Reflections on Massachusetts Ave, 7/23/18

It’s so fucked up
This culture
People with rucksacks walking there
Like There is someplace to be
As if here is never enough.

Right here!

Can’t you see what’s right here!

A tree some soul planted
Maybe from a seed or a sprout
Has grown up
Having found the sun.

A woman runs by
Exercising
Ear buds in her head holes
That could,
If she were still enough,
Hear a bird in the city, singing.
But no.
No!
She is talking business
Instead of just sweating.

Here!
Here! I tell you
The place to be
Right in this spot.

Don’t move
For a minute.

And see
And hear

And be.

Forget all the stones stacked up
Neat as can be
Organized like Earth never imagined.
A monument to nothing.
A dwelling for no one
We know.

Here
Hear
See
Now.

Greece
Vietnam
Philippines
Korea
Latvia
Turkey
Romania
Ireland

Water drunk from plastic.
Lifewtr. Purified.

In each, a stream
Asking us to drink it
From our open palms
Living, pure.

A bronze Gandhi
Walks. Frozen.
On watch. Who
Will wake,
Walk with him
To collect salt?

Morning Reflections 6/8/18: Psalm One

For how long will we choose to be chaff
Allow wind to take us on its journey
Never alight in any one spot to root?
When not chaff, but seed we agree to be
Do feet find soil to root in and grow
To become that which our vocation calls
True to the spirit and with the seasons
Able to fruit when read and shed leaves
When fallen to make fertile soil underfoot
From which the next seed will emerge strong
Seeking sunlight and tasting the cool waters
That stream around us even on hottest days
When our hearts fatigue wants us to give up
To the wind go only to have the souls root stay.

image: Gustav Klimt, The Tree of Life, 1905

This morning’s reflections follow morning spiritual practice of reading Aurelius, the Bible, and meditation. The primary source of inspiration being Psalm One in a loosely sonnet-like format. This is only a second draft, so any comments or suggestions are encouraged!

On a Hill in Wales, Father and Son

For my Father, for my Grandfather, for my Words

1.

To the beginning son, go back with me
Remember how I stood beside you when…

No, you only remember my absence.

Here we return with precision, an arrow
Fired by the great Tell who reveals us.
The apple on our heads, the gift of Eve
Who saw in us the beginning of Love.

2.

On a hill in Wales, Father enters me
Not with punishment, but with his sadness.
Fills me with a beauty that consumes me:
Simple sheep graze on green grass on green hills, 
Too many verdant hues to name. The blue meets us 
Compassion like the sky hosts metamorphs: 
Clouds, lurking innocent children of beasts 
Whose anger gave us this green, gave these sheep.
Gave us wool that warms us in winter.
Gave us mutton that fills our hunger.
Beauty these gifts represent enters
Me like Father returning to the land 
Of his own. “Get on your knees, son, sorrow,
You must feel it now.  These gifts given you 
Lie in waste like blood in scaled veins. Look up!
Through tears, I show you once again! This time, 
I will humble you and you will know Love. 
With it, do good like storm begets spirit. 
Rise up, face the life I called you to live.”

3.

I got off my knees and climb the mountain
To toss the precious that ruled like a curse
Masking my Soul, invisible to me,
Led me to the river to steal fish
From mouths needing food,
Kill those whose only crime:
The place of their birth.
I became Monster
A monster does not know exists
Until 
The mirror sees past the blush,
Through the mascara of a mask painted 
In green rooms of youth only to be smudged 
By the tears of life’s stage.
Now, the Father 
Who returns to me, kneeling in supplication, 
Yells,
“Get up! Climb, son, climb. Go find the path
To treasure granted by breath that fills lungs,
Breathe out songs only one Soul will echo,
Love that will be the melody of Life.”