A Sonnet on the Ceaseless Hum

Oh the ceaseless hum, the susurrus song
Of the world that lives only in my head
How I envy those who live in silence
And have that deep quiet for which I long

What do they hear, I ask with jealousy
As my private murmuring thoughts persist
What do I miss, I worry, every day
As insistent words fill my fantasy

If God is found in silence, I am lost
Forever doomed to my own noisy hell
Meditation, contemplation mere words
Like jetsam overthrown and tempest tossed

Stop it! Give up this popular belief
By words I calm my storms and feel relief


On Reading Luke 17: 11-19

Ten lepers
Scabrous, diseased, disgusting
More than dirty – unclean
Cried to a holy man
“Yeshua, Rabbi!
Have pity on us”
Not on me
But on us
Have pity.

And this Yeshua
What did he do?
He sent them away
Go, he said
I am not a priest, he said
Get thee to a priest.

And they went
All ten of them
To find a priest
Though what good they expected
Of that
Is not clear to us
Or, probably, likely
To them.

But as they went
His pity found them
Sores disappeared
Ugliness was no more
They were still dirty
But no longer unclean.

Ten lepers cried for mercy
Ten lepers went to seek a priest
Ten lepers were healed.

One leper returned
Only one
And he
(Do we know for sure he
Could it have been she?)
This leper, he or she
Was less than leper
A foreigner
Stranger in a strange land.

This leper
Recognizing whence the healing
Praising the God of the Jews
And thanking Yeshua.

Ten lepers
Receiving his pity
Were healed.

One leper
Receiving his grace
Was saved.

So we are told.

Were the nine satisfied?
Was life, whole and healed
Without eternity?

We are not told.


To re-member
within my own selfness
requires first dismemberment
of those members of others
that are dangerous to my own-ness.

Not to dismember from others
risks my own dismemberment.

(Sometimes our electronics
are smarter than we know:
When I type “own-ness”
Autocorrect changes it to

I don’t want to re-member
unless, like Proust, I can find
my lost own-ness
(not man-made)
that was me before membering
in family, church, school,
work, couple, culture…

Who was am will be I?

Can I member my own-ness?
Can I unmember enough
to remember my divinity?


They seem so close
Easy to grab
I reach down
Wrist, elbow slipping
Into the cool water
Almost to my shoulder
I reach deep
For the golden fish
Quicksilver cold
Mercurial fragments
Of my mind pool
The small fall
Of my tears
Ripples the surface
But those slivers
Those erratic beautiful golden
Stay in the quiet depths
Just out of reach