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Maintenance Required

I cannot imagine a soul apart from the body.
And, I understand the dynamics
of soul-attachment are not meant for me to know.

But if I, my soul, am to float away up into the heavens
upon whatever breeze that blows when I die,
I would like to enjoy the ride with the body 
that I leave behind.

There are those, perhaps many, who look forward
to that day of detachment from disease, paralysis
and fear that inhabits the corporeal.

Yet, what is this the Psalmist writes, God keeps
alive and restores souls?  Does this not change 
the yearning for moving along after death 
if maintenance is still required?

Next Door

I said, "In my childhood room I cried myself 
to sleep every night believing God was absent,
not realizing that God was the room."

She said, "And look at how many rooms
you have in your house today."

I added, "Though I tire myself out with 
the preponderance of dark thoughts 
and what seems to me to be their endless 
repetition."

She said, "You do such a great job
of taking the mystic's advice, greeting
them at the door, laughing."

I said, "Even the taste of laughter
in my mouth turns bitter with the
sorrow on the face of my neighbor."

She said, "Kiss me, so I can taste it
and then we can make brownies together
and take them next door to share."

“But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” – John 21:18

God who draws us out of the waters
and leads us across the land,
the shape of our lives blurs
as meanings grow dim
and the birds no longer sing
in the light of the mornings.
We cry, This is not of our own doing,
and we pray, Lead us not into temptation,
but we hold out our hands anyway
to be bound by that which is greater
than us...but not you.
Free us once again.
Amen.

No Longer Human

One day we go to the bathroom
and fifty years later we tell horror
stories of how the tank malfunctioned
and flooded the entire house.

Today, "God restoreth my soul,"
while on countless earlier days
children of the steppes and plains
were run over by marauders.

Our stampeding and pillaging
is more subtle now: a morning
paper and the news that capture
tales of destruction and woe.

We pour the blood of our neighbor
out like water, drinking other's pain
to satisfy our need for delight 
in the present moment.

I grimace when someone calls
for humans to evolve into being
more human.  Do they not know
we would no longer be human?

A Bathroom Break

When my Uncle was nine years old he visited a friend's house.  While there he excused himself to go to the bathroom.  He noticed a type of tank he had never encountered before: the tank was above the toilet and had a chain hanging down.  My uncle pulled the chain, gently at first.  Nothing happened.  A second pull, slightly stronger.  Nothing happened.  Finally, a third great yank...and...WHOOSH!  My uncle ran out the bathroom yelling, "I didn't do it!"  

After he told this story, and with my daughters still giggling at the dinner table, I asked my uncle if he went to the bathroom afterwards.  He replied, "What do you mean?  I went in my pants."

Known in Dreams

Sanctuary began this morning
when the first drop of dew
formed under the temple eaves,
offering a sense of beginning
without entering the holy of holies.

Throughout the world little men
prepare for the day by placing
stones on the ground, perfect
for unthought people who seek
to throw first without reaching.

The entrance to the silver mine
at the edge of town has been closed,
as nothing of value has been found
in those depths for persons to enrich
their looks or their lives.

A sense of beginning establishes
itself in the interior space behind
the purple curtain where the high 
priest goes to ask for divine
intervention on behalf of the people.

And the people awaken once again
with sleep in their eyes and a lightness
to their steps stirring beyond the rooms
of intimating walls where once they
had only known themselves in dreams.

The Light I Forget

There is a light I forget to turn off
each time I leave the basement.
It is as if another lived down there;
a person to which I extend a common
courtesy.  Perhaps in my mind I see them
reading a book in my favorite chair
in the corner, sitting how my grandfather
always sat, right leg crossed over left
and the newspaper open on his lap.
Perhaps I fail to extinguish the glow 
from above somehow aware that to do so
might shorten the memory lingering in the air.

How My Life Passes

I bow my head to breathe,
only for a moment,
raise it and the light has changed.

This is how my life passes;
moments of inspiration
in the midst of the movement of seasons.

The cardinal forages at dawn
at the base of the maple tree
before singing in the branches above.

A daughter in search of a dream
adventures off to Africa,
never to return home again.

One poet writes about moving
"in the along" whereas I seek
for a place in the in-between.

Many Waters

I said, "I awoke this morning believing
waves are caused by dolphins."

She said, "If those waves don't drown us,
we can all play together at the water 
fountain park."

I asked, "Which do you like more: slides,
pools or jets of water intermittently
hurling out of nowhere?"

She answered, "I like it most when my
expectations are disastrously too low."

I remembered, "King David once wrote 
of how God draws us out of many waters."

She thought aloud, "I wonder what
the many waters may be."