How to translate becoming…
//
I have to recognize,
our firmly placed insignificance. And.
Simultaneously, our cherished-ness.
//
The running fountain water
I saw this morning in the park,
is enough to keep me flowing all day.
Let’s play in it with our eyes, until we spy
our significance again, until my mouth overflows with blessings…
Thanks for pointing me towards that running water, this hour again.
Now, let us drink it, in gaze together until the end.
Where we begin again, in some towering fountain stream, Somewhere.
//
Coughed up, before circumstances prevailed
we were surprised to see the glory of the object still glowing.
the beginning of a short story still unfolding…
or a friend’s body, who lost it in the night…
//
the rattle of words heard at that particular instant were
softened by the pavement of falling that night.
having found a friend passed out on the sidewalk, they
called the cops and me, for some reason.
if he bleeds to death from the blow of an imagined foe
i will still shed real tears for him, regardless, I remember
saying to myself or someone.
This looks like an oil spill, the cops said.
that’s blood friends, mixed with liquor maybe.
test it in the lab of life
until we each know love. Or,
until, we taste Grace.
//
two squirrels criss cross in the midst of the street today
just before my jeep nearly interrupts their frenetic meeting.
is that a dance, symbolized
or how we actually were meant to meet.
//
types of streets:
the street outside my house
is too proud of itself today
thinking about its Roman origins
gives it a false glow. a lofty thought as if it knows
the way to go.
We know better, who grew up on dirt roads, pathways really-
and the basic metaphor of human travel.
He washed our actual feet.
Glad to have it smoothed over,
but not glad the road lost her glory.
//
Diary entry about what I learn from my dogs:
I have two types of dogs-
one with very specifically focused affections;
the other, who gives them everywhere;
both ways, seem useful
depending on the day
or the situation.
Jakob doesn’t care
as long as he’s not in trouble.
the rest of his life is sheer
love of everything at once-every scent and motion, a
potential path to explore. ( i relate to that)
a gusto for the universe
without discrimination,
a ubiquitous scattered passion for all.
So, a love willing to be worn thin again and again,
yet, trusting it will return.
The priest, Henri Nouwenn spoke of
putting boundaries on our loves, so they
become more potently focused, more accurately planted. More, potentially fruitful.
As you put edges on a garden, so you can notice the whole process,
make it yours,
learn from it.
I’m not sure Jakob has downloaded that teaching yet.
Nor have I fully.
Pearl, my other dog, is often pointedly concerned,
she carries the weight of caring, the burden of being,
having come out of Hurricane Katrina-
a pearl of great cost forged in suffering.
Often, I want to make her life simpler, lighter
for her, for her own sake.
Just so she never wastes her suffering.
Both of my dogs teach me things about who God is,
and how to be a better, or at least more observant, person, more my best self.
Freda, who passed or even walked over death recently, had another gift.
When she prissed into a space, everyone noticed her.
She seemed almost only temporarily a dog; a type of grace.
she walked lightly, even prancing at times
she also saw angels. With her, it was more
about giving her room to shine
to carry glory well. She still, had to pee and poo
(like the rest of us)
but even that was a private privy affair with her.
she had no carbon footprint, but
left a light trace on the earth when she passed-i still have an imprint in clay. it,
like a streak of light or fleck of color on water really, but still
with a sort of weight.
She, more like a glisten, a shimmer. Maybe she had more to do with Glory-
a creature, outlining the contours of Light, or at least, highlighting them.
and it was almost as if she didn’t die, but stayed herself, immediately, in another realm.
She had an Enoch ending, one i would like to emulate myself.
She also already lived in both worlds at once. So,
was used to the atmosphere of heaven when she got there.
//
Why wood? the construction worker asked me….
Wood is just a world
of memory and knowing.
It holds us, somehow in place
until we ourselves, remember, who we are.
The Cross was made of wood.
The ultimate juxtaposition. It’s a material meant to hold stories,
without splintering, recalling endlessly,
the ultimate story occurring forever.
Skin and bones of the right one, on wood
the memory of that wood still echoing in my bones…
tells us who we are. Sorry if that was too deep an answer.
But we, definitely, need to work with wood. Is that ok?!
Perhaps, i over explained why we need wood on that particular
counter top.
//
I’m not sure the difference between light and glory.
We are told to walk in the light, but to move
from glory to glory…
Perhaps glory is her contour.
In the meantime, which is where we all live,
this grilled corn
tonight in yellow texas evening light,
looks nearly perfect.
//
you gotta do what you mean.
//
across the street a young woman tends the elderly.
today they are watching rain fall
and being thankful in small ways
she often wears blue dresses
but unlike a nurse, for pleasure.
today, she leans over the railing with one elderly man
looking at a freshly wet blue bird
stuttering around for seeds or something
the bird is startled to be seen, but then returns to her happy hunting
in the moist earth. today, i notice she is pregnant.
//
write your own name on your loves
as they say
define things with your love
tell them, they are, they exist, they matter
the pen we write with is Love, the ink, His Blood. That’s how we contour things
into Being.
if you can’t tell something it is loved,
you can’t be yourself, yet.
//
europe is lonely.
in a dream, i come to her to listen. to be with,
her thoughts seem so deep and distant, as if
she feels irrelevant to herself.
i ask her what she thinks about at night-
“all that has come before
how did i get to this place
given so much foresight?”
we talk for many hours
i slip my hand into hers
as the sun, finally rises.
//
don’t pare down your life.
the old man said, then he went on…
i gave my wife a bucket once for her birthday
told her to fill it with things she wanted;
she chose chocolates.
i was happily surprised as she could’ve
filled it with car keys or diamonds
or anything else which made her smile;
we ate dinner, then made coffee,
and eventually made love, and then
had chocolate for dessert.
////HE
He went around shining, in a
simple, understandable, form.
People could mingle in His Light at will.
He was trying to make Love
conducive. To make a condensible expression and compression
of “love
one another.”
/…
what we said here, were pools of light,
to dive into, whenever.
or, wherever language made us
most likely to jump!
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