ENCOUNTER - HANDS

And then he looked into my eyes…His eyes were youthful, no, that’s not right. His eyes were ageless and they looked at me with a focus that told me I was the only person he cared about right then. But, they were not intense – that would have concerned me. Instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of care. Words are not usually a problem for me but they felt so shallow compared to what I’d just sensed. Not knowing what to do next, I averted my eyes for a moment and looked at the bed. He glanced between us and we both slowly sat. Firmly seated, my eyes returned to his face, no, not his face but very specifically his eyes. The skin at the corners of his eyes began to crinkle, so I let my eyes wander in time to see a radiant smile appear on his face. I had no choice but to return the look for I felt compelled to accept and return this gift. I’ve no idea how long we sat like that. Neither of us seemed to have anything else to do but to be with one another. After some time, he slowly lifted his left hand and reached over to take my right hand in his. He looked at my hand as if he had never seen a hand before. He turned my hand over so that it was palm up. The lines in my palm were another source of interest as he traced the lines with a sturdy finger. Lifting my hand, he placed it firmly against his cheek and closed his eyes.

(to be continued...)

ENCOUNTER - EYES

I went to Jesus’ house yesterday. No, not the one you’re thinking of. He gave me his address over my cell phone. I knew how to get there. I had to drive through some dicey neighborhoods, but I didn’t mind. Parking was at a premium, but I managed to find a spot. I spied the house – a little rundown. I saw the Palestinian flag in the window and a sign that said, “Stop the Killing.” Yep, this must be the place. He told me to just come on up when I got there – 2nd floor, take 3 flights of stairs – huh? Well, there wasn’t a doorbell and the door was locked, so I called him on my cell phone. “Come ‘round back, watch your step, 2nd floor, take 3 flights of stairs.” Again, huh? He said he’d be in the shower, so just come right in and make myself comfortable. Sure, enough, 2nd floor, 3 flights of stairs. I reached for the doorknob and it turned easily. I stepped in. I shrugged off my coat, placed it on a woven wicker trunk and since there weren’t any chairs, I sat on the edge of his bed. Before long, I heard the shower being turned off. The bathroom door opened and out he walked – buck naked. He wasn’t embarrassed and neither was I. He came over and opened his arms wide to share a hug. Seemed like the most natural thing in the word to do so I wrapped my arms around him. And then he looked into my eyes.

(to be continued...)

SPRING

Winter’s thin days give way to spring’s plump buds,
Dark moist soil speaks to me, “Are you in love?”
I lift my face, to greet a new warm sun
and hear bright bird songs, falling from above.

Enveloped in the arms of the season
my heart responds by opening deeper,
prepared for rites demanded by nature
my dreams shall form freely and soar steeper.

The possible reigns as new days lengthen
becoming reality’s new vision
of a world where light can transfigure one’s life,
strengthening resolve to complete love’s mission.

TRUTH

In one of the kingdom’s royal castles,
falling out, my soul separates
from my body, unwilling,
unable to move,
but light flowing, holding fast.
Cracked windows patched with tape,
dull blue-gray skies,
hills in the distance,
bare trees seen through mottled glass.
The black shoed,
blue jeaned,
white shirted messenger
with cocoa skin and darker eyes
who helps me;
to touch my pain,
live in the light,
walk at the edges.
Slain in the spirit
my body quakes with karmic release.
In unison with myself
once again,
I awake and find rose petals
covering my eyes.
The scent of kindness
resides in the truth.

WORDS

I revel the travels I make in the world of words. When asked why, in particular, I am so fond of poetry, I usually reply that it's the "economy of words" that draws me to that writing style. But there are other aspects of poetry that appeal to me.

Just this past weekend, I picked up a very slim paperback of writings by Robert Bly titled "A Little Book on the Human Shadow." Robert Bly first came to popular fame with his book, "Iron John," which launched what in common vernacular is known as the "men's movement." The general public (at least those who have heard of him) usually associate him with an exaggerated vision of men going off into the woods together, screaming primally, dancing naked and banging on drums. All in all, exactly the type of person with whom I long to be associated!

I had the distinct honor and pleasure of attending a reading by Robert Bly a few years ago at the Unitarian Universalist Church in Oak Park, IL that was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Bly's reputation had preceded him and he didn't disappoint. This man does not suffer fools gladly. My Dominican friend, Brother Joe, had always entertained us with an impersonation of Robert Bly that was completely over-the-top and had us falling on the floor in laughter. The moment Robert Bly opened his mouth, I realized just how understated Brother Joe's impersonation really was. If it is possible to be a tender, wise, gruff, comical curmudgeon, than that person exists in Robert Bly.

In the Foreward of this recently purchased collection of Bly's writing, his editor, William Booth captures in a single paragraph the transformative nature of reading Robert Bly:

"What Robert Bly's poetry readings say in effect is, 'You must change your life.' To hear serious poems and resist all change is worse than a waste of time; it is dangerous. We can remember the warning from Jacob Boehme: 'Boehme has a note before one of his books in which he asks the reader not to go further and read the book unless he is willing to make practical changes as a result of the reading. Otherwise, Boehme says, the book will be bad for him..."

Think about it. Just sayin'.....

FRIDAY’S FEAST PRAYER

Good Morning, Wisdom's Child,
I feel gluttonous with the glory of your words.
I am having trouble digesting them
as they are "too rich"
(as if that were possible).
I revel in their presence
as they perfume the air I breath.
You are a Master of words
as they spring forth from your heart
and explode through your lips.
I want to bathe in your words
until they reach every crevice of my skin
and absorb them through my pores
in an alchemical osmosis.
You make me crave more
as I don't think I can ever be satiated.

Amen.

WINTER NIGHT

Winter crescent moon,
Pulsating stars, frozen tears,
Waiting for answers.