The Perfect Alibi
Try this
in the early morning
darkness,
when the accusers
at the edge
of wakefulness
have turned on you
with warrants
for your arrest
on charges ranging from
First Degree Malfeasance to
Failure To Love and Be Loved,
maximum penalty
Life In Prison:
Calm yourself.
Take a deep breath.
You have the perfect alibi:
The dates on their warrants
are Yesterday.
Tell them
this is Today.
(Photo by Ava Sol, unsplash.com)
Indolent Coffee
If you were to
attempt
one of these
random, goofy
bits of oddball prose
broken up into
apparently arbitrary
lengths;
What would your
prosem
(I just made that up)
be about?
Rain dripping
diamonds
on bedazzling
azaleas?
Lovers casting
ardent glances across
flickering candle flames
in a midnight bistro
in Tuscany?
Daredevils in
tights and tiaras
balancing on tightropes
that tremble and sway?
Whatever it is,
I hope it’s what
pedal to the metal
interests you
and
not what you hope
might interest me,
sitting here with my
indolent coffee.
(Photo by Zach Ramelan – Unsplash.com)
Sunlight On a Windowsill
In those moments
when you feel
the unease –
I mean the disease –
of wondering if
what you’re doing,
or not doing,
is approved by
the phantom overlords
you’ve been taught to
conjure,
to monitor your inherent
untrustworthiness;
In those moments,
my beloved ones,
my adored ones,
remember this:
All it takes is one good
belly laugh
to scatter those phantoms
like the dust you see
in the sunlight
on your windowsill.
Yours Truly,
The One Who Formed You
from That Same Light
(Photo by Mikael Kristenson)
Mystery Maps
If you gain entry
to The Mystery,
what will you look for?
I have some ideas.
Look around for
your Original Self,
see what you’re up to.
I hope to find my Self
outdoors at a café
in Paris,
writing over drops of
espresso carelessly dripped
on the pages of
my Journal.
You might find
your Original Self
trekking in the Andes
or on a catamaran
in the Mediterranean.
Speaking of which,
I’ve heard there are
lifeboat building classes
in The Mystery,
for those inevitable
deep water rescues
you’ll get your Self into,
one way or another.
It occurs to me that
“Love one another”
might be taken
to mean
draw each other
Mystery Maps.
Now We Have a Show
It’s a play
is what it is,
a whatchacallit,
a dramedy.
Half farce, half tragedy,
wholly beautiful.
Somebody gorgeous
and extraordinary
had to play that
half-crazy, half-genius,
wholly divine
character
you auditioned for.
We are all
so grateful
you took the part.
(photo from The Globe Theatre, by Simon Annand)
At Ease
Imagine,
or, even better,
if in Real time,
you are sitting.
Still.
On the couch.
At ease, finally.
The claptrap
accusations of
dereliction of duty
silenced
by a luminescent beam,
when a portal
to The Mystery
opens to your
quiet scream.
And you see yourself
inside.
Beloved.
Round Trips to Square One
I’m pretty sure
The Therapist and The Priest
would agree
you’ll be making
round trips to Square One
until you learn to
love your Self
unconditionally.
But that’s a plastic-wrapped,
coffee-stained cliché.
So maybe we could say:
Beneath that
broken record
desire to be
Someone Else,
or that counterfeit relief
that you’re not Them;
Beyond that
terror
that there is nothing
that could
make you happy;
Your Divinity
is ready to
Rock-and-Roll.
Going Deep
While looking for
meaning,
I discover that
WEIRD
was first used to describe
the supernatural,
the unearthly,
the uncanny.
Going deeper,
searching for
more meaning,
I find
supernatural as in
miraculous,
unearthly as in
out of this world,
uncanny as in
extraordinary.
To each of you
miraculous,
otherwordly,
extraordinary Ones:
Take back your Word
and
take a bow,
Weirdos.
(Photo from TravelPortland.com)
Hierarchy
Look it up. Hierarchy:
A word invented
by priests to
subvert
the words of Jesus.
Who told a hardworking,
righteous rich man
the Way
to the top
was to give handouts
to the poor
till he reached
the divine and effortless
bottom.
Who told the grownups
to apprentice themselves
to children.
Who called the meek
the Blessed.
Hierarchy?
It should be called
Liar-archy.
Imagine
You and I,
we are
a Mystery
we keep trying to solve
with holy books and
taking vows to claim
our holy titles
so we can paint them on
our holy clubhouses and
print membership cards.
But Mystery
isn’t holy or
in need of clubs
or bibles.
Sometimes it’s quite
profane and
laughs and scoffs at
titles.
Imagine
how free to
finally see
You and I,
we are
a Mystery.