Dark night

The truth will strip away all pretense,
the soul wounded and bleeding with God's healing touch,
the dark night of faith and suffering leading down a path obscure,
ending in the immensity of truth and infinite love.

Against ourselves

Why is it so hard for me to have compassion for myself?
Easier by far to show mercy to others,
while often having only scorn for my own soul.
Perhaps hell resides within us slowly taking root;
the real struggle is simply to show oneself the mercy offered,
if not, then the darkness grows.

There is a melancholy pleasure in self denigration,
pushing oneself under the dark waters.
Arrogance?
I have been told this is so;yet perhaps the message is simple:
self hatred more common than we think.

So hell does not open up and swallow us,
it merely becomes the state we have become,
for Christ came to save us from ourselves,
the prison we build,
or perhaps bury ourselves in.

We fight against ourselves,
we flee from true life for a dungeon,
the walls built against love and compassion;
to become hell is also a hard journey,
perhaps it is better to allow love and compassion to enter.

Shallow sport

So easy to forget what we are about,
or perhaps forgetting is not the point,
for if truth be told it seems we don't know.

Money, power and yes, sex seems to be a main concern,
only the veneer important, the body, clothes, the car we drive,
the face we put out to others lest they look to deeply inside,
bluster is an art that is developed too perfection
though we all know this, we pretend it is all true.

Running on empty yet we still run this silly race,
comparing ourselves to others an absurd game,
we often lose what is most important by this shallow sport
losing family and friends in our hollow pursuits.

So it goes until the day we die,
grasping on to nothing if the lesson unlearned
alone, abandoned by the useless gods we served.

Drinking sand

I often don't understand what I am about,
saying one thing then doing another,
wondering all the while at my mediocrity,
my winding journey up the mountain,
fits and starts unending or so it seems,
often ending back in the valley lost and alone
among my own inner demons,
failures,
also just a simple fear of going forward.

I seek you and your presence flees,
seeking to hide myself and you gently show yourself,
only to again withdraw.
Knowing all the while,
it is I who is the cause;
my enemy myself.

Crushed by my poverty both inner and outer
calling your name
drinking sand instead of living water,
over and over again I fail
yet I continue to seek you
often wondering why?

Where else can I go?
For you are life,
what we seek,
you are,
the air on which our souls breathe
that which holds us in existence.

Loved,
tormented,
fighting despair,
I will not give up,
for it is infinite love that sustains,
seeks,
for your love is greater than my own heart.

At last

At last she has finally started to show her face,
the earth thirsty longing for rain's caress,
roots drinking deeply of nature's bounty
so long withheld causing deep stress,
which many trees no doubt will die.

Last night I heard its soft message,
drops falling in gentle flow,
with winds lulling me to sleep,
though I would rather lie and just listen,
yet soon I sank under,
succumbing to seduction.

Now morning the clouds remain,
a soft suffuse light as the sun arises,
the weather again spring like,
though beautiful I long for winter.

Crowded lobby

Emergency rooms are places of waiting,
of hurrying to get there and then just sitting,
often in a crowded lobby,
witnessing the human drama of our fragility
played out in living color;
pain, worry, suffering lived out in full view,
though most so preoccupied with their own drama
it can mostly be fazed out.

I suppose I am good at it now,
bringing my reading materials,
prayer beads,
and yes something to write in if I desire,
sometimes the wait flows by in rapid sequence,
at others
it seems like an eternity.

I sit with the one I am with,
getting them water,
if allowed,
or perhaps a snack
if allowed,
and of course needs of nature need attending to.

Sometimes they come home with me,
more often than not,
admitted,
a few times
death is the outcome,
when all that can be done is to hold their hand,
pray with them,
or perhaps just for them if they are not conscious,
until they are called.

The visits blur,
so many,
different people yet all remembered,
for there is a bound formed between caregiver
and the one cared for.

Loves burden

We cannot cause God pain,
it is ours he takes upon himself,
shares all of mankind's pains, joys,
not flinching from loves burdens,
compassion infinite,
who can understand such a mystery.

Yet

How we love to condemn and damn,
pointing out those who will suffer for eternity
speaking for God,
quoting our scriptures
creating a God in our own image and likeness.

Christ came to save us from ourselves,
on the cross we view our souls
self inflicted death
love of that which destroys,
yet we are pursued by the infinite,
love more fierce that the sun
it's heat refining
until only gold remains.

Trapped in the past

I never know how he will react,
it must be hard not to know what is really ever going on,
trapped in the past,
perhaps the last twenty years at times forgotten,
not knowing who it is who takes care of him,
if he knows,
unable to make any kind of rational connection.

He will sometimes on his good days
which are more than his bad ones,
work with us,
even joke,
yet,
there are days when he fights,
trys to spit on us,
yelling,
"Get the hell away from me",
having to force him to accept what needs to be done,
so we do it.

Luckily his memory fades quickly,
and soon afterwards he is having ice cream,
smiling at us,
and just enjoying what is before him.

Love without suffering a lie

She sat in front of me crying softly,
reliving what happened the night before,
her son called her in the early morning
acting in ways unknown,
scaring her into also calling me.

He cried, she told me wiping her eyes,
he has never done that before,
sobbing about his wife,
whom he adores,
after six years of marriage
he still worships her.
The tumor much bigger than they thought,
he is in a panic,
fearful of losing the love of his life.

Ask everyone you know to pray he told her with passion,
surprising since he says he does not believe,
yet stating prayer is powerful;
so she told me,
as well as all of her friends.

So we are praying
the outcome unknown
in the meantime her son suffering because of his wife,
she because of her son.

Love without suffering is a lie
since what is done to the beloved
the lover also goes through,
perhaps worse;
ask any loving parent.

A maze

His mind a maze that he gets lost in,
trapped in the corridors of his past,
seeking to relive moments impossible to change,
looping back over and over again.

Afternoon visit 

I drove one of my charges to visit a friend yesterday,
he is 96 years old with a very healthy sense of humor,
interested in many things but most of all he loves others.
Her name is Claire the lady we visited, a very beautiful woman, kind, compassionate,
who has her mother, and also a Mrs. Daisy who used to care for her mom,
now she takes care of them both.

Claire and her husband Steven just adopted a baby,
and she and her husband are very happy with it,
it brings a very nice kind of chaos to the home,
everyone watches the baby, it takes a village I guess to raise a child.

They pampered Luke, something he deserves,
but they served what I wanted,
hot dogs, mashed potatoes,
sour kraut and baked beans,
the all American meal.

I talked with Clair for awhile while Luke napped,
she said with no self consciousness
"I never thought I could love anything as much as my baby",
such a beautiful statement from a very kind woman,
truly we find life in giving.

I had coffee about 3 pm, and then took Luke home,
he was in a very good mood going home recounting his time,
the food, the movie he watched, a western, an old one,
he loves old movies, so do I, the 40's the best.

It is good to be with people of different ages,
inside we are all young, so we acted like children
playing in a sand box,
yes it was a good day,
I was also tired.

People like Luke make getting old less fearful,
oh yes,
as we left he told Clair,
next time we will have meat loaf.
It seems not everyone loves hot dogs as much as me,
oh well.

awakes

hope brings only warmth
sun to a frozen dead world
again life awakes

true freedom

love forgives wrongs done
hatreds burden now no more
only true freedom of soul

bleaching

despairs ice cold hand
skeletal grip unyielding
bleaching all color from life
ends in deaths embrace

driven

the heart made for love
ran down many roads searching
driven by its thirst

pregnant with promise

Each morning is fresh,
pregnant with promise of a new day;
hope if allowed will again take root
all the fatigue of yesterday put to rest,
bravely seeking to do better
even if again failure is in the cards,
after all we fight against simply giving up
success is secondary,
but very good if it also comes.

Breaking up my thinking

Driving alone down hwy 138,
windows down playing my music,
RAMMSTEIN actually a favorite of mine,
loud bass,
guttural German voices
loving the pounding angry beat.

Breaking up my thinking
allowing me to simply live in the experience
of raw exultation as I am drawn into the flow.
A form of mediation,
being totally present to the moment
feeling young again
perhaps I am,
my soul being young
why else would a man my age love this music,
my friends have told me that my taste in music sucks,
but what do they know,
screw em is what I say
HA, HA, HA.

parting crowd

the child stood alone
people parted like a river
its smile a bright light shinning
they smiled in passing

2:30 AM

the crystal clear sky
in the early morning night
thankfulness followed

Book store visit

I walked into the book store, looked around, and felt right at home. Can't think of any better place to spend a few hours, waiting to be called to go and pick Clarence up at the hospital. I dropped him off for an appointment, one that takes forever, so a book store is a better place to wait than a noisy waiting room with the telly blaring away. Can't read or think properly.I walked over to the counter and asked for a cup of coffee, the woman behind the counter was blond, well built, outgoing; my kind of gal. She was quick, competent with the customers, seemingly enjoying her work. She came to me and I commented on how well she did her job, and asked if she was the manager. She gave me a beautiful smile and said no, she was going to college majoring in public relations. So I sez, well lady you are doing a great job, perhaps you should teach there instead of being a student. She laughed and gave me an extra portion of espresso for free! So I got my coffee, sat at a table and watched the people, a great assortment of them, all interesting, since I think only interesting people haunt book stores. Some are interesting in weird and strange ways, but hey I like them too, no chance of them being boring. Suddenly I got the feeling that my head left my body and started floating around the store, but on checking to see if it was still attached, it was, I figured it was the extra espresso taking effect.

I got up, looked at some books, read from some of them, even looked at some poetry books, strange, for I don't read much poetry, though I think I am going to start. The three hours flew by, the phone rang; it was Clarence, he was ready, so off I went, picked him up and drove home through rush hour traffic on a Friday, not a pretty sight, but hey, a mans gotta do what a mans gotta do.

Fall

I guess we had our first Fall day today,
a very cool morning,
perhaps for some cold,
yet refreshing it its mild sting
with a promise of more and yes colder mornings to come.

Wore a jacket,
a sure sign of age.......
for in my younger days
the cold had very little sting at all.
Is good,
for the heat no longer bothers me as much as well
so I have found yet another plus with aging.

My mind thinks of apples this time of year,
the sour ones,
or mayhap the semi sweet,
love them,
yes the Fall is apple weather.

Also had cocoa with buttered toast
more than what I needed
another thing I love this time of year,
oh yes,
grilled cheese sandwiches
made with Velveeta cheese
smashed down,
cheese running out
slightly burnt,
perhaps with a pickle thrown in
with lots of sweet tea thrown in
hmmmmmm.

Game of fools

Game of fools

Doubt and faith are partners in the dance,
first one leads and then the other
in the quest of surety,
which never comes.

For some they are friends,
sitting down over tea and cucumbers sandwiches
listening to each other,
spurring the other on,
the quest unending for truth.

For others they live in the same house
but one is in the attic,
the other in the crypt,
communication cut off
leaving bitter fruit.

Doubt allows faith to deepen,
to ask questions,
freedom to allow things to get scrambled,
allowing anxiousness to play itself out
until something larger,
deeper,
wise,r takes it place.

Doubt out of touch with faith can become bitter,
cynical,
cruel in its response to others,
refusing to learn from the wisdom of those around them,
becoming isolated from those who believe are think differently.

Faith without doubt
becomes rigid,
narrow and simplistic,
making ones faith a mockery in the face of others,
making ignorance a virtue,
their surety a farce.

Faith is strong,
yet having all the answers
or pretending too
is the game of fools.

Both believers and those who do not,
who do not face their own doubt,
become mirror images of each other
fighting the reflections projected back,
for what we see in others,
the reflection
is ours.

A lesson I am still learning

He was a clean cut young man,
known by all,
living in a very small town,
only two thousand souls.
Known?

Well perhaps not,
for who could predict the deed done,
the havoc delivered,
the death and pain spread out,
parceled unequally to those 1,993,
left behind?

His humanity lost for a short time,
long enough for chaos to rule,
six lives gone,
the seventh perhaps will follow,
bullets and pizza don't go together,
one points to celebration
the other death.

Was it rage,
Feed by a lost love?
Breaking through like a rabid dog
all rationality shattered,
only to return after the blood had flowed,
the bullet ending his life, embraced.

Who can prepare for such a thing?
The young people who died?
The town,
the young man?

No for such a rage consumes
destroys humanity,
who can be ready for that.

From where does it flow?

It comes from within,
perhaps it sleeps in all of us,
at times I can feel its awakening,
it's hunger,
craving to be filled by revenge,
destruction,
at what?
Perhaps just at life.

In the heart,
the news,
the television,
we see it everyday,
but only becomes real when close to home,
until then it is only news,
to be watched over dinner,
so we can make our ‘tsk' sounds,
thinking we are beyond such behavior.
It is a lie!