Breathe

Oxygen to the lungs
is love for the soul,
without breathe the soul dies
writhing in agony seeking release.

Rage, hatred, revenge sort after;
anything to fill the soul,
the bottomless void that exist
when light is gone.

Humanity ceases
only remnants screaming
choking on the airless darkness
that no one hears.

Joy deep in the heart.....
the conflicts of life,
the sufferings,
tragedies,
yes even heart ache
leaving the soul shattered
cannot take away,
we are surrounded by love infinite,
freely given,
pursuing us through life's many paths,
until the time comes,
we are called home.
Do not afraid,
true love cast out fear.

We are flowers in the field,
a freeing thought
do not cling.

As is true

The limb rested upon the grass,
Gleaned by the fierce winds
Bark shredded,
Skinned from the limb.

Now the time had come
It's part coming to an end,
Dried up long dead,

Returning to the earth,
Its mother from whence it came,
As is true of all living things.

What was once beautiful,
Alive, covered in green,
Robed in different shades,
Light and dark,
From jade to aqua,
The covering now long gone,
Brittle dust is all that is left.

Seasons came in fast succession,
Its last finally arrived,
It fell,
Now lies,
Waiting for total union,
To be absorbed,
Food for what comes in future seasons.

Standing still

As life moves on its rhythm ever changing,
from extreme youth to old age,
one role we play is to simply observe, watch,
perhaps learn from what we see.

We stand still our souls never moving,
time flows around us,
as our experiences deepen and broaden,
we remain the same in many ways,
our bodies change, age,
yet inside we stay young,
shocked at whom we perceive in our reflection.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, is that really me after all?

Awareness's deep, self evident,
where do the roots rest, feed,
find sustenance?
Yes we simply are as life flows past.

Choices made create us anew every day,
towards greater awareness,
or,
a seeking to limit who we are,
desiring  a world that runs according to our will,
an impossibility,
we are stones that life works upon
seeking to create a work of art,
either something beautiful beyond measure,
God like even,
for we are made in its image.

Or perhaps a monster dark,
a nightmare,
when we seek to create ourselves
over and against all others,
becoming predators seeking to dominate,
desiring to overshadow,
to consume,
as if to fill our infinite emptiness,
with the finite is ever possible.

Hell is eternal hunger,
the observer trapped in and endless cycle,
the universe no longer flows around,
but trapped in a frozen moment of eternity,
with only its rage, hatred, lust to consume,
its eternal companion,
alone.

Greed

A life built on greed
alone bereft of all hope
moth eaten riches

Ability to laugh

One of mankind's greatest gifts is having the ability to laugh, to be able to find humor even in the most painful and darkest of circumstances. There are also a lot of things that happen in taking care of others that can cause one to laugh, not at the person but just at the unexpected things that do happen.

William continues to decline, unlike Philip, he does not seem to be one who will reach a plateau and stay there for awhile. His Alzheimer's is taking its toll fast, and it saddens me to see this happen, for before this disease hit, and for a time afterwards, he was a very alive, loud, colorful, joyful individual whom I have come to love and care for deeply. Lately, the times when he does not know who I am, is becoming more common. When he remembers me, it is easier to take care of him, because he remembers my voice, when this is missing things can get a little rough at times, and yes even humorous.

He is unusual, he does not like being in bed. When put in bed, even if he is very tired, he will fight it, try to get out and cause a fuss. The only reason I can come up with, is that he does not know where he is at, is alone, and becomes very frightened. So most of the time he is in his geriatric chair; not the best of situations but that is the place we are at with him at this time. When in his chair we have him positioned where he can see what is going on, but away from the noise and bustle of the main sitting area. Too much stimulation makes him very restless and at times angry. He still eats well, and at times I can carry on a conversation, but it is often one sided, however the contact seems to comfort him at times. Bernie, Rose, and Pierre, also do a very good job in taking care of him. Rose is the RN here, very compassionate and competent. Neda takes care of the night shift, she is a LPN and she also does a great job with William. We do have a good crew, and we get along well with each other. We also have some part time people from two agencies who help out, and we are lucky with the care in which they do their jobs.

It takes two people to take care of Williams's daily needs. Sometimes it goes smoothly and at others it can be a battle of sorts, since he often does not know what is going on. Each time is his first, since his short term memory is gone. The other night Bernie and I went in to take care of him. It started off ok; he seemed to be in a quiet mood, so we got him near his bed, put up the guard rail and stood him up. Usually he stands up and holds on to the rail. This evening right after I stood him up, he decided not to help us and would not support himself, so he started to slide towards the floor. I managed to get him into a position to support him, also trying to connect with him, but that night he did not know who I was. So I am holding him, Bernie is trying to finish the job, meanwhile William starts using his arms to try to pick things up off the bed, and I try to dissuade him, taking first one had and putting it back on the rail, and then the other. Then he finds out how to press the button to move the rail, which I then have to try to put back up. He then reaches back to get at Bernie, and I then take hold of his arm and try to gently pull it back, only to find out that I have Bernie's arm. Got the right arm back, starting to get tired at this point. Busy trying to keep William up, then Bernie yells," he has me in a headlock", so I try to use one arm to free Bernie, which I do. William starts to slip, but I got him up. All the while amidst all this activity, William is not making a sound; I start to see the humor and start laughing, and Bernie joins in. We finally got it done. We when have to pry his hands free and gently talk him back into his chair, because of his fear of falling. We get him in, secure him, and he looks up, smiles, and says "any ice cream?". Which of course we have and gave it to him, black cherry I think; he likes any brand.

So yes, something funny and tragic and painful can coexist, and I for one am thankful for it, I doubt too many of us would last long if from time to time we could not laugh at the tangle that life can become at times, a life that I love with a passion and want to live it out. I want to die worn out and exhausted, and also with memories that will bring either a laugh or a smile to my face. Who knows when I am old, I will also get myself into situations that will cause my caregivers to laugh; I hope so.

A development

There are times when I just know that I will be called in to do the 11-7AM shift in the infirmary, where I work. It is usually on a weekend, Friday night to be exact, when I am most often called in. I don't mind, of all the shifts it is the most quiet, though it does take a couple of days to get my self back on track. So it happened, and I went in to work.

People will sometimes ask me, who is my favorite patient, the one I like the most, or least mind taking care of. It is a hard question to answer. Sometimes it is the more colorful ones, the stubborn ones, that you can get most attached too. Nothing like butting heads to build up a relationship. Each is different, and I miss each one of them after they move on.

Philip has been here the longest, fifteen years to be exact. The first five years he was able to get around ok, he had angina, a pace maker was put in the late eighties; so he had some major health problems, and some slight dementia. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in the mid-nineties, and by 1999 it had progressed to severe. He has been in a geriatric chair for a while, he can't sit up straight for long periods of time, and we need a lift to get him out of bed..... he is too stiff, so to ‘dance' him into his chair would be very dangerous for him, also for the one trying to do it. However he can be put into bed without the lift if the caregiver is strong enough, he is very light, perhaps 125 lbs or so and does not resist.

For the most part he is quite happy, smiles easily, and has a good appetite. He also has a sense of humor and can still laugh when something funny happens. He does not remember who I am, though he responds, it is often to someone else that he thinks I am. Sometimes he thinks I am his brother, or a friend from his army days in the Second World War, and once in awhile he will call me "Mary', the name of one of his sisters. That always jolts me, boy if he had a sister that looked like me she would be in trouble. One night when he called me ‘Mary', I ask him if Mary had a beard, and he looked at me and said, "Yeah Mary, when did you grow that beard", it made me laugh.

He has been with us so long that I at times think that he is permanent, will be around forever. So when I went to check in on him, and to clean him, I was surprised to see a new development, not knowing if it was something serious, permanent, or if in fact his end was near. He was in bed, half asleep, and his arms where jerking, powerful movements that shook his body. I sat down by the bed and ask him if he was in pain, to which he answered in the negative. He did not seem to be having a seizure or a stroke, and since he was not in pain I cleaned him, covered him up, put on some music and left the room. I keep a close watch on him, but he did not get worse or better.

The next day the nursing assistant asked me if we should get him up. We try to get him up in the geriatric chair twice a day; total about 6 hours a day. When I checked in his arms were still twitching, so I said to not get him up, I was worried that he might bruise himself by hitting the sides of his chair. Later in the afternoon he was somewhat better so we got him up. He did not look well, so we only kept him in the chair for a coupe of hours. He is now back to ‘normal' I guess, though I am sure he is weaker.

He is a very gentle soul, though he does have his days, which are his right, we all have bad days. Every once in awhile he will throw a tantrum and be difficult to deal with, but out of all the men there he is perhaps the happiest on a consistent basis. He will sometimes start crying, perhaps reliving a past experience, sometimes the tears are happy ones and at others he is very distressed. One night he was crying over what I perceived as a very traumatic event that happened with his brother. He kept looking at me and saying through his tears, "why did you not help me?" I did not know what to do, so I sit down by the bed and held him, that seems to always calm him down. After about half an hour he was ok and went to sleep. However, most nights he is happy, talking to a room full of people, like he is at a party. Sometimes when I am there he will introduce me to each one of them, though that has not happened in awhile. However the parties continue on some nights. I can almost hear the laughter when I pass his room. He just lays there looking from one person to another, laughing and talking, I like that.

I think I will miss his smile the most. He will often sit in his chair, looking very dignified and bestowing his very loving smile on everyone who is lucky enough to be in his presence. So some days he sleeps in his chair, others he smiles, and still on others he will have a bad day, throw his food on the floor, refuse to eat, argue, and I love all of it. We are a package deal, all or nothing. I know I have bad days, so why can't he?

gold is beautiful
causing men to go insane,
souls lost in stealing

dazzling its beauty
great worth in ornaments made,
many lust after

risking life and limb
taking from those in the way
satiation wins

greed all consuming
deepening its great hunger
rest never achieved

His own creation

He lay in pain on the bed of his death,
knowing not when it will happen,
hating how he could do nothing to forestall.

Thinking of times past when he controlled his world,
people scampered when he yelled,
listened when he talked,
feared him when he was angry.

Power, wealth, it was all his,
he worked for every cent,
at times sweating blood,
sweeping everything away,
no mercy or quarter shown to any.

Alone now, for all have left him,
his power and wealth worth nothing
as death slowly approached to take it all away;
swiftly time running out,
like sand it flowed through his clenched fist,
no longer with any power or control,
now knowing it for illusion that it was.

Respected, feared by all,
now he knows that he was also hated,
for people existed only for his personal use,
therefore there were no ties that bind, for him.

Against his will memories arose,
allowing no rest,
showing no mercy,
his life open like a book to his inner vision.

He refused to listen to what they said,
would not learn form what was shown,
not allowing regrets to enter in his sanctuary;
too afraid of what they would show,
also of the death of changing,
allowing sorrow to flow.

Terrified, in the dark of night,
he felt his body grow cold,
no one there to help him through,
believing in nothing, he cringed from oblivion.

His end came with a whimper,
a gentle gasp heard by no one
a creature of his own creation,
he entered eternity alone.

in anger turning the knife on himself
seeking to cause others pain,
too late as the blood poured out
flowing down from his chest
gushing around the knife.....
in rage pushing it in to the hilt
spreading out in a pretty pattern over the floor,
the red on the white tile actually beautiful,
the pain greater than he thought,
not however as great as regret,
knowing there was no turning back,
the world fading into black,
dying alone,
sinking forever,
oblivion.

They are everywhere, looking at us, asking, begging perhaps,
homeless, those without jobs; yes the mentally ill,
an unending flood of those less fortunate, isolated, outside.
Some survive by manipulation, con men or women, using others,
the generosity of others abused, used, so that they may not have to work.
Many more suffer the burden of begging because they have fallen far,
perhaps due to drugs, or some other addiction, perhaps just a lost job,
living from pay check to pay check could put anyone on the street for awhile.
It is not that far away for many, more than commonly thought, families homeless.


Twist and turns, ups and down, bad luck, poor planning, or injustice,
perhaps there are many more reasons that can trap those that may need to seek help,
their pride ground down into the dust, as they stand before others begging.
Holding signs that say" hungry, please help", or "will work for food",
standing before the onslaught of cars, one after another driving by being ignored,
some drivers ashamed to look, not knowing what to do, afraid of being used,
others angry, thinking them lazy, shiftless, at times true, at others not,
some give, then think after that have been taken, maybe sometimes true.


If a man or woman is hungry they need food, being deserving has nothing to do with it,
nor can one really judge, which ones to help, the others to ignore, passed by, left behind.
What happens if those who need help are passed by over and over again,
not looked at, face turned away, perhaps in shame, anger, or even contempt.
If done enough what will it do to the one who hardens their heart's in numberless repetition,
of judgment and denying. Is something lost, is it worth the price, what is one to do?
Each must decide for themselves, allowing their conscience to lead them forward.
Many begging were once like us, homes, marriages, job theirs, one does not plan,
use strategy to become the refuse of society. Can people really become trash?
Who are they really, those we pass by?

peace is so fragile
the smallest thing can shatter,
a smile not returned

Rectify

You have traveled far in your life, going from place to place,
often expelled because of simply how your are,
always thinking about some other environment, perfect, smooth,
you so want that place, yet each time you move it is the same.

For a while things go aright, then the replay starts over,
is it some kind of a nightmare for you,
the situation arising again and again, having to move on?
Or are you good at looking at others, leaving yourself in peace,
setting up house in everyone's head but your own; scattered.

My anger is something that can take hold, when I perceive, or hear,
of an injustice done, bullying behavior will put me on alert,
when I become a predator seeking to right a wrong done.
At times becoming what I am myself seeking to rectify.

So we had our ‘talk', painful for both sides, perhaps I over spoke,
my sense of seeking justice failing me, again; yes I have my own cycles,
my own inner weaknesses that show their teeth from time to time,
so I understand your struggle better than you think; I am not the enemy.

I meant what I said, though I could have set it in a more gentle tone perhaps,
a rhino I can become, charging with horn exposed, it has a life of its own'
become a bully confronting a bully, locking horns, I am good at that,
but don't do it again, or perhaps we will have another dance to go through.

I am not innocent in this situation, weakness I understand, for I have many,
yet refusing to think, contemplate, learn from ones past is self-destructive.
If you must, then ok, just don't make others pay for what you perhaps fear,
doing what is necessary to change.

He is a nice man, both gentle in some ways, rough in others.
A normal kind of man, with his share of burdens and anguish,
as well as joys and triumphs in his life.

I have known him for about twenty years,
Intelligent, insightful; which can lead to its own kind of suffering.
He has a dual diagnosis for mental illness,
a crushing burden for the one who has to carry it though life.
Some are defeated by just one; he carries two, and is doing well.

I won't say he is fine, too haunted by his past for that;
episodes of acting out when in states of mania.
So many colorful, painful, memories and stories he has
from his now distant youth.....he cringes when talking about it.
Being in jail for awhile, then mental hospitals more than once,
struggles with meds, knowing how he can be irrational,
fighting his dependence on them, not taking them.....
Consequences horrible had to be paid more than once,
in full, in spades, drinking the chalice to the last drops.
Yet wisdom seems to only come with age, he takes his meds now.

As I listen to him, trying to understand, it can be very difficult.
He told me how once when talking to a young man, who like him,
was suffering from mental illness, it was almost too much for him.
He had to excuse himself, go out for a few minutes, and cry.
Well he wailed, racked with sobs over the suffering of this young man,
he being helpless, yet understanding in ways I would never be able to,
the path that had to be taken, the dark valleys that had to be traversed,
the loneliness, fear, isolation that can flow from being different,
that this young man would have to face.

Lonely, I think all he wants is for someone to listen, that is all,
perhaps it can be too much to ask, for he does not have many friends,
but the ones he has are good friends, who will just simply listen.

I think when I am with him, I put up some barriers, protecting myself,
not wanting to enter too deeply into his pain, so I am there for him;
also not there, which I am sure adds in some way adds to his suffering.

He is a brave man, he walks closer to the edge than I do,
no self pity, he tries, fails, gets up and tries again.
His danger of falling greater, yet his faith is deeper than his wounds.
His sufferings draws him closer to the Lord, his humility deep and enduring,
he is at a place that I can never enter into, all I can do is listen,
no matter how I have to struggle to understand and often fail.

Our gifts we give to one another are mixed with our inner poverty
yet try we must, that is all we can do in this pain racked world.
In that perhaps we give to each other some light, some joy and warmth,
allowing for the journey to continue, for we are made in such a way
that it is giving that we receive, and the talker and the one who listens,
both receive a gift from each other, often in ways unknown.
We are made to love and give, to listen and support, not for isolation.

long slim beautiful
in the gentle moonlit night
the weed stood alone

His heart consumed with compassion
wounded with love for God and others,
he saw into the depths and smiled,
was gentle,
towards those who hated him.

He took the place of one who was to condemned,
placed in a bunker to die without food or water,
ten other men with him.
from the depths of the hell in which they dwelt
prayers and canticles were heard,
he ministered to them drawing them close,
preparing them to receive the infinite mercy.

Towards all Kolbe showed mercy,
hating no one,
loving all,
truly free from the scourge of revenge and hatred,
untouched by evil,
returning good for evil,
having compassion for those who hated and tortured,
for he knew how in the end,
hatred is self destructive
wanting only to save them.

His heart a channel for divine love,
infinite,
something only grace can give,
the gift,
the only shield from evil,
love, grace, compassion and empathy.



http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maximilian_Kolbe

Divine mercy

the infinite,
also the eternal,
without beginning or end;
how can such a thing be grasped?

when thinking of divine mercy,
we can recreate God,
again,
with serious consequences
in our own image.
God is like us just much better,
a projection of our best selves onto divinity,
if true then we are all in trouble,
which is what many feel when thinking about God.

the people hid in caves
saying let the mountains fall upon us,
in their desire to hide from eternal light and mercy,
as if it were possible to hide,
from what is both transcendent and immanent,
as Julian of Norwich has said.
"God is closer to us than our skin, bones, and morrow. ‘

we are the problem,
our attitudes,
wounds,
compulsions and sins,
we all have them in one form or another
often seeking to hide from sight,
pretending everything is all right,
I am fine we say when asked,
though in truth things may be the opposite,
afraid of condemnation, rejection, being despised,
we simply lie,
thinking uniqueness is some how ours in our weakness,
others better,
more deserving,
when in fact all are sinners,
fail,
deal with despair,
which in fact is the central struggle,
not to believe the nonsense we can tell ourselves
when not on the path,
when our weakness stares us in the face
mocking,
jeering at our efforts,
say in chorus
"why bother",
all lies, the truth is mercy pursues us all

to seek to hide from mercy is absurd,
for the greater our need,
even if we run and seek to hide,
calling down the mountains upon us
it is then that mercy draws near,
then God touches us,
perhaps in ways that are not gentle
or in ways that we would not prefer,

loving parents
will do anything for their children
in ways not often understood,
perhaps seeming cruel from the child's perspective,
divine mercy is deeper
more intense
passionate
Infinite, scary at times.
to what lengths will divine mercy go
is God's wrath the experience of seeking to hide,
the pursuit unending?

the fire of God's love,
the bright flames of the Holy Spirit,
the fire of purgatory,
and yes the fires of hell,
the same fire,
it is the relationship that dictates the experience.

so why run from what cannot be escaped,
why flee from intimate union
allowing our sins and failures to keep us from mercy,
moments of truth,
all pretense taken away for perhaps a short time
allowing truth to shine in our hearts.
we see darkly into our murky depths,
most hidden below the waters,
perhaps a mercy,
for to see all that is within,
could lead perhaps to demonic pride,
for we all have much beauty,
or the deepest spiritual depression,
we need self knowledge in small doses.
for God we are transparent,
all is known no matter how deep we seek to hide,
or how strong our denial.

an illusion running,
hiding,
afraid to simply be with,
our senses of despair is our struggle
a lie,
we tell ourselves,
allowing emotions to rule and drive us

Human mercy

1. what is mercy?
does it have a certain feel to it,
is there a state in which one will seek it?
why is it often joyfully accepted,
yet seldom given out among peoples?
thankful for the gift,
often unable to pass it on to others..... why?

the fruit of mercy, when come to full bloom,
is like rain on the thirsty ground,
dry, parched, life dormant,
suddenly allowed to drink its fill,
allowing new life once again to come forth.

if one is deserving, then mercy is not needed,
mercy is for those whom are most unworthy,
the one everyone agrees is condemned,
who would cry out in protest if clemency offered,
wail if accepted with loud lamentations,
mercy is not justice.

in justice we get what is coming to us,
the scales are righted,
balanced,
a rightness about it
making one pay for evil done,
applauding sanctioned revenge,
for most often justice and revenge are first cousins,
welded at the hip the old saying goes.

so often it is mercy we ask for ourselves
justice for others,
we seek understanding
yet do not seek to understand,
perhaps the price of self knowledge is too high?

mercies seed and fruit is mercy for others,
self knowledge the mirror in which we see others,
knowing that just as we seek mercy and understanding,
so do others,
perhaps often unknown on the surface, yet hidden,
waiting to be seen,
the most hard hearted also desire it.

mercies vision is true,
seeing deeper than the obvious,
like a loving mother who defends her children,
seeing something more than the evil done,
perhaps her sight is true,
pointing in some fashion in how God sees us.

burdens carried throughout life,
hurts and remembered injustices nursed,
memories relived over and over again,
revenge desired,
yet when this is fulfilled, an emptiness remains,
since the cycle is not stopped
it just speeds up.

how we cling to our burdens
heavier it gets as life progresses,
depression, anger, rage our companions
we embrace them, it is who we are.
mercy if allowed to take root,
for some slowly,
others swiftly
these melancholy pleasures are dropped.

addictive in their own way
bowing us down closer and closer to the earth,
when let go of,
it is like a prisoner given a new lease on life,
one can stand straight again and breath.

before mercy can be given
we must also show ourselves mercy
for humility is seeing into the depths of things,
unvarnished,
true to the mark,
which leads to both responsibility and mercy,
self knowledge is the key for human empathy.

------------------------------------

2. a poem on healing mercy

looking down dejected,
afraid to look up,
aware of guilt,
ashamed of the evil done,
the pain caused,
the accused awaited condemnation.
touched gently,
surprised,
it was the lash he expected,
the wrong doer lifted his eyes,
defenses dropped
astounded,
the gift offered undeserved
it pierced all defenses,
searing the soul,
its burning pain,
healing,
as the gift offered, received.

------------------------------------

3. So human mercy is a powerful thing, breaking the cycle of revenge, hatred, and war; a cycle we often get trapped into. It also brings healing to the soul, able to not only offer mercy, and receive it, but to learn that it is the bridge that unites us all, for I believe we are all in need of mercy. A gift we can give to one another.

a time warp is what  life's become,
hours can seem like days,
days pass as if they were minutes,
moments seem real, permanent,
soon becoming vague memories,
most sadly, or perhaps not, forgotten,
our days doomed to oblivion
remembering perhaps too great a burden,
stored perhaps in some dark back room,
some deep mostly forgotten basement of our minds,
stacked in boxes high,
like old papers wrinkled and forgotten,
waiting in vain to reenter into consciousness.

old outside, feeling young within,
our bodies change,
at times, it seems a betrayal,
the inner self observes it all
wondering all the while.... why? 
often in the forefront this simple question,
answers slow in coming,
if they come at all.
even if an answer arises,
can it be shared with others?

we stumble often through the chaos of life,
suffering caused by others, also by ourselves, often unknowing,
clueless of the others pain, and they of ours.
prisoners of our own perspective
causing turmoil at times, communication often impossible.

lonely in a crowd,
a stranger to our loved ones,
they to us,
a cold dark world at times,
our built bridges long and difficult to cross.
words often lack meaning,
lost in a world of subjectivity,
discounting and discounted,
lost in a maze of memories, transferences and projections.
the inner self wants to scream,
or perhaps does, but no ones listens.

love and empathy easily said,
perhaps most understand the meaning,
the living out however a different matter,
perhaps impossible most of the time,
yet when it happens,
even if for a moment only,
a second perhaps,
connection with another is made,
one is seen,
touched on a deep level,
it is often enough, easing pain for awhile,
perhaps a seed planted
a lesson learned in seeing others as ourselves.

perhaps our isolation is the great illusion.
 

temporality

blooming in the morn
flowers bright causing wonder
sign of life's fleeting

our ground not solid,
distant past, become our days,
temporality

embrace mystery
our end sure, death will claim us
the dark door beckons

faith the key needed?
its dark light gives some comfort,
absurd for others

unfulfilled our days,
it seems we are far from home,
what for our longing?

clinging, desires die.
seeking that which is not owned,
just beyond our reach.

in a desert lost
thirsting for living waters
oft drinking poison

weary we move on
hope our only guiding light,
joy in darkness ours

we search what is deep,
pursued by what is deeper,
the infinite seeks.

is nothingness true,
or infinite love our home?
we live in tension

we will never know,
this is a world of seeking,
also being sought

embraced in darkness,
love beyond feeling, with us,
hidden and unknown

cleaved apart

truth stood with sword drawn
whom the soul bowed down before
cleaved apart set free

much chaos in life
often the way hidden deep
void beneath the path

divine image dies
blinded by light presses on
groping true in faith

being led unknown
trust deeper, roots cling in faith
embracing the Lord

childish ways aside
each time deeper mystery
simplicity grown

pain and joy the same
each passes cycles complete
clinging in true hope

despair held at bay
dark doubts faced with true courage
pressing on in joy

grace freely given
humility grows apace
self knowledge the key

water gently flows
the smooth stones patiently set
a melody played

Truth seems to be owned by everyone, or so it is lived out.
Something inward, subjective, ones own against all others.
What is thought.... is truth, or what is perceived, is obvious,
Ones religion, political party, or lack of, both are embraced tightly,
A fortress against all others who dare to think or believe otherwise.

God is like a spider living in the corner of one's bedroom,
Small, figured out, books used to buttress ones position,
Holy writ, philosophers, men of science, used are perhaps abused,
Building up higher and higher walls to protect ones truth against the others.

We can drown in surety, causing havoc in a world already gone mad,
Our religions lead to idolatry, cheap god's in our image and likeness,
Urging us on to fight for the light, using darkness as a means to a bloody end,
Innocents destroyed; children, the only ones pure, are slaughtered for truth.

A circle of true believers joined by true non-believers pointing fingers,
Perhaps raising clenched fist against all others, for a just and good cause.
The earth drunk on blood, bodies torn asunder all for the sake of truth;
Meanwhile the crippled, lame, those mentally destroyed multiply rapidly.

Being one with my brothers and sisters, the human race, I also sink.
At times drowning, dragged down into irrational insanity, struggling to surface.
In time only to sink again, the battle renewed with my own inner demons,
Archetypal gods of war, often seeking to supplant what Love has sown freely.

Moloch demands his sacrifice, hungry for the blood of children, women and men,
Killed, murdered, raped, in the name of truth and justice never achieved,
An endless cycle of death and destruction, like a snake eating its own tail,
Devouring itself in an orgy of hatred, rage, revenge and violence, unending.

One day backed into a corner, nowhere to run, or slogans to shout,
No verses from holy books to fling, or philosophies, or science to pontificate,
Surrounding only by what we see, naked truth before us without mercy,
Perhaps then the human race will be open to the grace offered, the cycle ended.

Or perhaps not, the world just an insane asylum, a place where the eternal return rules,
Always ending up in the same place, boring in its regularity, its absurdity,
The snake gorging itself with its own tail, hungry, all consuming, mindless,
Then one day it will end, peace at last for a troubled earth, when we are no more.

Jesus wept.