Behold, said God My creation I call it good Beholden, said God Not to me But to each other Be holding, said God Your earth’s riches Not for me But for you Hold, hold, Hold Hard, said God Not to the beauty of the oil slick But to old leaves that fall to their death That trees may resurrect young leaves Behold and be warned, said Gaia My bounty cannot be wasted by some Lest it be lost by all
Month: September 2023
Selfish or Selfless?
I would go so far as to opine that if the only purpose for contemplative prayer is self-improvement, then it is not contemplative prayer at all but simply a trendy form of self-aggrandizement. On the other hand, I also believe that my daily times of contemplative prayer and readings are a positive and necessary contribution to peace, keep me more firmly rooted in that “great cloud of witnesses” who change the world, and greatly help me stay focused and energized for work with and for others.
A Mosquito Bite
The mosquito bite just above my left ankle smaller by far than a freckle preoccupies me IT itches Don’t scratch! I examine IT closely: A small red mark slightly puffy IT fascinates me I rub IT I try to ignore IT I slather on aloe vera I rub IT some more I focus on ignoring IT I inspect IT closely No visible change I rub IT some more sneak in a stealthy scratch or two I return to ignoring IT Pretend to ignore IT That mosquito bite just above my left ankle smaller by far than a freckle IT owns me
A Nested Meditation
God is the be in beholding. God, is the be in beholding the way You hold us in Your love? God is the be in beholding. The way You hold us in Your love becomes ever deeper, wider as we age. God is the be in beholding. The way You hold us in Your love becomes ever deeper, wider as we age. Thanks be to God who beheld Her creation and called it good.
Woody-Made
Rumbling in the background The traffic on 29 North Just beyond the small strip mall That is itself just beyond The back of the back Of our backyard Before Woody Beyond my back yard’s lawn Was an old basketball hoop Imbedded in concrete In the middle of opportunistic trees In the back of the back Then Woody landscaped That back of the back Seven years ago The year we pretend-married The year after we met Landscaped is such a sedate word For weeks of wheelbarrowed rocks Broken up concrete Sawed up wood And digging Digging, digging, digging Measuring, shaping Until the back of the back Once forsaken Once resigned to strip mall intrusions Became our shade garden Made by Woody Entered through an archway Made by Woody Covered by Carolina jasmine With sometimes sweet yellow flowers Planted by Woody Down the three broad stone steps Planned and created by Woody Into the cool shade garden With the Woody-made stream Flowing into the Woody-made pond Adorned with the Woody-made large Japanese lantern Surrounded by Woody-planted shade-loving flora Alive with goldfish bought, not made, by Woody We walk the brief paths Woody and I We cross the low arched wooden bridge Woody-made, of course, To span the Woody-made Small stream Woody says that every rock In our shade garden Every rock, large and small, He moved at least four times He estimates Until he created Over much longer than six days A not-natural but Woody-made oasis In the back of our back I want to be the one Always To love and be loved by Woody
Contentment
Shall I embody spirituality Or perhaps spiritualize embodiment? Shall I live in mindfulness Or perhaps self-forgetfulness? Shall I embrace non-duality Or perhaps duel with the universe? Shall I worship God Or Gaia? Ah, no Please excuse me I am going to my rocker on our back porch The carved wooden one my children gave me One Mother’s Day in Calgary In the last millennium I will cushion my old back With the red cushion my mother crocheted A few years ago Before arthritis claimed her ability To work with red cotton thread I will sit Rock gently While admiring the green and yellow leaves Of our weeping cherry And the now empty robin nests Snuggled in the porch rafters Still echoing the pleas of hungry fledglings Fall is coming And I am content
Opposites
It seems to me that the opposite of automatically rejecting the testimony of some people (e.g., women about sexual assault, people of color about racist acts and words) is NOT automatically accepting their testimony.
Rather it is to reject any automatic reaction and realize that, in many cases, we cannot know the truth without further investigation, and in some cases, we cannot ever know it.
So what are we left with? Can we support hurting individuals while reserving judgment on the veracity of their claims?
Whether it is the physician’s credo “First do no harm” or the golden rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” or the Christ’s second great commandment, “Love your neighbor as you love yourself” it seems we are advised to be gentle and considerate in our response.
But what when that is not enough for “our neighbor”? It seems I am faced with several situations where reserving judgment is not enough for the other person. Anything less than a full acceptance of their allegations is characterized as a betrayal.
It seems to me that I then must accept their feeling that I have betrayed them and let them reject me, rather than betraying myself.
But I’m simply not sure. It is a twisty maze, with no obvious way out.
Now is the time, my dear Hafiz
“Now is the time for the world to know” That the nows we make Stagnate Our nows, Unfettered from our always, Cannot even be truly now Our nows Reject history Deny the future Now is the time for the world to awake Now is the time - past the time - When our nows must flow
Simply
I am not happy. I am not sad. I am not loving. I am not angry Sometimes: I feel happy. I feel sad. I feel loving. I feel angry. But always: I simply am.
You Don’t Say
Epigraph: Children, the psychotherapist taught, play what they can’t say.
We visited Mom Sunday night I was too lazy to go to Mom’s Sunday morning for Mass Wait, that’s not quite true I wasn’t lazy Embracing midnight Woody and I had made love We also had intercourse Which was fun and tender Exciting and reassuring As only intercourse in your 70s can be “Look at me! My body still works!” So orgasm was very good But not worth that much Compared to making love Strolling around each other’s bodies Tasting the dark sweetness of our lips Whispering those sweet nothings I smile into my whispers Knowing Woody Too deaf to hear words Hears the soft murmuring Of my heart’s river Flowing to him So I didn’t miss Mass because I was lazy I missed Mass because I was tired And because Woody was too Delicious Too divine To leave for something as trivial as Mass
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