Illumination

Sometimes I feel
like the word
Love
is too often
used with the
imprecision of a
commonplace,
like “what
shall we have
for lunch?”

Then I remember
I know precisely
what I mean
when I say
I love
Redbone doing
“Come and Get Your Love”
to open
Guardians of the Galaxy.

Which, in turn,
makes me
rejoice
when
illumination dawns
that we are
eternal Emissaries
of The Creator,
divine Volunteers,

sent out to
play
the extreme
sports, and
practice
the precise arts,
of Loving
All That Is.

Wait.
Does that
make us
Guardians of the Galaxy?

 

Blasphemy

A crooner –
I think it’s
Johnny Mathis –
is telling me
it’s a Holy Night,
that a Saviour
was born.

I have no
agenda to
persuade you,
I’m just
musing,
but

I wonder
what I’m being
saved from.

Question:
If that ray
of sunlight
piercing the
glass icicles
on your
Christmas tree
could speak,

and announced
to you that
it was
The Sun,

would that be
blasphemy?

If I were
to tell you
that you are
as divine as
that Child,

your Birth
a ray of sunlight
every bit
as holy,

would that be
a sacrilege?

I Am
beginning to
believe
that He came
to make a
Believer
out of
you.

(Photo by Phil Hearing; Unsplash)

 

Intervention

Love may be
the ultimate
anti-depressant.

I’m not talking
about filling
a prescription for
hearts and flowers
or a gemstone.

I’m thinking of
remembering
a time when,
for a moment,
you considered
writing “Finis”
across your
manuscript,
if you get
my drift.

But someone’s
artful intervention,
probably by
benevolent
unintention,

sent you back
to the page,
so to speak,
with a small
smile and
a dose of
ideas for a
few more
paragraphs.

Here’s where
the anti-depressant
kicks in:

Consider writing
your paragraphs,
if you know
what I mean,
as another’s
artful intervention.

(Photo by Gianfranco Grenar; Unsplash)

 

Movie Lovers

I have
this idea
for a book.
Or, maybe
this note
will do.

In the book
we all come
from
a place
we’ve all
forgotten,

to make
a movie,
each of us,
from a
screenplay
of our own
creation.

Drama Queens
and Steve McQueens,
recovering addicts
and repentant thieves.
Home run hitters
and street saints,
mothers and fathers,
sisters and brothers,
preachers and painters,
nurses and Nureyevs.

Each with a
wild and gorgeous
arc of
redemption.

Sequels and prequels.

We’re movie lovers.

I’ve heard
there’s a
filmfest
in that place
we’re from,

and your
movie
will be viewed
by an audience
who
adores you.

(Photo by Myke Simon; Unsplash)

 

A Different Calculus

Thought Experiment:
(or, if You haven’t
taken root
in your
favorite end
of the couch,
consider an
actual
performance:)

Stand in
front of
your mirror
and observe
your Self
in there.

Except
that’s not
the You
that’s
actually You.

Imagine
stepping back
one more
degree of
Awareness,

such that
the You
that’s actually You
is observing You
observing You
in the
mirror.

Imagine
further that
anytime
You wish
You can be
Aware
of You
observing You
in this
mirror
we call
Earth.

I wonder if
this
Ultimate You
operates with
a different
calculus of
Fear and Love
than that
to which
You are
accustomed?

(Photo by Zachary Kadolph; Unsplash)

 

Imperfect Metaphors

A wise man
made a metaphor
in which he
imagined
Who We Are,
our I Am,
as a divine
and conscious
movie screen,

upon which
is projected
the Thoughts
and Things
we call our
Life.

His point
being that
Thoughts
and Things
and plots
and scripts
come and go,
but

Who We Are,
our I Am,
is as
eternal
as the
Creator’s
Consciousness,
of which
we are a
seamless
Part.

I was about
to dismiss
this image as
imperfect –
I Am
more than
a screen –

But
I remembered
how much
I love
a good movie.

(Photo by Zhifei Zhou; Unsplash)