Empty but Filled

Empty but Filled

(“I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little.” Philippians 4:12)

I am empty but being filled,
I am full but not slowing down.
I am flowing but not reckless.
I am thankful and that sits sweet upon my
tongue
like chocolate and mint in the afternoon.

There is a presence that inhabits it all,
a weight that does not burden,
a strong power that lays across my shoulders
like a yoke shared in joy.

Cancel my subscription to constant pleas
for more. I will dine in the dark, or I will
feast in the light, but I will be fed, nevertheless.

Disquiet my constant apprehensions, invade my
anxious silence. Fill it, oh Holy One who comes to recover
what was stolen, to redeem that which waits to be seen.
Take my shadows out of the caverns I’ve carved and
turn me around to face the light, to feel the warm and
nearness of the pleasant rays upon my body.

I have been without,
I have been within,
I have stolen moments,
I have them back again.
I picture the perfect from my
uncertain soul. But I find,
loose or windy, that the words of peace
can settle into the crevices between my shadowy self,
and bring me to him alit and gracious for all I lack,
for all I discover, for all I’m given, for all I return.

Just two hours before dawn on a late winter night
I felt the gravity quilt
enwrap me slowly.

I have learned, for now, that empty and full are
only words,
and that the Only One can inhabit it all.

We Are Here Now

We Are Here Now

(“But whatever things were assets to me, these I now consider a loss for the sake of the Messiah.” Philippians 3:7)

I never imagined that all my work might
go up in flames.
I never dreamed that it might be the beginning
of a renewed carelessness. I had not planned on
such an early exit. I had not pictured a retirement
so soon.
I never planned on setting aside the fire which
I thought had been my all.

I think more carefully now about what comes my way.
I consider anxious thoughts and wonder why they still
can find their way to my fingers, to my gut, to my freezing
stop-motion when I am in a crowd.

Nonetheless, I am setting aside the false I that I’ve know
so long.
I haunted me and I drug me across the dirty fields.
I left me shortly satisfied only to thirst again.
I festered like self-righteousness while we rode home
in the back of the deacon’s Cadillac.

We are we now. Christ is not out of my grasp,
He is not at the tipping point of the last day of my fast.
He is within, revealing my true self in beauty I
never anticipated. Don’t mistake me; I still want I
more often than we would like. We are each other now,
fully like ocean tides and sand. Like salt dissolve in
water, we are more we than I ever thought.

Sometimes it’s the Company

Sometimes it’s the Company

Sometimes it’s the company you keep,
and sometimes it’s the weather beyond degree;
but mostly it’s the patterns in your brain engraved
over volumes of time. Like well-worn paths on
the way to a winter’s garden we reimagine
our backgrounds unintentionally.

I’ve visited the alcoves in the museums;
I’ve torn open old pages in the magazines
and I remember every imagination that never
found its wings. The hunt for daylight continues
around every tree that has lost its leaves.
I’ve lost my breath waiting for answers
to every aching circle I’ve prayed.

I have so few troubles, and I don’t mean to complain,
but sometimes not all is what it seems to be.
I feel like I’m mourning for a sliver of devotion
to the rules and gods I postdated. I feel like
its storming a silent squall inside my mind.
I lose my train of thought; I’ve lost touch with
certainty. My mind is not empty; it’s my thoughts
that have blocked mere enjoyment further out
of reach.

The dullness is harsher than the depression,
it reveals nothing but emptiness within.
Once I encounter the divine crossing my path
I stop to let it by and it fills me instead, even though
It still feels like emptiness inside.

Walk into the Warm

Walk into the Warm

(“For I am sure of this very thing, that the one who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6)

I saw the ways that sleep overtook you and
the moments you woke fresh-faced from your dreams.
I could remember the days that left you begging
like an unconscious tambourine. You tried every
escape you knew and yet
the discontent
only grew. You were sure there was a way
to scribble a new portrait that appeared more like
the appearance of the divine you had imagined.
You were so afraid of failing that you
masked your innocence with a succession of
prostrate prayers with your face to the carpet.
You learned to preserve the emotions that
collided against the walls of your heart.

Take a breath. Ease yourself into the day.
Lay aside the effigies you erected to present
yourself to the world. Even though it feels like
slow-motion
there is a trajectory within that moves you
to the wholeness you crave.

You can come into the light, you can exit the
cavernous unrest into the un-echoes of transformation.
You are far away from the starting line; overland
your journey is nearer than you imagined, sooner than
you knew. You can walk into the warm and feel your
icy nervous system melt like a baby being born.

You do not need to hide; you do not need to subscribe
to every anxious thought. You will finish this marathon
with life left over to smile as you survey the distance
you have come.

One Moment to Breathe Free

One Moment to Breathe Free

 

I know the rhythm of life you yearned for;
I know how you longed to hear the voice that
allowed you to begin again. Apart from
the notions of unity there was the constant motion
that pulled you apart from life as you chose it.

I know how you wish it all would evaporate;
I know how your brain runs backwards from night
until day. Every situation feels like an uncrossable ocean;
every moment like sand dunes void of life.

A single day goes by that allows you to breathe and
you think it is over, that the hours could be sunny
and alive. But it lasts only a moment until
the abusive memories enter like arrows
through your heart.

You wish there were hugs that lasted forever,
but you wince at the thought of the touch of a hand.
You wish you could speak the deepest part of you;
you wish you could be heard for all that you are worth.

Years of pain have eroded your joy. Laughter
feels so uncommon that you question anything that
makes you smile. Convinced you do not deserve
even the simplest pleasure,
you go about trying to please everyone else with
tongue-tied fervor. There came a point where
every thought was called an illness, every need
a mental weakness until you were convinced
you walked unworthy of the things you needed the most.

How can I listen better; how can I gently hold this
place where you can safely say what you have not
said in ages. You do not need to be appropriate with me;
you don’t have to guard your words or your wants.

I would stand beside you, hold you, give you all the
time you need
to open those scary thoughts that make you feel unloved.
I would kiss away the pain, embrace your quivering heart
and tell you, until you can repeat it from memory,
that you deserve love, you deserve affection, you
deserve the gentle touch that only wants to
bring a smile or dry the tears you sometimes hide
so no one will know.

I feel your days go by; I know your fluttering
memories. I would give you a sky clear of clouds
and full of love. I would remind you the
moment you forget that
you deserve it all.
You deserve it all.
And the color of love might just fill your
face again. Here now,
let me kiss away the doubts and warm
you like a summer day even though
midwinter stays. I would give you anything,
I would offer you everything to give you
just one moment to breathe free and hopeful.
You deserve it all.
You deserve it all.

Much Further than Yesterday

Much Further than Yesterday

(“Wake up, sleeper! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” Ephesians 5:14b)

My thoughts can scatter like marbles
out of the bag
rolling across the floor with some lost
underneath the couch.
My thoughts can darken like fog forming
on a late night downtown
blearily luring me to sleep.

But I can see straighter, eyes opened,
and light filling my miscreant mind.
I can find the sun I had lost track of,
the moon I had forgotten existed in the
middle of the night. I search the stars to
keep me awake with patterns drawn over
eternity.

I could go out for a ride while the smog
chocked my lungs;
I could turn back and find the coordinates
for the home that had challenged my dying thoughts.
I could order the same food as a day ago
and think it was the first time ever.
I could let my brain get some rest
and see things anew once the sun rose again.

I could wake up like a baby waiting to be fed;
I could go outside and feel the dew on my feet
while my eyes became accustomed to the light. I could see
much further than I did the day before yesterday.

Wrapped Itself

Wrapped Itself

(“You still lack one thing: Sell all you have and distribute it to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” Luke 18:22b)

What has wrapped itself around me like a boa
squeezing the life from me? What have I wrapped my hands
around so tightly my knuckles have turned white from my
over-protection? What is it that, so shiny, captures my
gaze? What has cemented my feet into this tiny island of
wanting what is mine?

What have I missed with this hoarding habit of mine?
What has twisted my devotion like broken handlebars on
a brand-new bicycle? When did I decide to
keep it all to myself? When will I relax my
muscular grip on all that glitters and still is not golden?

I’ve always feared poverty; I’ve never owned very much.
But the way I save myself looks like a miser blowing the
dust off his last penny.
I have worn out the paths I thought would enlighten me;
I have fallen over the edge when no one was watching.

Who is this that is calling me; who is it knows my
name so well? Who wants to ease my clasp around
dollar bills or diamonds? I’ve always thought I might
lose it all too soon so do not give away as much as
I could.

I have a talent for pretending consecration, for
acting like a penitent face down on the carpeted floor.
I don’t mind giving as long as I have enough for
tomorrow’s good meal. I don’t mind giving so long as
I get what is mine before I sign the check.

So, here are my hands, as open as I can offer them.
Here is my heart, as supple as I know how. And
lately
I sit and wonder politely.