So, New Year’s Eve. Atrocities around the world, Mother Nature continuing to erupt With little concern for life. (What kind of mother is she?) No miracles to bolster faith, Only broken relationships, Undeserved illnesses, Unthinkable personal traumas, Deaths, Losses of every sort and kind. Exactly! Can’t be a God. But how could there not be? Perhaps an inside discussion with yourself, Or with your friends, As you watch the year unwind itself, The numbers tumbling from The face of the clock into oblivion, Into a history that no longer exists. Unfortunately, We will probably not find God On a synaptic journey, Poking around the amygdalan storehouse Where our limiting mental models of reality Fight for first place. We will not find God trudging through The cement of disillusionment, doubt And disbelief. If we insist upon searching for God in the left hemisphere, We may find comfort in Cause and effect, But h...
Huffing and puffing, Moving my feet at a quickened pace, Three and half miles per hour To be exact, The sun, Still blinding and irritating, although It had begun its decent to its hiding place Somewhere behind the ever-changing horizon, (It just never sits still that horizon), I rested a half-dozen times at least To capture the yellow beast in its daily twilight ritual. With my digital lasso, of course. My own twilight ritual. When only a narrow band of autumn-burnt orange remained, The curious specter appeared. Her bright venusian light Dispersed into five sparkling diamonds By my glassless eyes, Appearing like a distant marquis, Called to me. “Who are you?” I whispered in my heart. “It’s me,” you replied.
THE GARDENER When the Sun begins its journey Across the heavens, Will we jump to our feet and run, Run to the tomb as we did last year? Or will we rest in our fickle belief That Jesus is risen? I ask the question because I will never forget Running to the tomb, how it changed my life. I remember being afraid as I ran. What would I say to the soldiers? I remember wanting to make fun of them. “Do you not feel ridiculous Guarding a dead man? Do you not feel ridiculous Obeying a leader so filled with fear, Fear of losing power...to a dead man?” I remember thinking how I would carefully peel away the linen cloth, Wash him, annoint him the proper way, Touch him for the last time, Lay him to rest while wanting desperately To take some part of him with me, Perhaps a lock of hair. I remember meeting Mary on the way. I remember talking with John as we ran together. I remember seeing the gardener Whom I didn’t really see or recogn...
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