This Morning

This morning I write when I do not feel like writing
without thought of ought or should
or striving to meet any standard of perfection.  
The words are all there in the air and,
whether I pull them down through my typing fingers
or leave them for another day or for someone else
to use for me, they patiently do not call for attention.

This morning the busyness of the world can go ahead
and compete against itself believing one side
or another can and will prevail.  I choose not to be
in the press of such effort but in the rhythm
of small places where people once stood
thinking there was something more to all of this.

We Move Slowly

We move slowly through the realms as anointed ones
hoping to find purpose in any given spacious time.

The inquiry unwinds with each pull of the errant string,
Will we be brave enough to declare where the kingdom is?

In knowing that this moment is the wonderful moment
we will keep ourselves from asking any questions of the future.

Which may be the brave thing to do in the great unraveling
as the selfish need to impress gives way to mindfulness.

We must hold tightly to our own treasure as we ask
where our silly and precious questions come from.

Being Holy

Here is that purpose thing once again
arriving from beyond the reach of what
I ought to do as if somewhere in the future
there will be a perfect version of me
running and not moving.  

Hope and fear come from the same place
arising not from any cherished sense of self
but from the space of seeing the present
disappear into an unknown future
where all time ceases to exist.

I have heard that it was possible on rainy days
to be able to lift a thought on angel wings
straight to the heavens beyond the storms
stirring all from the complacent dreams
which surround us from being holy.

“And when was it that we saw you?” – Matthew 25:41

God who hides,
God in plain view,
God who dwells
with those who are hungry,
with those who are thirsty,
with the stranger, the naked and the sick,
and with those in prison,
we cannot ask you to give us anything
when we have given nothing.
So when we are brought to judgment
with goats and sheep all around us
wrap us gently in your wrath.
Amen.

Ought

I said, "I realized this morning
that my shadow of control
feasts on Ought energy."

She said, "That is the Way
it ought to be."

I said, "Even the most basic
'Be mindfuls' come from 
the place of Oughtness."

She said, "We act surprised
when we discover how closely
Is and Ought dwell together."

I asked, not expecting an answer,
"Ought we not try to begin again
so as to avoid the Imperative?"

She answered, "Or perhaps
we must ask the vegetables
how we ought to grow."

What I Should Have Done

I begin these poems from journal entries
made in small, black books before I noticed
time flowing by me faster than a rapid river.
Now I return to learn the wisdom for the day
by dipping fingers in the moving water 
of what went under the bridge so long ago.

I dance with suffering servants
who have come down from their cross.

I laugh with laughing, fat monks carrying
bags of gifts over their shoulders.

I bring other divines together to see
how close they lay upon one another.

I do all of this to discover once again
that there is nothing on the other side
of wishing for what I should have done.

Divine Figures

Little figures of Buddha and Christ
dot the lawns and the landscapes
of those seeking to find comfort
in what they cannot explain.

Born from the Side or from the Virgin
we each stumble into being
with no ideas of how our ancestors
traversed the sorrows they encountered.

Picking a spot in time and hoping to evolve
into different behaviors not currently in fashion
we dance jerking and moving fitfully
while the figures of the divine remain still.

Questions

What is wrong with finding a reason
or a pattern where none actually exists?

How often must I become aware of my awareness
before enlightenment rushes upon me and decides to stay?

Is the next moment Time brings to me
the result of a repetition or of a sequence?

When will the next usual day happen 
where nothing unusual happens?

And suddenly there was a great earthquake. – Matthew 28:2

Subtle God,
Disquieting God,
Stone Rolling God,
who ruptures our reality
with the nuance of shaking ground
moving earth between Heaven and Hell,
pick up the dust of our bodies,
stir the center of our spirits,
decompose our minds
emboldening us once again
to proclaim
"Death is not the final answer"
because so much
around us
silences us.
Amen.