Return to Treasure Island

Glistening hot

     white flour

          baked

               with salt

                    and sea oats, stirred

                         by continuous breeze with

                              astonishingly

                                   turquoise water.

But there’s a rest place.

It’s been here all these years.

Why did we miss some?

     And what if we hadn’t?

“Nostalgia” comes from

     ancient words

          meaning

               “return home” and

                    “pain”.

I read a sign.

Those cheerful green parakeets –

          we called them parrots –

     with their short, high, squawking language,

     are transplants from South America,

But this

     became

          their home.

If I had never stopped

     coming down the Florida road –

Family migration for a regular filling

     of delight, excitement satisfied –

Would I feel

     the pain

          of returning to this

               piece of home?

Reflection on the Death of a Saint

As the Great Wave Of Loss bears down,

     sight surprises expectation:

Can even death be all woven through

     with light?

Christ's wake shimmering

     on the sea of sadness;

Morning Star's glory glinting

     on breaker's black crest

As His victory swallows

     the final foe.

At the turning of the gilded page,

     God makes all things new.

Easter in the Northwoods

 
Reflections on a personal spiritual retreat, weekend of Resurrection Day 2012, Boundary Waters, Northern Minnesota

Up the joyous coastline,
     fresh and free all feels,
To the place Adventurous Christians

     may go.
Gloriously

     rugged,
Rightfully

     untamed,
Present with the mystery -
     Easter in the Northwoods.

The sound of my soul
     rises,
     resonating
     with this
     wild freedom.
A million arboreal cathedral spires
     point my heart to You,
Here,
     with Nouwen my companion in solitude,
Sitting on the riverbank,
     edge of holy waters -
Boundary
     between now and eternity.

Strangers welcome me

     in the Name,
Saints draw me
     in to havens of hewn trees,

     Dwelling borne by crossbeams,
Feed me
     what's Real.
Woodstove warms my spirit,
     the rustic restores me.

Your breath in the body -
I've come alive again.

Foreshadowing

A poem for Ash Wednesday

forty-six sunsets before

Son's rising,

eyes see a foreshadowing

once Radiance beating down,

piercing Light,

now beams fade into darkness

all that brightness descending

below earth-edge,

trails of crimson in the wake

all the more breathtaking

do ash and dust make

Day's death

O God Eternal, O God of Mayflies

O God eternal, O God of mayflies,
Shepherd, Overseer of the long-dancing
     stars' lives
     and the fleeting flame of flowers,
King of the beats
     of hummingbird wings
     and mouse hearts,
Choreographer of continental drifts
     and Grower of bristlecone pines,
Lord of human breaths
     and comet revolutions,
Are not our times held in wise hands?
Ancient of Days,
Who but You has seen
     the rise and fall of seas and nations,
     the birth of the earth
     and all the life her womb has nourished?
Who but You is the Life-Singer?
Who but You, our Beginning and End?

The Last Word

 

Words shook me.

I felt the reality of death in them – 

        stark, unveiled,

        shimmering and pain-laced.

A brief utterance in time,

But the weight in its wake

        bends eternity.

O God of bodies,

Your presence feels our fear;

Our tears

        are Your heart language.

Fragility

        does not offend You.

O God Resurrector,

There’s Light

        coming out the edges

        of The Sentence,

Because You are present there,

        already, now.

It’s just the first clause;

The Word at the end is Yours,

        is You.

O Spirit

Descend and move us,
O uncontrollable Guide.
We cannot manipulate
     the Cloud and the Flame.
How foolish
     are our attempts -
Categorizing the unknown,
Forecasting God.
Do we only like You
     when Your form is small?
          comfortable?
          describable?
Is our allegiance conditional
     on agreement?
          familiarity?
          predictability?

O uncivilized Fountain,
Are we embarrassed
     by Your joy and grief?
Are we ashamed of Your tears,
Humiliated by Your dancing?
Do we laugh when You weep
     and weep when You laugh?

O unreasonable Wisdom,
Do we hush the children,
Do we silence the prophets -
     ignore those who speak from the margins?
Have we doused
     Your refining blaze
And built walls to block
     Your propelling wind?

O ancient Fire,
Thaw our frozen hearts!
O eternal Breath,
Fill our empty lungs!
Expose the limits of our logic,
     our fig leaves of comprehension.
Awake our imaginations
     and nourish us with mystery.

O untaintable Purifier,
Burn up our false power
     that we may know Love.
Blow away our counterfeit hope
     that we may see Resurrection.
Form dust into clay jars
     Holy to the Lord.
Come dwell,
O unparalleled Treasure,
     and flow from us
     as Life to all the world.

Ascension - 4.16,17,19.20

Sun blazes, beams down,
     nothing to hinder, to flicker
          its gaze.
Footstep crunches the glittering crust,
     crushes the gleaming crest,
Twelve points biting
     wind-sculpted white.

Lungs lunge,
     sparse oxygen seizing;
Heart thunders,
     lightning-laced and charged.
Ears catch the whistle -
     wind whipping rock rims,
     the cleft catching the call.

Pause.

     then
Climb.
What else
     can one do
In response to
     all this?

Among

You came and stood
    - among them -
Conqueror of the depths of the grave;

Invited them
     torushinclose
     and touch
     your hands and side.

You breathed
     into dust
     again -
Made them whole:
Peace
     be With you -
          Feel my pulse,
          Believe,
          Be alive.

You told someone like me,
Don't
     Hold me...
                       just yet.
I think maybe
      when she does
She will
     never
          let go.

Apart

I hated standing

Six            Feet            Away  -

The depth of a plague victim's grave.

My body ached
     torushinclose,
     hug and hold
     You
     for a long time.

My substance is disintegrating
     from the withholding:
To feel the pulse of an Other
With One's whole form
Is a holy need -
     We turn to dust without it.

My flesh is blowing away in the wind...
How long can One hold on
     to no one
          before

               f  a  l  l  i  n  g

                                   a      p      a      r      t      ?