She Is Love
To my wife Patricia on Valentines
Day 2007
She is love, she is kindness
She is peace in the night
Bring it on, bring it on
Can't wait too long
She has taken all my worries
and sent them far from my sight
Bring it on, bring it on
A feeling strong
Surrounded by the warmth of her arms
Healed by her mystical charms
She takes the hurt out of being on fire
She is Love
She is hope, she is joy
She is a river of dreams
She is purpose, she is promise
she tempers all my extremes
I was lost in the dark
a vessel searching for light
Her glowing smile is my new ark
A new horizon in sight
Surrounded by the warmth of her
arms
Healed by her mystical charms
She takes the hurt out of being on fire
She is Love
I will rise up to her like a dove
sent skyward into pure space
I see all beauty, all harmony
enfolded in her embrace
Those near death she'll vitalize
Her being none can eclipse
Her every breath I memorize
Promise of life from her lips
Surrounded by the warmth of her arms
Healed by her mystical charms
She takes the hurt out of being on fire
She is Love
[Inspired by a Steiner-Anselm soundtrack,
look for the song soon] ^
Hungry for Heaven
In this vast container of half-light
dwells a soul in process,
weeping, laughing, earthbound,
hungry for heaven.
I seem to be an insignificant mite
in the vast sweep of time and space.
Am I so bold as to think
that death cannot erase me?
Lift the haze from limited sight,
Pull the plugs from impacted ears.
Break through the stiff wall of my heart.
Reveal yourself. Abide with me.
Rescue me from wrong relationships.
Pour fire into my arteries.
Make me burn with passion.
Consume my body as you make me whole.
Melt my pride, my clutching,
my lust, my vengeance.
I will obey your commandments
for love, not for fear.
I kneel, lock-kneed, begging for release
from heavy debts and broken promises.
Discomfort in my bones
exceeded only by the pain of not knowing.
Where or who or why are you?
When will I take leave of my senselessness?
How will I make my road straight?
How will I fly to you without falling?
Must I climb the greatest mountain
to glimpse your shining radiance?
Must I swim the bluest ocean
to fathom your magnificence?
Must I reach deep inside myself
to embrace your unapproachable intimacy?
Find you in inspired pages or hard sermons?
Or simply walk with you in the olive grove?
Hear me as I vibrate.
Know me as I pulse.
Perceive the odor of my being,
the inflammation in my mind.
Suddenly, bathed by a spectrum
streaming through rosette window.
Blessed by a Mother who carries no lance
except the one that pierced her Son.
Touched again by a foreigner's sacrifice.
Made complete by new blood,
nourished by new bread
Made joyous by new song.
Your love is in those I touch:
In my neighbor, in my enemy,
in those on the fringe, in those on the edge,
in those wrapped in self, in those unraveling.
You are in the infant caressed,
in the student being understood,
in the stranger receiving my last coin.
You are the Master asking for my all.
Providers needing grain, replenished.
Mourners seeking consolation, comforted.
Children gone astray, led back.
Those who were silenced, again singing.
Now wind inflates my breast,
water begins cleansing.
I am floating, warm, calm,
on a current of unconditional love.
Where there was protest is now thanks
for the opening of my eyes
to the life and love around me.
I thank you for the treasure that is already mine.
It was never mine to question.
It was never yours to answer.
We are enmeshed in a symphony of waves,
all past, present and future encircling.
There is no Father who yearns like you.
No Son who teaches so well.
No Spirit that excites so wildly.
No Transcendence so involved with lesser mites.
I have heeded your generous invitation
to the mystery of creation.
I am no longer hungry for heaven.
You have poured heaven on me.
Draft 1 of lyrics for a joint
project with David Gómez
Sanz
January 29, 2007
^
Spring
Unknit your brow.
Spring is now!
Heal your dolor.
Repast in colour!
Trees enduring,
Soil alluring,
A tonic scent
From Eden's vent.
Winter stinging
Turns to singing.
Vernal joy
Uncorks the coy.
Earth warming.
Creatures swarming.
Season of growth
Embraces us both.
Love, come walk,
Gaze, and talk.
New world calling,
It's enthralling!
^
Rushing
People rushing,
like sled drivers mushing
o'er cold hard terrain,
at a pace that's insane.
Playing the game,
looking for fame,
adventure or lust,
whatever's a must.
Rushing, acquiring,
without deep inquiring.
Their gain is their loss.
A gray albatross.
^
Good Sport
Love is a game we play on a
dare,
a game we win when we play fair.
^
Take Time for God
"Take time for God and
He'll take time for you,"
my mother used to say.
Never enough time! Taking way
too long!
I'm sorry, your time is up!
The speed of traffic. The growth
of our hair.
The progress of our children.
Credit card interest, compounded daily.
Time spent in a bad situation
from which we are unable to escape.
Time for lunch. Time for supper.
Time to praise God for all that
has been, is now, and will be.
...I fell, silently, forever,
in a dream.
Pitched slightly forward, dropping down
the edge of an infinitely high cloud,
an infinitely deep chasm. Diffuse light.
No beginning. No end...
Wake me, or I shall go mad!
There, better.
The sense of time brings sanity
to our being.
Our being brings sanity to God.
^
Miseries
Miseries, the handmaidens of
our broken dreams,
The siblings of our misfortunes,
Mistresses for our grief and anger,
Wherein we plunge our shards and daggers.
So blind as to see no hope,
So brazen as to win no favor,
So ugly as to lose all contests,
Silent as our Mighty God on high,
Miseries love the company of fallen angels,
The gatherings of other Miseries,
Begetting more pain and sorrow,
Driving nails through our knees.
Oh, if we could only vanquish their kind
and gain admittance to The Garden.
^
Tempest Fugit
I rolled up my sleeves,
ready for work.
Decided instead to visit
my mother.
I raked her leaves.
She overfed me lunch.
I rested on her couch
until the stuffedness subsided.
I gave her a kiss on the cheek
and drove on back to work.
And as I drove I thought,
"Storms of emotions that
plagued me
in my youth have all but vanished.
I question less, cry less,
want less of the tangible
and more of the intangible.
No longer frantic
in my pursuit of commodities,
I pilot my mind on a gently rolling sea,
headed for a shore unseen,
confident that God will guide.”
And so it goes.
The tempest flees
when sanguinity arrives.
^
Prime Time
Tuned to the woes
of actors in clothes,
egregious devotion
to specious emotion
in broadcast dramatics
makes insomniatics
of millions of creatures
who cherish the features
of prime time TV.
^
Fishergod
Few hours of repose
and a barge load of woes,
God's trawling the oceans
for wayward emotions.
All kinds of perceptions.
Distinct dispositions.
Unique dreams and sighs.
Diverse wails and cries.
This deity's angling.
His love's disentangling
the human condition,
dark mare of perdition.
His oars keep on churning
through wavelets of yearning.
Hope wrapped 'round despair,
Does God really care?
^
The Europeanization
of Bridget
Lazy, sonorous moans of a Segovian
bull,
grazing a field of ancient boulders and grass,
gracing the soul of a twenty-something-old daughter,
enjoying the radiance of a painterly Old World sky,
this Sunday, in the countryside of central Spain.
Mournful, resonating clangs
of a West Side church bell,
sending forth a middle-aged father in a vapor,
pondering afternoon runs of his kids in junk-heap cars,
hoping to catch a few rays of late afternoon haze,
this Sunday, in the innercity of the American Midwest.
^
Nowness
Yawn!
Drifting off
in the mid-afternoon.
So tired.
Must rest my eyes.
Delicious sleep...
Bam!
A thunderbolt awakening,
a raucous clap,
eyes open wide,
beholding a room full
of resounding nowness.
Whoa!
A constant stream of
sensory hooks binds me to
the notion that I exist
now and forever.
My fancy soars as
I imagine myself
a rich entrepreneur,
a powerful ruler,
a vital movie star,
or a spirit being.
Steady!
The awful truth is that,
despite my emollients,
herbs, pimple cream
and athletic strains,
decomposition happens.
Ouch!
So heaves the tide of
this soul awash
in joy and sorrow,
accord and discord,
faith and despair,
destined to leave this orb
kicking!
^
Silent One
The One who knows me best is
the One who is silent.
Ah, the silence of God!
It has troubled the philosopher
as much as it has the neighborhood roofer
who fell off the roof and was never the same.
I spat on the ground
and rubbed the spittle into the dirt with my toes,
bright sunlight illuminating.
Jesus used such a mud paste
to cure a blind man,
directly intervening in the life of a soul,
affecting the decisions of countless believers thereafter,
far less silent than his Father,
about as intrusive as that Spirit-Thing.
But I didn't use my mud paste
for anything.
I didn't know how to effect a miracle with mud.
I was content to simply gaze upon the earth
as the summer sun caressed my being.
And I shouted, "My, how
good this sensory impression feels!"
And God was listening.
And God agreed
as he quietly kept watching
the lathe of creation turn itself.
^
Words for Butch
Each day I try to renew my
spirit
despite the shackles of time,
obligations and physical weariness.
I trudge through the mud,
knee deep in confusion.
But every so often I find
a small encampment
where an ageless, timeless Voyageur
offers me a mug of nourishment
and whispers to me
words of affirmation.
That is enough for me.
I pick up the heavy pack once
again
and resume my long trek
to the Summit of Fulfillment.
^
The Gifts
In
suffering seclusion
you write about yourself.
It's all about delusion,
the things you do in stealth.
Some folks have adored you
for prowess you have shown,
while others have abhorred you
for discord you have sown.
This pounding in your brain,
this longing for a clue,
at last brings you to saying
that pride you must eschew.
Consider with a grain of salt
the words the naysayers say.
Try instead to loose the vault
that keeps The Gifts at bay.
Reach for higher energy.
Get a life, have a clue.
Teach that love is synergy.
Make it flow, do the do.
A temporal solution
that generates good health:
forsaking retribution,
you now seek love's true wealth.
^
Wavelets of Time
Born years ago to a family,
fashioned from stardust and slime.
Spirits of nature have carried me
over the wavelets of time.
This I know, having seen and
heard,
tasted, touched, absorbed
a million sense impressions.
Life is good, life is hard,
life is wild, life is worth the living.
^
Filet of Soul
The devil is no longer
a welcome guest.
I'm bound and most determined
to excise him from my breast.
The rancid, smelly vapor,
the awful stench of death,
the devil has for too long been
a wicked, deadly pest.
^
The Row
Only two hours of sleep
and a barge load of flesh,
yet, I know I will sail
through this day with a smile.
Cause I talked to a seeker
and talked to my God
last night,
in the wake of a row.
A man had been cast off
due to unwitting deeds.
His concern for his victim
exceeded his pain.
Hypocrisy, pretense?
I still do not know!
But I know I must talk
to a man who serves others
aggressively, smiling,
hands folded in prayer.
A strange mix we have
in this sea of sojourners:
hope wrapped in despair,
lightly breaded, like fish.
^
Choir Boy
I don't hardly ever
run any more.
My potential wasted.
My girth ever expanding.
Blubber call!
Get the grappling hook!
He's a waddlin'
down Page Street,
the wide-bodied, lacrimal,
non-distillate, donut-poppin’
choir boy.
^
Joy of a Slush Puddle
I feel the steady, inaudible
hum of Old Sol
arcing low across the morning sky,
above the innercityscape,
burning away the permafrost.
I step with greater pleasure,
my body less cocoonish, less curled
against the cold, fresh air
that now wafts with a faint hint
of the organic scent of Spring thaw.
I step with greater abandon
down the middle of the street,
along great glacial valleys carved by
the wheels of motorized vehicles
that all Winter have struggled, slipped
and protested.
Suddenly, my right foot lands
in a slush puddle.
Not once, but twice!
Cold foot, wet foot, up to the laces.
But I am not angry.
There is joy today in this
slush puddle.
^
Dominus Proboscis
His large nose
senses no mystical realm,
no god,
no hope,
no aroma of love.
With dulled senses
he stumbles
'cross small divides,
ne'er seizing the day,
ne'er reaching for stars.
He cannot adjust
his lifelong habits
to forestall disaster.
The assailant can surely
snatch away all.
His attitude stinks.
His muscles are atrophied.
His mind is anemic.
He is unable and unwilling
to embrace neighbors.
He is an automaton
who spins out his days
in grief,
in despair,
incommunicado.
He is an easy mark,
a sitting duck,
to be bagged and diced,
skewered and fried,
consumed and regurgitated.
Lord, help the man.
^
Spirit Painting
I am living in my body for
this brief period of time.
Each day, with varying intensity, I ask myself, "What should I do?"
A feather falls silently on
the stone walkway.
A bird chirps, delivering an unintelligible but beautiful lyric.
I stand apart from a kingdom I can not yet know.
While there is steadiness and
strength in these hands,
While there is vision and resolve in the chemistry of my brain,
I should paint a picture of Spirit.
I will try to see with my third
eye.
^
Self-absorption
A child's dewy-eyed generosity
has turned to blind self-absorption.
The child no longer cares about
others.
What happened?
Was it economic deprivation?
A lack of fine reading? The popular media?
Advancing age? A loss of faith?
Mayflies on the windshield? High-cholesterol food?
Antidepressant drugs? Our caste
system?
Blows to the head? Blows to the ego?
He allows the world to continue
to take
its thoroughly eccentric and degraded course.
Rather than remedy world stupidity
or injustice,
He vacuously watches the stinkin' ball game.
Where has the selfless child
gone?
Who will repair the holes in our souls?
^
Gusto
The more engaged you are with
life,
the less you'll have to sleep.
Don't be afraid to make mistakes.
Life is a gamble
but I'll place high bets
on you being a winner.
Go, Smurf, go! Rock the planet.
^
The Worker
I want to scream,
just give it up,
but pay is fair
so I put up.
^
Evolution of a Dreamer
After a twenty-minute nap
in
the car and on the boulevard,
I awoke (within the dream)
and realized that reality can be
painted well if one is true
to the balance of light and color.
I beheld the shimmering pixels.
I regarded the land bridge impassible
and decided
to go way around
the west end of the swollen, white lakes.
A horde of bicyclists made a mad dash
across the impassible bridge.
Some made it, but a big man fell in the water.
In his campsite, drying himself off, the big man muttered,"This is how I chose to spend my Sunday."
"My heart is closing," Bridget said, smiling, having just received
a very fine overcoat from a very engaging and gracious foreigner.
I shook the young man's hand. Our clasp was strong and sustained.
There was spontaneous hope and joy.
"Iodine gives me twenty minutes of protection," the daughter said
to her mother who responded, "I should have had it so easy in my day!" Whereupon
the mother pulled off a very large piece of toenail and tossed it onto the
locker room floor.
The stuff of dreams. Providing clues to nothing, or everything.
A glimpse of heaven, where our bodies and minds are given free range.
The play areas of disembodied souls. Accidental doors to parallel universes.
Bizarre, disconnected feelings and sense impressions.
Good for a brief laugh or a prolonged cry.
^
Forever, Love
Enraptured by your smiling eyes,
Your aura bathed my naked soul.
That very moment, prayers fulfilled:
I'd found the love of my sweet dreams.
Who can analyze the magic?
Who's the architect so wise?
The conjurer who saw the promise
Of our long and blest communion?
Faith and hope and love sustain.
The vow we made inviolate.
The dividends of being true
More precious than a cache of gold.
The fruit you bore has blossomed
forth.
Precious children nurtured well.
With modest means, you build our home.
Selflessly fulfilling needs.
The thought of you is so compelling
Forget the work, let's break away.
A ride, a walk, a talk, a rest,
A chance to say, "Forever, love."
^
Penitential Rite
In a darkened mirror a shadowy
hulk,
spectacular, large and frightening,
suddenly supplants my waking reflection.
This oblique projection of a
nascent being
suffuses me with self-awareness
and asks me why have I failed to thrive.
Shoulders weak, waist bulging,
ears waxing, eyes burning,
I explain that I'm enervated by exigencies.
The specter waves its hand in
disgust
and fades away, leaving behind
the usual stuff in the mirror.
Behold now a penitent man,
rubbing together chafed hands,
heir to an undisciplined intellect.
A soul skipping across waters,
afraid to dive, fearful of flight,
skipping, forever skipping.
^
Telling God to Mary
2. "Tell us how your faith
is similar to and different than when you were in high school."
My Catholic faith was solidly
infused into me at an early age through the efforts of my
mother who is a devout Catholic rooted in Maronite (Lebanese)
Christian traditions. As such, she has had the benefit of
Eastern and Western values contributing to her life of faith.
My father was a convert to Catholicism (when he married my
mother) but he was not effusive at all about his beliefs.
The School Sisters of Notre Dame — at St. Matthew's
Grade School and St. Agnes High School — were very
rigorous in their transmission of Catholic values. Also contributing
to my spiritual education were the parish priests of my home
parish and my high school, as well as certain relatives and
family friends who set very good examples of Christian faith
(in both the strength of their beliefs and the expression
of their faith through good works). With this background,
I became very good at imitating the qualities of Christ at
an early age. I remember being very mystified by some of
the deeper "truths" of my Catholic faith, such
as the omnipresent, eternal nature of God and the teachings
about the Resurrection. These truths of the faith were very
near and dear to me. But I would say I operated at the level
of imitation and fear more than at the level of appreciation
through scholarship (discursive knowledge) or infusion of
the Holy Spirit (affective knowledge). This a very complex
question and I can only say that my faith as a 51-year-old
adult is in some ways very much like it was in high school,
but in many ways has grown and acquired new facets. I have
had many moments of doubt, especially during hard economic
times or disappointments in my business enterprises. But
I have also kept my faith alive and well through regular
attendance at Mass, by sending my children to Catholic schools
(K through college), and by answering religion class interviews
such as this.
3. "How would you describe
God today?"
I would describe God as did
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, the famous French priest-philosopher.
God is the Omega point — the perfection of a universe
born in a state of entropy (disorder) but evolving from base
matter to unifying spirit. The more scientists study matter,
the more they come to a realization that the most elementary
particles may be pure energy. God is a pervasive force of
light, goodness and organization that struggles against the
powers of darkness and sin. Even though the evolution of
mankind toward a perfect state of being is not yet fulfilled,
somehow the energy of the Unifying Principle imbues all space
and all time. Perhaps the universe is cyclical. Perhaps God
is a Master Architect who created all things seen and unseen,
but how are we to know for sure? It is like an ant knowing
the fullness of the human experience — an impossibility.
Likewise, mortal humans can never know the fullness of the
God State. Many claim to know — through revelations
of all sorts, through near-death experiences, via faith traditions,
etc. God has been characterized as a supreme being and also
as a triune entity (Father, Son, Holy Spirit). I believe
that God the Father intervened many times during human history,
most notably in the Person of Jesus Christ. Jesus was not
just an excellent prophet. This man was too full of grace,
wisdom and miracles to have been a product of mere human
nurturing. Christ was indeed the God-Man. He appeared at
a critical time in human history and redirected the minds
and hearts of countless individuals. The Holy Spirit followed
on the heels of Jesus and is the guiding force that has continued
to lead people to paths of righteousness throughout history.
I studied the phenomenon of the Holy Spirit as I designed
a mural for Holy Spirit Parish. I discovered that the Holy
Spirit can be a bit of a "problem" for the institutional
Church at times. Some mystics or pneumatics (pneuma=spirit)
jumped beyond the bounds of official Church teaching, only
to be later embraced by the Church. Sometimes, demonic possession
has masqueraded as the Spirit. Sometimes, people have medical
conditions like a constricted heart artery that may contribute
to their visions or "ecstasy". But who can truly
judge the experiences of individuals? Each of us comes to
an appreciation of a higher order, a supreme intellect, or
a spirit of love in our own time and in our own way. We yearn
for grace, for peace, for wellness. We pray to be delivered
from the ravages of sin and selfishness. God is everywhere — in
our own being and in the beings that surround us. God is
in all things — animate and inanimate objects. Wassily
Kandinsky, an abstract artist, claimed to "feel" the
spirit dwelling within inanimate objects — a spirit
which begged for attention ("Draw me, please!").
In summary, I can only describe God as the highest order
of self-knowledge, creativity and love.
^
Versicle for the Masses
Behold whimsy's servants
swinging between
obsessions, detachments,
the meaty, the lean
Snagged in the netting
of multitudes plugging,
lifting, sweating,
clutching, snubbing
Well acclimated
to keeping light buried
The world's half-sedated
Excuses are varied
Some cite their diet
Some racked by fright
Must cure disquiet
Center what's right
^
Shorelines
Certainty has been elusive.
Webs of hearsay inconclusive.
Now we need to stop the heaving.
Find the right path for achieving.
Has the anchor disappeared?
Have the clouds of myst'ry cleared?
Journeys will come to fruition
by the light of intuition.
Art is bread for those who have it.
Bred by will and force of habit.
What's the use of all this rowing?
What's the payload that we're towing?
God is gracious and all-seeing,
bathes our senses in well-being,
takes us to a sacred place
to lift a song of praise and grace.
Prayerful, care-filled tonic waves
raising souls up from their graves.
Greatest stories, ancient lores.
washing over troubled shores.
Thanks to Jack, Alexandra, Warren
and Shannon
for inspiration and suggested edits
^
Fathers Day 2008
Up at 9:30
To church at St. Mary's
with Mom and four of seven kids
Fr. George's three-men-died joke
The third man's coffin wish:
That friends say, "Look, he's moving!"
To the farmers market
Green onions a dollar a bunch
Annual flowers seven for ten
A walk through Mears Park
A bird shit on my shoulder
Foam in the water
Back home, a lunch
of fried eggs and greens
with buttered and garlic salted bread
A call from Bridget in Spain
A nice afternoon nap
Aroused by a gift of chocolate
A load of free compost
Carried a 100 pound boulder 80 feet
A walk through a poor neighborhood
The old Serbian Hall
A woman's shelter with guard rails
Homes, cars, children, stone walls, blossoms, trash
Picked up Anne from the soccer field
Made the decision for gyros
Twenty dollars with a 20% off coupon
The key would not turn
in the Dodge Caravan ignition
Almost stranded, then grace
Back home, a monster cookie
Laughing at Adam Sandler
Two delicious wheat beers
Life was good today
Must now turn the page to Monday
when Papa will dig in again
^
Bright Yellow
I ate a banana
in the sunshine
^ |
