am wearing all the nation’s scents, few will notice that, but it is true, as I used to wear many nations each day depending on whom I was praying for. But still as a traveler, you can scent the place I just returned from. But few will smell well, His Heart for the whole earth and each person, I have met.

So then after the high, we must flatten ourselves back down into daily conversation, so at least the birds can hear and understand us!

To shrink and flatten ourselves out to understandable levels, just so we can chat with friends. That’s ok with Him.
His mount of transfiguration! And then He shrunk Himself again in order to be their friends.

My deeper other self is watching it all with God. And it is hard to sit still there
With so many ripples on the surface
So much tumult above me.

My deeper self is the part of me that is entirely loved. And from there I try my best to speak to the part of you which is also fully loved, until we discover our names together friends.

You cannot bring to others, what you yourself have not yet embodied. Love is like that friends!

We gather into ourselves so many uncertainties.
And yet, we are certain
We are loved and named
But can’t hear either well.

I cannot perform today
But tomorrow maybe
Today I must just be
So later I can offer that, at least
To others.

Go see your friends, enjoy life
For My Sake friend.

Your deeper self just knows stuff. Stick
With what it knows. Peace in Him. Be in Him. Abide, reside and dwell. There.

Love only knows
About the pain
That you’ve been living
Love only knows about the life
That you’ve been given…..

Lyrics from a song I wrote in high school called Love only knows.

//

We all want to write our names on a tree.
The tree is the tree of Life
And it has already written our names on itself, but we get to participate
In that carving.

//

The ministry of a tree is just to be.
Why not we. It tells us to be
But we struggle to stand
After crawling we stand for an instant
Then die, and we wondered why the standing part was so hard.
I’m no saint, but those trees are.

//

So much silence surrounds us all
If we would only listen.

//
There’s a time to fly and
A time to land
A time to float in heaven
And a time to be on earth
The concert made us high
The next day, we had to go
To work, whether we liked it or not
Or could talk well. We got high
So we could bring that back to work
To earth—to Life!
We saw Him transformed on the mountain and saw each of us glowing
In our real selves. Then afterwards
We had to clean the toilets while here
So that that flow could keep going on…..
//
After seeing a great film
We have to watch tv again.
And somehow be ok, with both.
To be Divine and human is a hard call.
And which way to lean, when.
//
To not come crashing down after flying or even levitation is wisdom. In my dreams, after flying around, I often land poorly—on my belly or worse. When I pray, I fly
So to come back to earth where I am temporarily useful, requires humility and skill. I’ve never been a great lander. But I fly really well! I learned to fly early, but landing is another matter!
//