There was a man
Who just didn’t care
About sin

He said he knew God
Claimed he spoke for God
Yet he didn’t pay any attention
To who was good and who was bad

(Proving, at least,
That he was not
Santa Claus)

He ignored equally
The rulers of his religion
And conquerors of his nation

He refused to worry
About anything
That he should have worried about

He loved to welcome people
Teach them
Help them
Feed them
Protect them
Heal them

He didn’t like the big expensive temple
He didn’t like the priests
He didn’t even like the best educated people

He never seemed to have much ambition
He never settled down
He wandered around
Saying strange things
Doing outrageous things

I can’t help but wonder how he would feel
About the church that is the legacy
He never seemed to want

When Woody smiles at me
And says You did that so well, so gently

When my 4-year-old grandson
Offers me a handful of blue sticky gummies

When my 98-year-old mother
Says thank you

When my across-the-street neighbor
Sends me his photograph of the sunrise

When I remember to water the windowsill plants
When I listen to Gregorian chant

Or Tibetan rhythms
Or June Boyce Tillman’s performances

When I bake bread
Or wash dishes

My hands deep in warm soapy water
And my mind about as still as it ever gets

When I write a poem
When I share a poem

Ah, then, like Mary Oliver
I feel quite beautiful

What is this feeling? 
How do I name it?
As I lie here
In the early pre-dawn 
Woody gently snoring
Beside me
And the white noise machine
Making waves

I woke to a realization
Of a necessary task
Forgotten

I had not set up
Mom’s breakfast

…

I move
Through the dark
Turn on minimal lights

Quiet…slow now…slow
Hush…no need for hurry

Bowl, spoon, cereal
To the table
Shush…slow
Soft through the still air

Milk into the small bottle
Meant for salad dressing

Why this contented sigh
As I fix the prune juice mixture?

My hands flow in a slow ballet
My body ripples through the air
Making only small disturbances
Nature’s asanas
Kitchen yoga

Mom’s breakfast is set now
I’m back in bed
Under the quilt Ruth made
Writing as Woody gently snores

How shall I name this slow quiet
Feeling that fills my chest
Almost heavy
Quilt heavy…not stone heavy

This feeling that is as easy with sorrow as with joy…
with memories as with dreams.
This feeling of loving myself…
of gratitude for my life,
sadness about mistakes
wonderment about achievements
contentment
expectation
joy
This divine feeling

hush now…
quiet…
soft

Good morning, friends

There exists a poem
At least I think it is a poem
With the lines
“The coward dies a thousand deaths
The valiant die but once”
Or something close to that

I have lived your death too many times
I am a total coward 
Not for myself
But for myself without you

Sometimes in the night
I wake up and lie
Fearfully still
Until I hear you breathe

Sometimes, like now,
When you are napping
Because you “just didn’t feel quite right”
I have to resist the urge
To go into the bedroom
To check that you are just sleeping
Not dead

Like when my children were babies

That dreadful fear
That my heart and life
My sanity itself
Will break into a thousand shards
And cut my soul to shreds
Should you have stopped breathing

Your love has made of me
A wondrous coward

Come with Me
On this year’s journey
Mindful of My love
Pausing often
As we meet in silence
Self to self
Soul to soul
Invest in others
Open your heart
Never fear

I imagine a young girl
Who today might be excited
To start high school.

I imagine a young girl
Who back then was excited
To be betrothed.

She was a good girl
Far from perfect
But plenty good enough

A pretty girl
Far from stunning
But plenty pretty enough

A devout girl
Far from saintly
But plenty devout enough

A happy girl
Far from trouble-free
But plenty happy enough

A loved girl
Far from worshipped
But plenty loved enough

A simple girl
Far from stupid 
But just a simple girl

Who looked forward to marriage
And, please God, making babies
With her young husband

Until she became a surprised girl
“Full of grace” God’s messenger said
What could that mean?

Then Gabriel explained
And Mary of Nazareth
Became Theotokos.

But Gabriel left
Returning to God’s glory
Leaving her to explain

The unexplainable 
Unimaginable miracle
That would look like sin

And the pregnant virgin 
Fled to her cousin
Elizabeth the barren

Who was also with child.

For years I taught facts
And brought bright light of knowledge
To many students

The mistake we made
I made
Through most of those years
Was simply this:
I assumed knowledge was a collection of facts
And truth was a sufficiently large collection of knowledge

I completely forgot Santayana’s insight:
“Knowledge is a torch of smokey pine
That lights the path but one dim step ahead
It is by faith alone that we are led
Unto the thinking of the thought divine”

(I should look that up because I am certain to have made mistakes in the exact wording but instead I shall carry on, beyond facts to insight.)

I did shine a bright light
A surgical light
On needed knowledge
Valued knowledge

(And I am comforted now to remember that some of my students will have used that knowledge in their oeuvre saving others.)

But oh how I wish 
I had remembered
To also teach them to squint
Beyond the bright light
Into the whole dark delightful universe
Of unknowing.

A sunny December day
Blue sky
Trees showing their bones
Brown leaves
Hug the ground

But also
Yesterday
Misty cold rain
A miserable day 
To many
But to me
A sign

Nature loves nature
Speaks to itself
Nurtures itself
With rain no less than sun
With cold no less than warmth
With dying no less than borning

How fortunate we are
How blessed
To have nature’s sure signs
Of the infinity and variety of love