The Prepared Abode

The Prepared Abode

(“The Lord is good to all, and his compassion is over all that he has made.” Psalm 145:9)

It’s not over yet, our journey has barely begun.
From packing it all up to fleeing like the sun.
We can follow the ways of the wind,
investigate every sound from burping frogs to
fizzing hummingbirds.
There have been craggy razors on the rocky edges
of the ascent we chose. There are pebbles in
our shoes as we start the way back downward.

Here I am to greet you at the other end of the road.
I’ve been waiting for the announcement that you
are just around the corner.
We both took the long way, didn’t we. We smelled
the dangers in the dust firsthand. We even contemplated
turning back more than once. The nuances of the path
sometimes took us by surprise.

It’s still not over, even after you arrive. We’ll recount
our stories
like vagabonds slogging through our messy investigations
into numerous dangers we dodged and the times we
fainted without cause. We thought we might have to
pay our dues on the overdrafts we wrote against the
skies of patience. But

We arrived finally and understood the haven of rest
that waited our winding trek over trust and uncertainty.
Between here and there we were rejected by
handfuls who has sworn their devotion. The misinterpreted
our detours that took the long way around
their biases and preoccupations.

It’s no over yet, our sojourn will continue I suppose,
walking the world like a drifter counting planets
in the midnight sky. From front to back we knew
we never lacked what pulled us on. We found our
home in the company we kept treading upon the
earth until we discovered the prepared abode.

Rounded Winds

Rounded Winds

(“Search me, God, and know my heart; put me to the test and know my anxious thoughts.” Psalm 139:23)

I took the journey willingly
(well, at first).
I had no idea what the yard would look like
once the light of day revealed the rubbish
in the wake of last night’s swift and rounded winds.

But like I said, I volunteered eagerly.
The first days were Californian Spring
and warmed from there to summer’s late nights
laughing at the same stories we heard every year.
We had no idea what shape the stories would take
further on down the road. We were more naïve than
bold.

I would go home elated and exhausted, the words
and pictures whirling through my mind.
I might wake up if the thunder roared or sleep through
the lightning storm that left the city looking like
a homeless dog.

After the winds rushed through, dislodging
tool sheds and tossing fences aside, the morning
was a mess and my mind was no better. I needed
something to show me the difference between what
was kept and what was swept aside. Every neighbor
had the same questions and wondered whether we could
tell the same stories we had the night before.

We worked in the light of morning toward the afternoon;
we replaced the rubble sooner than we expected. We
were ready to close our eyes near midnight
in peace.

The Smile Stood Sideways

The Smile Stood Sideways

(“Then he carries it back home. He speaks to all his friends and to the people that live near him. He says, ‘I have found the sheep that I lost. So come to my house and we can all be happy together.’” Luke 15:6)

The smile stood sideways climbing up his face
like a flowering vine, like hibiscus, like morning glories
following the sun. The music overflowed above
the neighborhood fences and filled the street
with anonymous dancers celebrating like summer
had arrived weeks earlier than expected. Even the
babies twirled.
No one refused the invitation,
no one remained alone.
No one made up excuses,
no one showed up full-grown.
When the lost are found our aging
reverses its course and we giggle like children
when a favorite friend walks in the door.

The day was one shade darker until the missing one
is found. The day was nearly done with its light,
fading as the sun began to take its rest. But
we
could not stop the search, we would not until
we found the one we loved, isolated from
all the others we loved. Our hearts were
troubled until we found her, caught between
yesterday and a hundred weeks of looking.

We exploded in joy, a full orchestra of rejoicing;
we carried her back and called everyone we knew.
There are smiles so broad they sit sideways on their faces
because love has completed its journey home.

Our Long Journey

Our Long Journey

(“Won’t God give justice to his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night?” Luke 18:7a)

It felt like we had stood in line
for more than the circumference of time.
The asphalt melted our feet,
the tears evaporated in the heat,
the rush of muddy water, the river, the boundary
between journey and sojourn,
was our salvation, or our final destination.
We cried out for days to heads of state
whose ears were tickled by impoverished views of
unwashed throngs who left footprints behind them
a thousand miles long.

We immersed ourselves in suffering, we did not choose it.
We crossed horizons, we crawled when the canyons fell
below us. The songs caught up to us; we moved slowly enough
to carry them in our chests like anthems and amens,
the beginning and end of our petitions for
a hearing before we reached the border line.

There were rainbows hiking with us, the colors proud
as we took them into our fold. There were eunuchs and
pagans,
priests and variations of supplication. There were the
silent. There were the opalescent. There were the angry,
the defeated, the determined, the babies, the children,
the ancestors and all the rest. We all were seeking
a place among
the rising tide we were promised by the ancient
declarations,
the independent proclamations,
the handbills dropped from the sky that promised
a rebirth of unity.

It felt like we had stood in line
far longer than the foundations of nations
that fancied themselves beacons upon hills.
It felt like we would be waiting until a greater
Justice
would be our Advocate. We waited, and knew,
if only micro-dots per day, soon or late, we would know
slowly
our long journey was no longer wandering. Our long
journey
was stumbling upon the
New
Creation.

And Then We Are Born

And Then We Are Born

(“You teach me the way of life. In your presence is total celebration. Beautiful things are always in your right hand.” Psalm 16:11)

Lastly I want to say that I am an
archipelago and not a continent,
though the ants that sting my feet might disagree.
(I know you think you’ve found all the
ground you can cover in me,
but there is more to be discovered than
you or I perceive.)

You see my present, and think you know my past.
I am flooded with every act from middle to last.
You see my blunders, I bathe in them daily.
My intentions are more gloomy than you have imagined.

For I am dark jungle and the brightest beach,
barren desert and living reef,
artesian spring and salted sea,
I live in the margins not in the
clarity I wished and believed an
infant life could be.

No one shames the tree for the shadow it casts,
nor blames the sun for not piercing the tree,
the tree and the sun are one.

I hated the middle, the mud, the dark
and assumed the light would change me at last.
But I am tree and sun, dirt and air,
castaway and citizen,
a single soul containing the universe with all its
cold void and searing stars.

Some traveled with me through the overgrowth,
some left when they saw I might be lost,
some welcomed me at the caravansary,
some left provisions and went swimming.
Others wandered with me, overland, between the
boundaries of dusky light. We knew each other better
for our simplicity and loved each other more in the
complexities of soul no one can explain.

We learned new languages and geography;
history was abandoned as we waited for water
and listened to the stories we told. We did not know
if we were younger than the universe, or old.
But the Creator’s light cast shadows in the heat
and brightened the songs we once thought torn by the
unwelcome complications of the moment, the journey,
the untransformed.

And then we are born.

Our Orbits

Our Orbits

(“Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; his greatness is unsearchable.” Psalm 145:3)

I wish I knew the why back to the way
I had pointed. Green trees lined the highway
closer to the best work I have ever done: two grown sons
a daughter still at home,
we nearly took the road where our orbits were around
the same star.

I wish I knew the where behind
the lies and intrigue that turned the journey around
and now
twice as far as the travel guide advised;
nearer the ocean but further from my heart.

If it were not by deception I would have taken the occasion
to fly higher, above the ball lightning and surface radar that
pulled my strings behind my back. (Too many still wonder why
I am not over it yet and, as a matter of fact, no one else read the news
that I know.) The puppet master never guessed I found the knotted string
plaited around my wrists.

The courts speak plainly, the courts read the charges,
the courts are mainly for truth and not back-room purges;
the courts of earth are fairer than the kingdom of God in
the meaty hands of man; though no one would admit
before a mirror or jury that it is so.

I wish I knew the ways above the closed system we have invented;
I wish I heard the songs of stars in rhythm with my heart’s distended vision.
I wish every fence was down, miles condensed, sounds made loud that
whispered from high and leather chairs. I wish the stairs were less steep
and the phone would ring with one honest “truly yours”; one line on
a postcard from official executive authority: “we did not know what
we were doing.”

I wish I saw the streams of light that transfer joy from heaven
to heart
to voice
to song
that sees the wrong without confusion
and with Spring’s breeze and effervescent fingers of cloudless sky
still does not grant the why, but hears the where without sorrow.