A Perfumed Existence

A Perfumed Existence

(“Yes, goodness and faithful love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will live in the Lord’s house as long as I live.” Psalm 23:6)

You don’t know it, but you should,
you have no apologies to make, you have
nothing to improve. Have you noticed who
has been following you?
There is only warmth within, only beauty,
there is only a perfumed existence from
beginning to last. Come out and play,
it is time,
it is time;
find the rain like ballet,
feel the grass, smell the clover,
let the wind, let the spirit turn you like
you used to. Let the music answer the
cry that
you mistook for smallness. Let the tunes
spin you playfully, you are more than the
angels. You are more,
you are more.

There are streams of words left
everywhere you go, there are unspoken flowers
that hover in the air everywhere you breathe.
You don’t know it, and I wish you could,
see the eyes that see you, see the delights
you bring to heaven and earth. You are
undiminished,
you are brighter than starlight.
You are a wanderer, but you are found;
you are a stranger, but you are a lover.
You are created by wonder, you are
enchantment.
Believe it by noticing who has been
following you…
…and who follows you still.

It Might Take a Choir

 

It Might Take a Choir

(“Now it was Mary who anointed the Lord with perfumed oil and wiped his feet dry with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick.” John 11:2)

It might take a choir to
inspire any words today.
I am happy that Mary wiped Jesus’ feet,
but everything feels incomplete.

Even still, I have nothing to prove,
nothing less to lose.

So, I’ll write what I wonder,
ask the questions that pain begs to be asked,
scratch my head over churches teaching
the U.S. constitution and
forgetting the beatitudes.

I am sorry, have I said to much?
Did I offend you again?
I’m not sure where to begin,
but I hope we don’t run out of perfume soon
because we need Mary again to fill the room
with the fragrance of love.

It might take a symphony to
awaken my heart again.
I am happy that Mary wept at Jesus’ feet,
I am happy she was so indiscrete
without studying the demographics or plotting it
all on a spreadsheet. She perfumed the room.

I still have too many questions, I wonder where the
love has gone.
We fight for second amendments, we want all
the firepower we can muster.
It is unlikely we will every connect the dots between
the Prince of Peace
and projectiles aimed at human flesh.
I do not think Mary had a concealed carry permit.

I might be wrong. It might take a sonnet or song
to move me close again.
I am happy that Mary was unguarded;
I have been half-hearted and recently a
man of constant sorrow. Perhaps Mary
will show up again,
and we can see close-up again
the love that leaves us defenseless
before the man who teaches us,
who befriends us
even before the music begins.