Guidance

Sometimes I throw out
a casting call
for a
Celestial Being

to play the part of
Guidance Counsellor
in the
One Act Play
I’m calling
“Should I
Keep Trying
To Write
This Novel
That Doesn’t Seem
To Be Going
Anywhere?”

If any Angels
have shown up
to audition,
they’ve been invisible
and apparently
reluctant to
read for the part
out loud.

But, a day
or so ago
I thought I heard
a whisper:

“Just don’t quit
on it.”

I tried to
follow up,
but they
didn’t leave a
cellphone number.

C’mon,
I could have gotten
that advice
from a matchbook cover
or a fortune cookie.

But I began
to recall
some times
I didn’t quit,
like

trying to write
a poem,

or looking for
a place
surrounded by
the sea,
with a haunted
castle and
its own
film festival,

or how about this:

looking for
The One
on the couch
across from me,
before I knew
she existed.

 

Sunday Morning

So the Creator
broadcasts
Them/Her/Him
Self
into the yearning,
welcoming
Abyss,
as an Infinite
Playlist of
Creatures
in a cosmic
theater
with sets and
props that
stun the
Imagination
of the Creatures
into becoming
Creators
Themselves.

On a Sunday morning,
pen to paper.
on my favorite end
of the couch,

I remember
when my
Sunday mornings
were spent
on a wooden
bench
in a steepled
building,

reading from
a script
that divided
The Divine
into what was
in that building
and everything else.

Forgive me.

(Photo by Alexander Andrews; UnSplash)

 

Let Me Show You To Your Room

When you
were born
you were given
a Key
to a Room.

But you were
Small, and
maybe you lost it,
or Somebody Big
may have taken it
from you.

“For safekeeping”
they said, or
maybe they
feared
what you might do
in that Room.

Sometimes,
for reasons
that were
a Mystery
to you,
you found the
door ajar.

If curiosity,
or desire,
overcame
fear,
or shame,

you slipped
inside
and were
bedazzled.

There were
bristled art brushes
and fine tip ink pens
and thick paper
and electric guitars
and dancing shoes.

If you were
bold you
may have
stayed and
played awhile,

then demanded
the Big Ones
give you back
your Key, or
you may have
found
where you
lost it.

Or you may have
decided you
weren’t meant to
have a Key,

the Room
belongs to
someone else.

No.
That Room
belongs to
you.

If you can’t
find your Key,
find a
locksmith.

Or just
break down
the door.

Then come and go
as you please.
And stay
as long as
you want.

(Photo by Amol Tyagi; UnSplash)

 

Epiphany On Aisle 6

Let’s say
you pray
to your favorite
Deity.

Even if that
Deity
is Consciousness
ItSelf.

You want
to know
The Truth
about
What Is.

Minutes later
you’ve parked
your car
and you’re
pushing
a cart
down the aisles
of your
customary
grocery store.

But you feel
as if
The Mystery
has descended
and you’re moving
through It.

Every Being
you encounter
is radiant
with the
promise
of a feature length
movie,
just about
Them.

You hate
small talk,
but you know
that Anything
they would say
to you,
and you
to them,
would be
teeming with
Meaning.

You sense
the presence of
angels,
hovering nearby,
egging you on.

Your prayer
has been
Answered.

(Photo by Joshua Rawson Harris; UnSplash)

 

Duct Tape Litmus Test

I open the
refrigerator door
and someone
standing nearby
laughs.

Months ago a
shelf broke and
was repaired with
duct tape.

Now I must
decide:

Will I feel
shame that
I have
allowed a
major appliance
to be held
together by
duct tape?

What sort of
handy
man
would do that?

Do I swiftly
close the door
and act as if
the bystander
didn’t see
What Sort of
Man
I Really
Am?

Or do I
smile
beatifically,
aglow with
divine
nonchalance,

open
the freezer
door,
and point to
another
duct-taped
shelf?

Because the
Duct Tape
Litmus Test
will reveal
my proximity
to
Satori.

 

You Got the Part!

If Will S.
was right, and
the world’s a stage –
I believe he was –

let’s put on
a show,
You and I!

Is there a
character
you’ve always
wanted to play,

but all the
casting directors
have passed you
over,
including the
Most Critical One:
You?

Arise.
Step up
or sit down
and write
your own
damn play.

This time
cast your
Self –
you don’t
have to
audition –
as exactly
the character
you want
to play.

(By the way,
there’s a reason
they call it a
PLAY.)

Now
practice,
practice,
practice.

BE
that character.
Walk the part,
talk the part,
dress the part.

I predict
it won’t be long
before
the reviews
come in:

“You know,
That One is
a Real
Character.”

(Photo by Angel Origgi; UnSplash)

 

Disorderly Conduct

I sometimes suffer
from multiple
personality disorder.

It’s not the multiple
personalities
that are the problem.

After all,
some of us
have acquired
great skill with
multiple personalities.

We watch their
movies and
stagecraft and
performances and
applaud them.

No.
The problem
is when there is
disorder and
I imagine
that one of
my personalities,
say,
the lazy one,
is actually me.
Or the angry one,
or the terrified one,
or the distanced or
disconnected one.

If I remember,
instead,
that I Am
the Soul
of Me,
a portal to
The Mystery,
and not a
a personality,
and if I remember
the same is true
for you,

perhaps we can
restore
some order, or
even create some
Art.

(Photo by Hans Isaacson; UnSplash)

 

A Proper Introduction

Do you pray?
To a god
you have
touched or
imagined?

To a higher power
with a name or
to a Mystery
not to be
contained by
a name?

Look, it’s none
of my business
whether you pray
to Jesus or
to Chuck,

but I’ve
been thinking:

When I’ve prayed,
it’s been as
a beggar,

trapped or
tormented by
what I imagine
to be my
needy
beggarhood.

But I’m
becoming
persuaded
that when
we pray,

The Mystery,
or Jesus,
or Chuck,
is waiting
for us to
introduce
our Selves
properly:

We’re no
beggars,
you and I,

we’re here as
Apprentices
With Gifts.

(Photo by Vitolda Klein; UnSplash)

 

Magic Eye

Remember
The Magic Eye?

Those random,
repetitive,
opaque
artscapes of
seemingly meaningless
dabs and swatches,
strokes and dribbles,
splashes and splotches
and squiggles.

But, if you
stared into them,
relaxed and
stared again,
focused and
unfocused and
refocused
on a point
or points,
perhaps beyond the
dizzying design,

The randomness
would resolve
and you’d
discover a
three-dimensional
space
where you’d
find

an ocean of
sea creatures,
or a horse,
or a bicycle,
or the upturned
face of
a child.

It might take
seconds and
a single attempt,
or many minutes
and multiple tries.

But, if you didn’t
give up,
the inner dimensions
would open.

Today I turn
seventy-two.
It’s taken awhile,
but I think
I’m beginning
to spy,
with some
magical eye,
if just for
a moment
or two,

the divine
dimensions
in me and
in you.

(Photo from Twitter, @MagicStereogram)