MIRRORS OF CONCIOUSNESS

                              file # 2 1996

 

 

                             

                              A...

                              AFTER HOPES FALL

                              AFTER READING I CORINTHIANS 3:18

                              ALL CREATURES LOVE GOD IN CREATURES

                              AS A RICHNESS GATHERS

                              A SIMPLE CONCEPT OF ENLIGHTENMENT

                              AS IS THY NAME, O GOD

                              AT THE LAST JUDGMENT

 

                              B...

                              BELOVED BOTTOM

                              BURNING LUMINOUS HOLES/

                                WHEN LOVE BURNS HOLES

                                  IN THE SOUL

 

                              C...

                              COMMENTS ON SAINT MARK'S JESUS

                              CONFIDENCE IS:

 

                              D...

                              DIVULGENCES

 

                              F...

                              FIGHTING CONSTRICTIONS

                              FINAL BAPTISM

                              FOR NELLY SACHS AND HER WORK OF PEACE

 

                              G...

                              GOD IS A HOLY INFLUENCE

                              GOD IS NAKED

 

                              H...

                              HOW FULLNESS FLOWS INTO EMPTINESS

                              HOW STRANGE THAT THE GREATEST BEAUTY

                                      SHOULD WOUND US SO...

 

                              I...

                              IN MY PRIMAL WOUND WORDS FLOW

                              IN THE HAPPENING NOW

                              IN THE INFINITE PLENTITUDE

                              INUNDATION

                              I PRESSED MY HAND PRINT IN SOFT MUD

                              IT SEEMS LIFE-EVIDENT

 

                              L...

                              LIFE FEARFUL AND MISSING THE POINT

                              LIFEING A NEW WEEK

 

                              M...

                              MAY THE BEST GOD WIN

 

                              O...

                              ON A DAY LIKE THIS

                              ON I JOHN 4:19

                              ONLY THE REAPED GROWS

                              OUT OF THE ACHE

 

                              P...

                              POETRY'S TONGUE

                              PRAYER ANSWERS

                              PURPOSES AND ACUMINATION

 

                              R...

                              RELIGION

                              RELIGION'S FAILURE

 

                              S...

                              SOME STRANGE CIRCLES WE GO IN HEALING

                              SOUL-SOIL AND WORMS

 

                              T...

                              THERE ARE ELECTRIC ARCS

                              THERE IS A NEW CRUSADE

                                  THAT WILL LINK US TO EVERY BEAUTIFUL SOUL

                                  OF THE AGES

                              THE SILVER SHIVER OF FREEDOM

                              TO A SACRED CHOIR

                                  IN HONOR OF THEIR BECOMING THE BEAUTY

                                  THAT COURSED THROUGH RACHMANINOFF

                              TOPICS AND COMMENTS

                              TRUE ART

 

                              U...

                              UNCLINGING AND LIGHTER THAN AIR/HE MOVES

                                   IN INCARNATION

 

                              W...

                              WE SHOULD CARRY THE SKY WITH US

                              WHAT IS DUE AND TRUE

                              WHO KNOWS THE POWER OF POETRY?

                              WORD FORMS AND SPIRIT

                              WRITING ON THE BOOK OF LIFE

 

                              LAST POEM IN FILE: THERE ARE ELECTRIC ARCS

                             

 

 

                              THE POEMS:

 

 

 

 

                         ALL CREATURES LOVE GOD IN CREATURES

 

                         We love the beauty

                         of all creatures,

                         whether beauty of body or soul.

                         It is beauty

                         and its inwrought pleasure

                         that we love and seek

                         --if we are alive!

                         One soul loves the paintings

                         of Michaelangelo and Bottacelli;

                         another loves the feel of leather

                         under his rump, and the wild look

                         in a good horse's eye.

                         Another soul sits for hours

                         entranced by flashes of beauty

                         seen in a soap opera:

                         They each feel mingled stirrings

                         of primal, spiritual passions

                         that are their rightful domain.

                         All creatures love God

                         reflected in creatures.

                         To love God nakedly

                         is to place your lips

                         over the small orifice

                         from which

                         white waters

                         of northern glaciers

                         flow out

                         of ancient stone.

 

 

 

 

                              GOD IS A HOLY INFLUENCE

 

                              God is known

                              by His influence:

                              the "in-flowing" of his transparencies,

                              the liquid spaciousness of the holy

                              affecting the character.

                              God is seen in God's effects:

                              the influence of invisibility

                              is visible.

                              It is we who are designated to be

                              God's palpable expressions!

 

 

 

 

                              HOW STRANGE

                              THAT THE GREATEST BEAUTY

                              SHOULD WOUND US SO...

 

                              How strange

                              that the greatest beauty

                              should wound us so...

                              We fall into the rose

                              and thorns prick us,

                              we lie amongst fragrances

                              and bleed.

                              There are times

                              when the heart longs

                              to stop beating,

                              when the mind aches

                              to release every image

                              and rest in the spaceless spaces

                              of the hidden, holy sea.

                              But heaven is full

                              of beloved faces,

                              and every soul there

                              wants to run

                              and kiss us

                              back

                              into our

                              passionate love

                              of God's rose,

                              its

                              holy fragrance

                              and

                              thorns.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                         IT SEEMS LIFE-EVIDENT

                        

                         It seems life-evident

                         that where we are most vulnerable

                         there we are meant to be

                         most ecstatic:

                         Love alone laying her

                         transparent hand

                         over the quivering green bud of us,

                         kissing our core with wind.

                         And so love-warmed life thrusts upward,

                         naked, tender, open,

                         in the midst of its hard,

                         gray whorl of sharp, dead sticks

                         and leaves.

 

 

 

 

                         PRAYER ANSWERS

 

                         From our Lord's freedom

                         and to His freedom,

                         all good things flow.

                         To let go!

                         is to flow into His freedom.

                         as our freedom;

                         His goodness...

                         as our only actual good.

                         Goodness will flow

                         through us and unto us

                         in specific things

                         picked by God

                         to uniquely be

                         part of us

                         in Him.

                         So, let's let go!

                         and fall and flow 

                         into freedom!

                        

 

 

 

 

                         AS IS THY NAME, O GOD

 

                         The young brightness of a Man

                         who stands in a shadow of light

                         amidst a Sun we cannot see,

                         star-centered

                         in the midst of the world,

                         calls for our soul-seed hearts

                         to crack open

                         to the light of Him.

                         He moves through coral-colored

                         conical shells

                         as beauty moves.

                         He moves through the swirl of foam

                         on deep turquoise pools--

                         as beauty moves.

                         He moves through abalone's

                         iridescent beauty,

                         pearl-beauty,

                         iris pollen beauty,

                         grass stalked beauty,

                         gazelle graced beauty--

                         as beauty moves.

                         His children of glory

                         drink beauty:

                         silver glory in the belly,

                         blue beauty in the brain,

                         gold light like dawn

                         in the heart of beauty.

                         The young Man

                         calls forth His name:

                         the glory-sprung sprig,

                         vine of purple blood,

                         shimmering horn,

                         radiant cloud of rain...

                                 *

                         As is thy name, O Lord,

                         so shall be thy praise.

 

 

 

 

                         AFTER HOPES FALL

 

                         Often,

                         God drops our hopes

                         within our heart

                         as molten wax drops,

                         as scalding wax drops,

                         exploding on the skin.

                         It is then

                         that candle-light

                         sometimes seeps

                         within.

 

 

 

 

                         ONLY THE REAPED GROWS

 

                         Some bird

                         dropped a burning seed of grain

                         into the dense green tangle

                         of my heart.

                         Heaven's shock flourishes.

                         Some farmer cleared the weeds.

                         Heaven's shock flourishes.

                         Some cloud spilled its tears.

                         Heaven's shock flourishes.

                         Some worm softened earth.

                         Heaven's shock flourishes.

                         Some reaper waits in shade.

                         Heaven's shock flourishes.

                         Only the reaped grows.

 

 

 

 

                         DIVULGENCES

 

                         We are the householder

                         and the house,

                         and the house's treasure

                         is us, (and the Other).

                         Each must divulge

                         secret substances,

                         the hidden hoard,

                         whether gem,

                         or rotting rind,

                         china dish finery

                         or plastic picnic platter,

                         rare books,

                         or action videos:

                         We are all action videos,

                         all rare books to be read

                         by another's eyes;

                         we are all questions

                         to be asked

                         by the Answer.

 

 

 

 

 

                         ON A DAY LIKE THIS

 

                         On a day like this

                         someone has blown summer

                         into town.

                         I believe cherry trees 

                         are white-clouding the earth

                         somewhere...

                         And angels

                         are singing and sighing

                         unheard enchantments

                         with love-sick birds

                         in blue air today,

                         awakening minds

                         back into that ancient

                         wildness

                         known for centuries

                         to bloom

                         in breasts.

 

 

 

 

                         FINAL BAPTISM

 

                         Fire comes

                         from perfect beauty

                         to melt the marred down

                         into beauty.

                         Fire is beauty,

                         like a flared Rose.

                         To either love or resist the Rose:

                         is to melt in Rose Flame.

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

                         THE SILVER SHIVER OF FREEDOM

 

                         Beyond the green and gold

                         infusion of the flowers

                         moves the invisible force

                         of freedom:

                         this silver shiver

                         of silent unmoving

                         flow

                         is the double folding

                         of my being

                         in a two-worlded world.

                         It is the crashing collapse

                         of barriers:

                         the seeing of star light

                         in flower glow;

                         the weaving of sun-fire

                         with reticent moonlight

                         spilling through the eyes.

                         It is the hunger

                         of a green bud

                         arching up

                         out of a dead whorl

                         of petals and leaves.

                         It is suffocating death

                         dying open

                         into a boundless

                         breath of being.

 

 

 

 

 

                         OUT OF THE ACHE

 

                         What do the words of a madman signify?

                         if not what should be rightly praised,

                         or that which prompts the anguished cry

                         when worn neglect is rudely raised

                         by passions written in a book

                         with words invoked through dim themes

                         born by a woman's passing look...

                         or a poet's passionate dreams

                         which lit a candle in his head

                         and gave to mouths the word's he's said.

 

                         What do the words of a madman signify

                         to those who pause here to be read

                         by all that finds them moving there

                         within poetic phrases said?

                         Perhaps God alone can ever know

                         what words may bend, or burn, or blow

                         or mold or make or melt in part

                         to form a deathless human heart.

                             

 

 

 

 

 

                         TO A SACRED CHOIR

                         IN HONOR OF THEIR BECOMING THE BEAUTY

                         THAT COURSED THROUGH RACHMANINOFF

 

                         That white beauty of voices

                         weaving their harmonies

                         of sound like supple slips

                         of summer straw weave a crown.

                         Open throats, like young spring birds:

                         eyes open, hearts open...

                         The people are open!

                         And music streams through

                         like snow-water pure

                         torrents.

 

 

 

 

 

                              THERE IS A NEW CRUSADE

                              THAT WILL LINK US TO EVERY BEAUTIFUL SOUL

                              OF THE AGES

 

                              Christ came to baptize

                              the Universe into God

                              and God into the Universe

                              by the outflowing powers of pure,

                              creative love.

                              Christ has not failed us.

                              We have failed Christ!

                              How many souls hungry for mercy

                              have been torn from God

                              by a self-righteous,

                              fear inducing, institutionalized perversion

                              of the radical compassions

                              and life-liberating forgiveness

                              of the Son of God?

                              It is right to scorn

                              the bastardization of reality!

                              For the sake of every sensitive soul

                              who has ever suffered for want of kindness

                              at the hands of prudish, judgmental,

                              prideful piety

                              we must rail against

                              religious perversions!

                              We must not forget the suffering

                              of wounded lambs no one would heal...

                              but in their name

                              fight to be free

                              in Christ's transformative graces

                              that our own world might 

                              be blessed full of God

                              as holy light laughs to be clothed upon

                              with trees, rocks, bears, cows, birds,

                              men and women, boys and girls,

                              who are passionate in peace

                              being full of earth and sky.

                              God knows! when a Christ-born,

                              Spirit-flowing freedom

                              becomes our compassionate crusade,

                              a million beautiful,

                              love-healed souls

                              will smile upon us

                              from heaven,

                              urging us on.

 

 

 

 

                    WHO KNOWS THE POWER OF POETRY?

 

                    Who knows the power of poetry?

                    Poetry is the language

                    of the power of the deep heart.

                    And what is the power of the deep heart?

                    Is not the human heart linked to the motions

                    of sun and moon;

                    to the fiery unfoldment of every bud;

                    to the dark essence of tree blood in a branch;

                    to the limitless ocean of the holy?

                    If God so willed,

                    could He not through one human heart

                    stop all movements of the stars,

                    make rivers flow back from the sea

                    to the hills,

                    shrink a tree to its seed,

                    pour light into the brain of a blind man,

                    resurrect the dead with a word?

                                *

                    Who knows the power of the deep heart?

                    Its language is poetry.

                    Hey! Who knows the power of poetry?

 

 

 

 

                              ON I JOHN 4:19

 

                              I love the Love

                              that loves me

                              into loving

                              the Love

                              that loves

                              me.

 

 

 

 

                              IN THE INFINITE PLENTITUDE

 

                              In the infinite plentitude

                              of the divine being

                              we must overflow

                              the boundaries

                              of the finite

                              expressions of God.

                              Let us call

                              this overflow

                              our winsome

                              gladness,

                              the lushest fruit

                              of grace.

 

 

 

 

                              POETRY'S TONGUE

 

                              Poetry is the native tongue

                              and natural expression

                              of spirit-born, soul-born

                              age-lasting things:

                              whether trodding through the mind

                              on thick, slow legs

                              or slipping through fissures

                              like wind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                              WORD FORMS AND SPIRIT

 

                              About this life of Spirit:

                              it is all through

                              faith

                              and words.

                              Words take many forms:

                              both mental music,

                              deeds and things.

 

 

 

 

                              TRUE ART

 

                              That which is birthed

                              through the core of us

                              by the holy breath,

                              labors in images

                              to form the time and space

                                     in which we dwell.

   

 

 

 

 

                              AT THE LAST JUDGMENT

 

                              If at the last judgment

                              God should make sparrows

                              and chikadees

                              the judges of mankind,

                              what do you suppose

                              these feathery tribes would say?

                              Would they judge us

                              for extramarital sexuality:

                              for loosing our pearls,

                              and making rose blossoms moist?

                              Would they judge us

                              for being a Republican or a Democrat,

                              for failing to attend Mass regularly,

                              or for scrimping on our tithes?

                              Or would they sing their grief

                              that we failed to sing,

                              that our imaginations were too distorted

                              or dulled

                              to soar through life's mysteries;

                              that we were not sensitive enough

                              to set out bird seed in winter,

                              or to pour our love

                              of the winged metaphor of them

                              into a lyrical language of God's praise?

                             

 

 

 

 

                              RELIGION

 

                              We adore the imageless God

                              through the images we make.

 

 

 

 

                              CONFIDENCE IS:

                                   or

                              ONLY WORMS SPLIT THEMSELVES

 

                              Confidence

                              is a peaceful

                              courage and knowing.

                              Arrogance

                              is projecting

                              our self-worth

                              into the imagined

                              praise of us

                              by others.

 

                              By splitting

                              ourselves

                              in order

                              to praise ourselves

                              we lose the moment

                              and miracle

                              of life

                              centered in the circle

                              of God's wholeness

                              through which

                              all love and beauty

                              flows.

                              From the naked center

                              comes God's

                              unceasing praise

                              of His free

                              child.

 

 

 

 

                         TOPICS AND COMMENTS

 

                         WORSHIP

                         brightens our minds

                         with God.

 

                         LIFE

                         is a transcendent call

                         of incarnation.

 

 

                         DEATH

                         is a naked release

                         into unobscured light.

 

 

 

 

                         A SIMPLE CONCEPT OF ENLIGHTENMENT

 

                         All energies that flow out from God

                         seek to return to their source.

                         God is the love our essential soul desires,

                         the joy we crave to celebrate.

                         God is the beauty

                         we were created to express,

                         the harmony

                         which is our lasting peace.

                         And God is the meaning,

                         the purpose of being,

                         the blessing

                         we hope to be upon our deeds.

                         Enlightenment is to know this;

                         sin is to imagine it otherwise.

 

 

 

 

 

                              HOW FULLNESS FLOWS INTO EMPTINESS

 

                              God is a joyful, sentient, laughing God.

                              Have you ever tasted

                              a rich textured human soul

                              blossoming in a subtle radiance

                              of Spirit?

                              That one is an image of God,

                              the soul-weaver

                              of infinite varieties of souls.

                              The rose-breath influences of God

                              breathe through the doors

                              of our imaginative faith

                              in words.

                              Spirit words are like shining,

                              black seeds.

                              Simple acceptance is the water

                              that softens them;

                              imagination the light that opens them.

                              Voila! God flows through in Technicolor.

                              There is a joyful, sentient, laughing God.

                              Have you ever imagined, loved,

                              or tasted Him?

 

 

 

                              INUNDATION

 

                              God's fullness

                              loves to flow

                              into Creation's emptiness.

                              Dwelling in spacious,

                              emptiness

                              we take it for the norm.

                              Not so!

                              There is a living,

                              radiant surge

                              flowing up, down,

                              around.

                              Be open...

                              Be inundated!

 

 

 

                        

 

 

                              GOD IS NAKED

                              

                              God is naked,

                              pure existence

                              who is naked,

                              pure existence:

                              all light and shining,

                              and glimmering Himself

                              upon Himself as light

                              pouring through light

                              to penetrate light

                              into light--

                              until all light reflects

                              light upon light

                              in the shimmering dance

                              of an unbroken mirror

                              of a sea.

                              And all this radiance

                              and reflecting

                              is boundless

                              joy and laughter

                              which overflows

                              as pure goodness

                              of perfect loving,

                              creating free creatures

                              for the purpose

                              of ecstatically knowing

                              and wondrously loving

                              this boiling, birthing,

                              holy, beautiful being.

 

 

 

 

 

                              WHAT IS DUE AND TRUE

 

                              I am no Swedenborg,

                              or Sadu Sundar Sing,

                              caught up into Paradise...

                              and seeing!

                              I am a poet flying blind

                              by the light of faith.

                              But not the faith

                              of mere mental assent

                              concerning denominational dogma

                              or a scholar's scrutinizing...

                              for sometimes when I write

                              I feel

                              the pleasure of God

                              shining into my being--

                              and that is a tasty,

                              imaginative,

                              and visible thing!

 

 

 

 

 

                              AS A RICHNESS GATHERS

                             

                              When God floods His temple

                              and spills out His temple

                              a richness gathers

                              like oil in a hollow place.

                              Then the soul grows clear

                              and the body

                              agile.

                              Then

                              a little child laughs

                              from twilight

                              straight

                              through

                              the long

                              night

                              until

                              dawn.

                        

                        

                                               

 

 

                         AFTER READING I CORINTHIANS 3:18

 

                         Religious tradition

                         prunes and warps

                         mystical truth

                         into something other,

                         some gray shadow

                         of the sun.

                         This gray substance

                         is then spoon-fed

                         like cold porridge

                         to children

                         who aren't hungry.

 

 

                             

                             

                         IN MY PRIMAL WOUND WORDS FLOW

 

                         I am taking these words

                         to descend into the wild

                         loneliness of my heart:

                         The primal human ache,

                         the prodigal's medicine.

                         I was born lonely,

                         alienated from the hovering heavens,

                         blinded by my senses

                         and a blank, infant's mind.

                         I was born longing

                         for somewhere else,

                         some other one,

                         some distant time,

                         cast on the outside

                         of a cherished world,

                         and forgotten.

                         I was born lonely in the dark

                         to be rebirthed wild

                         in this beauty

                         I'm awaking

                         to remember.

 

 

 

 

 

                         PURPOSES AND ACUMINATION

 

                         Why are we here in this world?

                         Is it to know the ache of it,

                         the swelling billow of smoke

                         in an enclosed box?

                         Or is it to love the unbeautiful,

                         to know the limitations

                         and be forged

                         into humility:

                         to taste light

                         in sweat,

                         or to smell heaven

                         in cold bacon

                         and beer?

                         You know,

                         I'm finally getting used

                         to it here.

                         I'm actually starting

                         to like this place...

 

                        

 

                                   LIFEING A NEW WEEK

 

                                   Why not

                                   Sunday.

                                   Moonday,

                                   Hillday,

                                   Birdday

                                   Beastday,

                                   Fishday,

                                   Skyday?

                                   Let's Life it!

                                  

    

    

 

 

                         I PRESSED MY HAND PRINT IN SOFT MUD

 

                         I pressed my handprint into soft mud.

                         Through it a blade of grass sprung.

                         Through it a corn stalk grew.

                         Upon it gray blossoms drifted.

                         And then... dark snow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                         FOR NELLY SACHS AND HER WORK OF PEACE

 

                         There is a grotto of magical trees

                         where Amen is spoken by the leaves

                         as birds turn into angels

                         and back into birds.

                         It is in your neck of the woods.

                         To find it you must only

                         sew one dead rose

                         and two spring-green buds

                         unto a prayer shawl,

                         and put a child's silk-soft curl

                         behind your ear

                         as you pray.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                         IN THE HAPPENING NOW

 

                         God and we meet

                         only in the lazer point

                         instant.

                         Being flows into being NOW,

                         and no other time

                         for there is

                         no other time,

                         only abstract concepts

                         about it

                         which are happening

                         NOW.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                         I. UNCLINGING AND LIGHTER THAN AIR

 

                         She undresses

                         until only the wind

                         is her robe;

                         then moves like a soft breeze

                         in the eyes of God.

                         A crown is placed upon her

                         by warrior's gnarled hands.

                         She smiles

                         and rolls the crown

                         to her lover's feet,

                         cherishing the lightness

                         of her blue hat of sky.

                         A white robe is placed upon her

                         by beautiful woman.

                         She laughs

                         and drops the robe

                         at her lover's feet

                         loving the lightness

                         of her robe of wind.

                         He meets her with the blessings

                         of every good thing,

                         placing a crown of green thorns

                         upon her with a kiss.

                         Rose buds bloom amongst the thorns.

                         It is His wedding wreath of roses.

                         It is lighter than air.

 

 

 

                         II. HE MOVES IN INCARNATION

 

                         He moves from the sky,

                         tumbling like downdrafts

                         of snow-burnt air,

                         to cloth himself with green robes

                         of aspen leaves.

                         The wind whistles through Him

                         and He shivers with tree ecstasy.

                         He journeys through realms

                         of gray stones

                         to share with them old, dark silences,

                         listening to their slow thoughts.

                         He feels the sullenness

                         of a Grisly fishing mid-stream

                         and writes her a whimsical poem of cubs.

                         Sunshine shouts His song to the city--

                         but the concrete is dumb,

                         being too young to know how to sing.

                         On the seventh floor,

                         in some numbered room,

                         a woman is bathing the forehead

                         of an old dying man

                         and whispering love

                         into fearful eyes.

                         He comes,

                         whistling silence

                         through her being

                         to slowly tear back veils

                         and discover His own beauty

                         as he dies. 

 

 

 

 

 

                                               

                         

 

 

                              WE SHOULD CARRY THE SKY WITH US

 

                              We should carry the sky with us;

                              we should carry the rivers with us

                              always...

                              And this is possible,

                              you know,

                              to close your eyes

                              and feel water flowing from your belly;

                              to sense wind and clouds

                              moving through your chest,

                              through your face

                              when you sit to talk

                              with the miracle of a person,

                              or when you merely smile

                              and say nothing

                              so as not

                              to be thought of

                              as a fool.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                              SOME STRANGE CIRCLES WE GO IN HEALING

 

                              There is a soulless

                              hunk of a man who wades

                              in shallow lakes

                              looking for lost dumbbells

                              and sunken Cadillacs;

                              there is a shapely woman

                              whose eyes shine

                              like tinsel stars

                              on a plastic Christmas tree:

                              These two have conspired

                              to murder love,

                              to break down every garden wall

                              that shields roses.

                              The Lord of fountains arose.

                              The Lord of fragrances arose

                              and showed me His heart

                              which is the way

                              of my heart.

                              Some day I too might

                              drive a Cadillac

                              and let water run out of its windows.

                              Someday I'll fill

                              that car's back seat with flowers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                              LIFE FEARFUL AND MISSING THE POINT

 

                              I wonder what He thinks about it,

                              what we have done with the image,

                              what we have made of Him?:

                              The man God made God...

                              We ripped his side open,

                              poured all his blood out

                              his face, and his back,

                              down his arms,

                              off his toes.

                              Then the light came,

                              breaking Him open,

                              crisping things up,

                              sizzling His flesh,

                              laser-like hot bolts of it:

                              God making the body God.

                              We made God a man--   

                              encreeded Him, tamed Him,

                              diminished Him--

                              the celibate man,

                              the frail sentimental

                              flower.

                              He's never recovered His howl,

                              nor thunder,

                              nor simmering delight

                              over David's sumptuous harem.

                              God made man God,

                              blew the ribbed walls down,

                              flung the skulled roof off,

                              exploded His body

                              all over galaxies.

                              We soon shrunk back

                              from that hot, swelling life

                              into damp caves

                              and cold pious cells

                              to beg for mercy

                              and mutter our penitent prayers.

                              It didn't take long

                              to be missing the point!

 

 

 

 

                         RELIGION'S FAILURE

 

                         If a person should offer you peace

                         and blameless ecstasy

                         wouldn't you love them utterly?

                         But Christ

                         has not been represented

                         this way.

                         If a person should love you in such a way

                         that your once pain-dimmed eyes

                         grew bright

                         with that quality of light

                         found in cold mountain steams,

                         wouldn't you turn your soul

                         to that One

                         as the yellow-fringed sunflower

                         turns its black face

                         to follow the sun?

                         But Christ

                         has not been represented

                         this way.

                         Have you ever seen the stern eyes of Christ

                         staring from the walls

                         of Saint Sophia,

                         or glaring from icons

                         painted by monks who hated their bodies?

                         How can the one

                         who was birthed by Love

                         that Love might awaken love

                         in Love

                         have stern eyes?

                         How can the one

                         who suffered the world's hell

                         for Heaven's effusive joy that immersed Him 

                         have stern eyes?

                         How can the one who now lives

                         in fountains of divine

                         ecstasy

                         have stern eyes?

 

 

 

 

                              BELOVED BOTTOM

 

                              God's silver stream flows

                              over a mud black bottom:

                              it is a slow river

                              flowing for wild sanity

                              and everness.

                              Beloved mud,

                              beloved sheen

                              and shine.

                              The river smells

                              of candle wax

                              and frankincense,

                              horses

                              and women.

                              Those who drink there

                              laugh.

                              Drink enough

                              and you'll get drunk

                              and fall in,

                              muddying things.

                              Beloved bottom

                              falling in the top,

                              beloved slow stream

                              clearing

                              the waters.

 

 

 

 

                              I.

                              BURNING LUMINOUS HOLES

 

                              When passionate words pour

                              out of spiritual vision

                              it is like

                              liquid flame

                              spattering out

                              of a sea of flame...

                              burning luminous holes

                              in the cloaks of souls.

 

                              II.

                              WHEN LOVE BURNS HOLES IN THE SOUL

 

                              When love burns

                              holes in the soul

                              water flows through,

                              silver fish flow through,

                              boats serenely sailing

                              in distant moonlight

                              pass through.

 

 

 

                              

 

 

 

                              MAY THE BEST GOD WIN

 

                              We see life through what we are!

                              The prophets saw a righteous God

                              who was angry with human carnality

                              and selfish blindness,

                              for the prophets were righteous men

                              who were angry with human carnality

                              and selfish blindness.

                              Others have said

                              that God doesn't exist

                              because they don't exist.

                              Jesus began by seeing God

                              as the compassionate Savior

                              of Israel,

                              but finished His course

                              with a radiant vision

                              of oceans of divine compassions

                              inundating everything.

                              He grew from compassions

                              to greater compassions

                              and saw God abounding that way.

                              And God shall be called

                              the God of all flesh:

                              flame in the heart,

                              rivers of freedom,

                              healer, brightness in the eyes,

                              bubbling creative brew,

                              merciful joy for all to drink.

                              May the purest concept of divinity

                              win!

                        

 

 

 

 

                              FIGHTING CONSTRICTIONS

 

                              How often I let poverty

                              close the open spaces over my head.

                              Some skinny man comes walking along

                              with his cold-eyed dog

                              and draws a black curtain around me.

                              I think that is the way things are:

                              but they are not so!

                              There is as much space within me

                              as there is life in dreams.

                              The sky is as high as hopes can rise.

                              Who said there is no time

                              to let the inside grow succulent and fluid

                              to flow out?

                              Who can't make the time

                              to work and dream!

 

 

 

 

                              WRITING ON THE BOOK OF LIFE

 

                              Why hasn't the Bible been taught

                              in a way that fills us with whale song,

                              that causes osprey to catch huge fish

                              between our ears?

                              When Jesus ascended mountains to pray,

                              stars fell into his eyes all night,

                              and when the sun arose within Him,

                              yellow words burned

                              as morning dove poured their praises

                              through His voice.

                              And as he walked country roads

                              (loving every person flowing into Him),

                              opening oysters spilled pearls

                              out of His heart

                              as the net of His mind floated over

                              cloud-shadowed shoals gathering fish.

                              And when he stood upon a hill to teach,

                              Galilean wheat pushed silently

                              through the ground of His heart

                              unto the sun

                              and singing birds settled

                              into the green branches

                              of His brain.

                              Where did these words: didactic exegesis,

                              or eschatological come from?

                              And how shall we enter life

                              unto the God of Life

                              unless we love life

                              into us?

 

 

 

 

                                  

                              THERE ARE ELECTRIC ARCS

 

                              There are electric arcs

                              that angels ride

                              from mind to heart

                              and heart to mind

                              for they are the weavers

                              of wholeness.

                              There are tapestries

                              of branches

                              green in the sun,

                              deep in the mind,

                              silver twigs

                              shining, entwining

                              in naked space--

                              five dimensional

                              lace.