Cosmic Con

You May Be
The Victim of
a Cosmic Con.

Were You
InDoctrineTainted
With the Instruction
That Your Adoring
Maker,
Creator of
All That Is
Love
and
Light
and
Laughter,

Made You
Because
He Needed to Be
Worshipped and
Obeyed?

Or Else

You’d Be Roasted
Over Fire and Brimstone,

a Barbecue
Hosted by
a Renegade Angel and
His Demons?

Come Away
from that Non
Sense

Into the Arms of
The One

of Which Your
Soul Is
a Gleaming Fractal,
an Inseperable Ray.

Just Be
There
and Shine,

Showing
The Way
to Escape
The Con.

(Photo by Ricky Turner; UnSplash)

 

Let’s Get Mystical

We Live
On an Earth
Where Our
Theocratic Forebears
Imagined a Garden,
a Paradise,
Where Creatures
Lived Forever.

Man and Beast,
Plant and Animal,
Dancing Together
To the Rhythm
of Dawn and Dusk.

In this Fable,
a Seducer,
a Snake,
Persuades
Man and Woman,
Male and Female,
To Abandon Simply
Being,
Unending Life,
In Favor of
Judging.

Good and Evil,
Separating
The Sheep from The Goats.

But Separation
and Judgment
Birth Fear
and Death.

Where Once Was
Only Love
and Life.

Let Me Dream,
Only for a Moment,
That We Are All
Creatures of the
Love and Light
That Planted
That Garden,

Souls That Have
Lifetimes
To Love Our Ways
Out of the
Nightmare of
Judgment and Separation.

Freed from Fear
By the Knowing
There is Only, Really,
Love.

Let’s Get
Mystical.

(Photo by Global Animal Partnership)

 

Drink Up

The Next Time
You Spend Hours
Sleuthing for
The Perfect
Objet d’Amour,

to Offer to
The One
Who Wrapped
Their Affection
Around Your Soul,
then Wrapped
Your Soul
Around Their Own,

The Next Time
You Search
The Thesaurus of
Adoration

for The Transcendent Tropes to
Trace the Tears Dripping
Onto the Tracks of
Your Pen,

Pause for a Moment to
Catch the Precious
Overflow
In a Cup,

To Be Saved for
a Later Moment,
After the Celebration of
Your Affection.

When that Moment
Appears,
Pick Up the Cup and
Before You
Drink from It

Read the Inscription
Just Beneath the Lip:

“The Creator Who
Wove Your Soul from
Love and Light,
Joy and Laughter,

Is Madly In Love With You.”

 

Birthright Bliss

Do You Have Any Inkling
How Entitled You Are?

Just Because You Are
The Offspring of
The Love and Light and Joy and Laughter
Some Call
The Divine?

Next Time You Are
In the Throes of
Dubious Deprecation,
Convinced You Are
Unworthy,
Ashamed of
The Darkness
You Have Wrapped
Your Self In,
The Fear That
Has Drawn
Your Imaginary Companions of
Sloth and Selfishness and
Other Offspring of
The Necromancy of
Narcissus,

Let Me Remind You
of Your Bill of Birthrights:

You Are Entitled To
Cry Out for
Deliverance,

To Ask to Feel Better,
To Order a
Room Service Delivery
of Undiluted Joy.

Remember,
You Asked for
An Incarnation of
Adventure,
Including Face-offs
With Fear,
To Practice Your
Love Moves,
To Pin Fear
to The Mat
In Righteous
Rassling.

But, Between Matches,
You Are Entitled
to Rest
In a Respite of
Birthright Bliss.

(Photo by Kyle Loftus; UnSplash)

 

Icons

I have a Quibble
with the Caretakers of
Icons,

Mostly Men
Who have Sworn
Allegiance

to a Paradigm of
The Creator of
All That Is

That Is Dead
Serious and
Snow Bearded.

Dark Robed,
Carrying an
Armload of Law Books and
Karmic Records, with
Sentencing Recommendations
Based on Stone Tablets
Hewed from
Mountaintop Granite.

Ask Your Self
What Brings You
Light and Laughter,
Heart Melting
Open Mouth
Jaw Stretching
Joy,

Love Lines Etched
Into Your Cheeks
by Grins
Greedy with Desire
to Wrap Your Self
Around
Your Child or
Your Bodacious Beloved or
Your Furry Four Pawed
Forever Friend.

Perhaps the Icon
for the Creator of
All That

Is
More Like
Lucille Ball than a
Bearded Buddha.

 

The Tea of Fear

It Began as Another
Black Hole Monday.

My Beloved Handed Me
Her Motion To Reconsider
My Auto-Reply to
Her Request
To Plan a Roadtrip
To Adventureville.

My Reply had been Steeped In
the Tea of Fear of
Being Required To
Do Something
Besides Worship Calendars
Empty of Anything
But The Promise of
Nothing To Do.

This Fear of
Something To Do,
the Deadening Sin of Sloth,
Has Been On My Back
Like a Pariah’s Pack,
a Bedroll of the Banal.

I’ve Begged The
Beyond The Veil,
The Love and Light and Laughter
Coming from
The Creator’s Café,
for a Menu of
the Medicinal Miraculous.
I Want to Order
Some Sort of
Divine Deliverance.

This Monday Morning
I was Taken to
a Secret Entrance to
The Mystery,
The Source of
The Breath of
The Beauty of
Benevolence.

My Light Being Guide
Handed Me a Key,
then Said,

“The Next Time
You’re Asked To
Reconsider Your Refusal
To Breathe Even a Breath
of Rigor,

Put This Key
To the Door of
The Mystery,
and Whisper:

‘I Think I’ll
Just Do It and
See What Happens.’

Then Walk
Through the Door.”

(Photo by Tarik Haiga; UnSplash)

 

The Adventurer

You came Here
to Have an Adventure.

It’s Working
Isn’t It?

My Adventure Is
So Damn Weird.

It Includes
Laziness
(I’m Workin’ On It)
Writing these Goofy
Random Broken Up
Sentences
(I Like that Part)
and Choosing
Beds and Breakfasts over
Backpacks and Campfires and
Reading and Movies over
Dayhikes and Pushups.

I’m Loving the Part
with a Lifetime Soulmate and
Two Kids on Adventures
I Love even More Than
My Books and Movies.

How About You?

Maybe We Should
Meetup and Swap
Adventure Yarns.

But Here’s The Thing:

Don’t Be Misled
Into Believing
You Should Be
a Different You.

Have Some New Adventures
If You Wish.
Hike Somewhere and
Heat Your Coffee
over a Campfire.

But You Be You.

 

Daydreaming

I have a Daydream.

I am Free
of this Aging Body. . .

Just for an Hour or Two.

A Mini-Vacation,
a Round Trip 
Through The Veil to
The Light of The Other Side,
Where the Waft of Every Breeze
Is Euphoric With
A Love That Dazzles.

I’ll Be Returning to
The Weight of Incarnation,
But for Now
I’ve Been Invited to
A Homecoming. . .

Just for an Hour or Two.

I Find Myself
Seated In the Front Row
of a Heavenly Hangout
Called the Ascended Masters
Comedy Club.

Onstage
a Single Microphone
In a Spotlight,

an Earthly Homage to
The Guests of Honor,

Gilda Radner and
Robin Williams.

And Now. . .
Drumroll and
Guitar Riff. . .

The Man
Who Turned Water Into Wine,

Our Master of Ceremonies,

Jesus of Nazareth.

I can Daydream
can’t I?

(Photo by Luis Quintero; UnSplash)

 

Summa Cum Laude

Perhaps You’ll Allow Me to
Flash My Poetic License –
You Have One Too –
and Ask You to Imagine
You’re the Offspring of
Michelangelo,

Recently Birthed,
at Your Request, on
the Campus of
Earth University.

You’ve Arrived Here from
The Home of the Source of
Creation of All That Is,

To Learn To Paint
Your Version of
The Sistine Chapel Ceiling,
with a Palette of
a Million Shades of
Light and Love,
Joy and Laughter.

But there’s a Challenge.

By Design –
You Asked for It –

The Canvas of
Your Sistine Ceiling
Is Made from
Weavings of Fear
In All Its Dark Threads,

A Challenge You
Embrace,

for the Thrill of
Transcendent
Transformation.

But How Would You Feel
If the Registrar
Informed You That
Failure To Pass
The Final Exam
Will Cast You Into
Dante’s Inferno?

What If
The Truth Is

You Can Enroll
for as Many Semesters
As You Please.

No Hurry.

Everyone Has
Their Own Curriculum.

And Everyone Has
As Long as They Wish
To Graduate
Summa Cum Laude.

(Photo by Lorenzo Turroni; UnSplash)

 

It’s a Sign

Here’s a Daydream
for You . . .

You’ve been Awakened
by a Messenger
from The Mystery,
an Archangel from
The Love and Light
that Can Not Be Named,
though I Am
Will Do.

You are Told
You are Being
Offered
a Once-Per-Lifetime
Gambit:

You May Choose
Another You,

to Inhabit
the Fleshpot
You’re Presently
Simmering In.

You May Even
ReForm that Fleshpot
to Resemble an
Other You
Admire.

What Will You Do?

You Ask for,
and Are Given,
Hours to
Thumb Through
the Catalogs of
Possible You’s to
Replace You.

Suddenly
a Crack Appears
In the Chamber of
Your Being,

and You Are
Immersed In
A Love
That Is Too Much
To Be Named.

And You Know,
Beyond Knowing,
It’s a Sign

To Wrap
Your Self
Around
Exactly You.