Circles of Pain

Circles of Pain

(And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.” Ephesians 2:22)

The pain has grabbed me around the neck today,
pressing its way into every thought,
cauterizing open wounds
and blinding every well-meant phrase.
It’s been that way for two days now
and I could not sing and could hardly finish
a walk in the cold February air.

I planned on writing something full of spirit,
full of life and daffodils rising before a hint of
spring.
Instead I record these words and know they have
little meaning to those who can walk through a day
with doubts cast aside like rubbish and last year’s
party ribbons.

There must be some sense to this all,
I used to say.
There must be some purpose that leaves me
more whole by the end of the day.

I planned on wondering about how we all
are just walking each other home,
but I can barely give myself permission to
leave the house.
I planned on igniting some well placed
lightning
to scare the pain away.

Do you remember how we used to sing
with
only a guitar and made-up songs? Do you
remember
how we used to walk on the same hills where
the cows grazed on late afternoons?

There must be some sense to it all,
these memories that take my time away
from knowing anything for certain.
There must be a way to embrace
the new wine the spirit brings and
share the cup like sneaky teenagers again.

I got up from a nap to write this.
I was hoping it would do me some good.
But I pause before each line and want to
lie down again
except that sleep eludes me and
the pain
makes me homesick for the dwellings
of friends
where we gathered in laughter and naivety.
I’d call you again, but it hurts to speak
about the transfixed nature of this circle
of pain.

So, for now, I’ll repaint my boundaries
with hopeful words of remembrance
and how good it felt in those days so many
decades ago.

There may be a space so safe that spirit
draws open the tears and reminds us
we may not have this chance again.

And the Fog Grabbed Me

And the Fog Grabbed Me

(“You were like sheep wandering away. But now you have returned to the Shepherd. He is the one who watches over your souls.” 1 Peter 2:25)

And the fog grabbed me deep gray,
and the streetlights faded away,
and the avenues were dripping,
the roadway was slipping towards the
outside of the city.
I turned the steering wheel and
turned it again. I consulted long abandoned
side streets and could not find the
way home.

The sun had dropped hours ago,
the moon had lost all of its night-glow,
the stars had departed their places,
the fog broke my vision and filled the spaces
between the nose of my car and the
height of a man. I could not understand my
ability to be lost; I had entered the town
in daylight. Was I paying the cost for waiting
too long to journey home?

A green sign barely lit through the haze
seemed to rise from in front of me. A sign
with highway numbers, a sign pointing to the
205.
Cautiously I turned onto the ramp,
breathing heavy only frosted my windshield
and the mist hid most everything else.
I followed a semi out of the city.

I am not harmed by my meandering,
I am only a refugee here.
I had gone to meet a friend who loves music,
I had gone to meet her and busk awhile.
I would have sojourned longer but the night
caught up to me. She is a PhD in psychology,
I’m just a weary member of the clergy.
She is a meditating Buddhist,
I am just a melancholy Christian.

Home came in view after nearly two hours,
the fog grabbed the riverbanks like fingers
from an underwater creature. I still hear
our music as I pull into my drive.