From Slave to Free

From Slave to Free

(“So if you consider me your partner, welcome him as you would welcome me.” Philemon 1:17)

It matters like the dust from stars falling into themselves,
it matters like the dust that comes from those final implosions,
from those super Novas spraying elements of carbon, helium, and hydrogen
into open space.

Surrounded by uncountable machinations and
propelled by undeniable afterthoughts we should not
hesitate
to call each other partners in a world full of unexplainable
light.
We kept accounts and hoped our tempos would synch up
before the end of the day.

We sang the same songs when we were together, and now
apart
let us sing them again, listening for the straight beats and
the syncopation. I am sending you back the one who could
only talk out of tune until I taught him the hymns you and I
both knew intimately. He was glad to learn, the runaway child,
and anxious to know if he could sing them with you.

So we set the tempo and worked on the temperament;
he has been found to be quite useful to me.
Shall I send him back to you with the song, he has
the lyrics fully internalized but he does take some liberties
with the tune. He is freer than I am, I think, in this regard.
And perhaps freer than you expected. But he is overjoyed and
ready to pay back anything he owes you. And what he cannot
I will cover. Imagine with me, this miscreant, this fugitive,
returning to you with a heart full of the same delight you heard
from you at night. Laying on his bunk he ached to learn the
songs of the spirit he heard from your house.

Having them now in his innermost being, he longs to join the
chorus as a son to you. Receive him, if you will, as a member
of the chorale. You won’t be disappointed, his tone is rich,
his tempo heavenly, and his visage is changed from slave to free.

Can’t Quit you Jesus

Can’t Quit You Jesus

(“The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” John 1:29)

I can’t quit you Jesus, though
heaven knows I’ve tried. I walked out
of your house where the whoops and hollers
overshadowed the Spirit flowing in living streams of love.
I left behind every edifice where people name
the anti-christ time and time again and call for
armageddon to be fought to prove the fat-armed
god
they serve is ready to return with an ax and sword.

I can’t quit you Jesus, and I
wish I hadn’t waited so long. Disabused and
enlightened by the primeval light I walked out
to hear a quieter persuasion like daffodils smiling
for the sun. I lost you in the sanctuary; my heart was
famished for love. But you vanished from the place
I had always expected to find you free.

I can’t quit you Jesus, and I
know I am not the only one. We were enchanted
by the lover of our souls only to be bowled over
once we wondered how universal it had to be.
Stones were politely thrown at that heresy that
could not see the divisions between A and B.
Borders were drawn so precisely that we knew who
had to be in or out.

But I just can’t quit you Jesus, though I wonder
what the warriors in the pews must think. They
make it so distinct,
like weeds among the rye they are ready to clear them
out to protect their perfect lawn.  I was angry with you
for deceiving me to become such a fool. I started at only love
but the occupants of your house have retuned every chorus to
sound like marching orders. They ran out of time.

I remember dancing with you, Jesus, and my eyes wet
with tears at the thought of your touch. I remember simple
homes where circles were enlarged to make room for the next
outcast to come in from the storm. That’s why these memories
that inform me there must still exist some way that insists
holy kisses can begin a passing of the peace that
leads us to follow a now unfamiliar path. We walked
out and woke up reborn. And usually without a hint of
your permission. But we walked.

I can’t,

I simply can’t,
I cannot even quit your Jesus. I cannot.

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.

Today I Will Chase Joy

Today I Will Chase Joy

(“Christ made us free. Stay that way. Do not get chained all over again in the Law and its kind of religious worship.” Galatians 5:1)

Do you want to be a part of the gathering
drinking beer, shouting across the room with
questions about what else is happening this afternoon?

Do you want to share in the secrets they reveal
once the tavern is full? Do you still want to
laugh like you did nearly every day of the year?

How we turn. How we display our faces which
are not our faces at all. How we decide to
de-occupy the places that once
opened us so wide the tears flowed on tap
and we didn’t mind.

We used to believe that God was the center of it all.
Then we decided there were places the divine
would never stoop to go, so we stayed away;
that became our newest goal.

But today I will chase joy. Today I will laugh
and spill my secrets. Today I will still be shy
(like we think god is shy), and put sticky notes
on my friends to remind me who will laugh with me.

There are people who drop the holy spirit right on
top of you
when they turn to you and smile.
And they didn’t mean to. It just exploded
on their face
and suddenly you are thunderstruck.

Yes, I’ll join any gathering that sounds like
children breaking pinatas at a birthday party.

No One Left to Blame

 No One Left to Blame

(“Christ made us free. Stay that way. Do not get chained all over again in the Law and its kind of religious worship.” Galatians 5:1)

Now that there is no one left to blame because
they left the machine running and
took an extended vacation
I can finally tell you I never wanted to be a puppet.
The puppet-master insisted he never kept me on a short
leash. But I was not after
a leash at all.
I needed relief,
a wink that opened the world when I shivered
at the 16mm film that got caught in the gears.
The reels had turned true just an hour before.

But when the car has been running so long and
you get used to the fumes,
you learn to presume that the mistakes are all yours.
So I loaded my breath into shipping crates and
buried them beneath the patio in my back yard.
I missed too many birthdays while I shook.
I shoved craters of love into lock-boxes
while I rated my success by numbers, or money,
or morality, or memories and counted to 10.

I cut the strings long ago, but they stay like strands
of spider webs
wrapped around my arms and legs. They try to
make me perform in my dreams. Perhaps if someone
different had been
pulling the strings.

I should puzzle happier words,
I should make you smile,
but the one who told me that was
weaving tourniquets without apology.

Here I confess that control can never be possessed,
but I craved it, to make up for the mess I made while
finally performing on my own. Who knew that freedom
will not be leashed or tied? Might as well try to
lasso the clouds.

Fascinate me once again, with the baby’s cry and
the nuance of candles left flickering in tiny chapels
overnight.

Switchbacks

Switchbacks

(“For though I am free from all men, I have made myself servant to all, that I might win even more.” 1 Corinthians 9:19)

I know you would like a passenger,
someone who does not yank the bit.
I know you would love a road trip,
I know you love silence; I know you love presence,
I know you would love a safe place to weep.

We can ride through the mountains, driving close to the edge,
taking the switchbacks and peering over the ledge.

A high school friend told me once that, on those hairpins,
you should start on the inside of the curve and finish on the outside.
He never mentioned what to do if
we met another traveler halfway.
But we winded our way up to Yosemite
in his 68 rebuilt VW bug. The air-cooled engine
labored with no breeze from behind. We played
the “guess who” on cassette and sang along to
American Woman. Gary drove, I sang shotgun and
Danny brought up the bass in back.

I will be your silence as long as you live,
I will be your presence as long as I live,
I will be your place to weep and to laugh so
inappropriately that no one understands
how tears and stupid jokes can live together so
unabashedly.

A Sleepwalker in the World

 A Sleepwalker in the World

(“But God gives us the free gift of life forever in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 6:23b)

He’s a sleepwalker in the world,
from hallways to alleys,
from church aisles to turnstiles,
from cumulus clouds to accumulated sorrows;
he does not always see
the static fluidity
that flows through everything.

Some days are different, some eyes are open,
some skies are descendent, some pages close until
the proper time.

The doors are always open leading from tired sitting rooms
to wonders between the darkening rain and the snow that
mirrors the light; sometimes awakening desires
rewrite the pain.

This day the steam rose from the powdered hills,
white dotting the green
becoming pink as they meet above the sky. The
clouds were a thumbprint the color of baby’s cheeks,
the clouds identified their owner.

The steam that rose from the factory across the river
was an airy pillar supporting the snow clouds.
The river did not sing. Today it chanted in plainsong,
barely audible. Only those who walked toward the water
could hear the passage of time, of dreams, of loves left
on the banks and friends passing each other. Tonight
they might
share a beer and remember when they were young and
beautiful
and wide awake so late at night.

And the streams they began with verses and choruses,
were divine
though
they only discovered it when unearned joy
woke them from daydreams to circles, sonnets,
new earth, and ancient script with heaven begun
before the first breath was drawn.

Freedom Lives in the Fence Slats

 

Freedom Lives in the Fence Slats

(“So if the son sets you free, you will be really free.” John 8:36)

Today all I hoped for was meaning
alongside my mistaken humanity.
I barely can proofread my own work,
let alone edit soft sell and
hardheaded opinions boiling over
on the page.

And yet,
words I meant as love
have squeezed some wounds I did
not anticipate. The rain fell like
a sandstorm instead.

Here I am, lonely again,
wishing words were more transparent.
But some dots and commas tripped
a person up again
and I must remove them before
the meaning is lost forever.

Freedom lives in the fence slats
that let us see the garden next door
cultivated by spotted hands breathing
the roses.

Freedom lives in the offenses
dropped like guns turned into
garden rakes. The hands dropped loosely
to the side, we advance only in
surrender and silence.

We hope that our folly will
be only a printer’s error in this
loose-leaf attempt at

Getting through the day.

The Air is Azure

The Air is Azure

(“So if the Son sets you free, you are free through and through.” John 8:36 [The Message]

I cannot speak of dreams and visions,
my prophecy rate is subpar at best.
I cannot prove the existence of peace,
or tell you I’ve witnessed the rainbow’s source.

My feet are swollen from the stumbling blocks
and my knees are scraped, not from praying,
but from falling where others walked so well.

And today my only wish is to see you wrapped in love,
embraced by the sun, aglow like the moon, a perfect child,
a well-crafted crystal pitcher handed down from generation
to generation. The tiny cracks from use only serve
to bend the light more beautifully when the light comes through
the window. The spectrum is painted across the room
and no one complains about its spidery flaws.

Eternity is such a long time, and some days seem
alpha to omega slow. Those days, full of waiting;

No, I mean, empty while we wait the unknowable,

Those days we wait we sometime tremble and wish
our heartbeat was slower, our thoughts blue like the sky,
not gray like puddles, and more permanent. Those days
waiting is our crucifix, only we will not use the word and
desecrate the bleeding hands and feet, the cry of abandonment,
or the grace of the one who suffered so fully for our empty days.

Today, though my own thoughts race, I would wrap up the world for you,
tie ribbons, hang balloons, walk your walk, not my walk,
to see you smile again. To see you smile.

I would sit with you in the empty tomb and we would not
disturb the moment with pious talk. All we would know,
the place of death has been voided, the cruel nails disintegrated
into stardust and the air left behind is azure and summer oxygen.

I would sit with you until the stillness proved
freedom is finished, suffering is vanquished,
and yet our tears are just as painful; the fears as frightful,

But love is now above and below, within, without, inhaling
and exhaling
it all. I wish you the peace I still pursue
and the freedom to feel sapphire days instead
of steel blue.

What Did You Buy?

What Did You Buy?

(“You must let a Hebrew slave go free after six years of service. Your ancestors did not obey me.” Jeremiah 34:14)

What did you buy today, and how much did you pay?
Was it guaranteed? Did you pay retail? Clearance?
Or was it a fire sale?

Who did you buy today? Who set the price? Good
pedigree? Did you get a second opinion, more than one
person’s advice? Where will you store your purchase?
Was it a bargain, a steal? And, once you have used it up,
how will you dispose of the remains?

“I am weary of possessions and stockpiles. Amassed
above beams in the garage, top of the ladder unbalanced
reaches to scrape my fingernails on the cobwebs coating
the bottom of the boxes.”

“I have lost count. I have tossed dice. Disrepair and
newly vacuumed air combine to announce I’m worth
more than my first year transport: all my goods in
two cardboard boxes.”

I’ve returned (without refund) every person I purchased,
and yet I find in my twisted mind, I still play with them
like they are my own. I’ve returned (without exchange)
every friend I owned from birthdays and Christmas,
and yet I know, they own me with no money ever exchanged.

The world spins and we only feel the wind,
we buy dirt and defend it with fences and property lines.
The world swims in space, we gaze past the places
we first grew up and wonder where our first acquisitions
have outgrown their pricetags.

Next time I shake your hand it will not be like
a shopper squeezing the cantaloupe to discover whether
it is worth the price.