It’s All Prayer

I Used to Believe
Prayer Meant
Knees On the Floor,
Head Bowed, Eyes Closed,
Lips Formed Around
Words Like
“Holy Father” or
“Blessed Savior” or
“Almighty God.”

Perhaps So,
If It Pleases You . . .
Reverence Has Its Place.

I Will Not Judge,
Lest I Be Judged.

But I’m Also Learning
Not to Judge
When One Joyful Bro
Prays With His Fellow Bro
By Clinking Brewskis
and Singing
“Glory Be”
While Laughing Heavenward.

Or Heavenly Sisters
Dance
While Singing
The Chorus to
“Light My Fire” by
The Doors,
as They Try to
Set The Night Aflame.

Or You Sit,
Sobbing,
When The Angel, Clarence,
Rescues George Bailey from
Oblivion In
“It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Or You Just Rescued
a Spider
Before Your Shower
Washed It
Down the Drain.

It’s All Prayer,
Brothers and Sisters.

It’s All Prayer.

(Photo by Ashkan Ala; UnSplash)

 

You Know That Party?

You Know That Party
You’re Going To . . .

Amazing!

‘Cause Usually You
Light a Match
to Those Invitations,
Choosing, Instead, to
Be At Home, Reading
That Tom Robbins Novel
or Watching Adam Sandler In
“Punch-Drunk Love”
for the Fifth Time.

You Know That Party
You’re Going To . . .

Amazing!

‘Cause Usually You
Toss Those Invitations,
Choosing, Instead, To
Sit on the Couch and Stew
About that Leaky Faucet
and the Unmowed Lawn
and the Car You’re
Too Damn Lazy to Wash.

You Know That Party
You’re Going To . . .

Amazing!

Your Friends Will Be There,
Someone Will
Turn Up the Music
Till Even You
Pretend You
Know How To Dance.

But Here’s the Best Part:

You Know the One
Some Call God,
But You Call The Maker?

The Maker
Wants To Be Your Date
at That Party.

The Maker
Loves Parties.

The Maker
Wants To Go With You
to That Party.

No, Wait . . .

The Maker
Wants To Go
AS
You.

 

Who’s Saving Who?

Your Soul
Doesn’t Need
To Be Saved.

Your Soul
Happened
When The Being
Who Formed Your World
from Love and Light,
Joy and Laughter,
Shined a Ray of
That Beauty
Into Being
You,

and Placed You
In the Womb of
Mother Earth
To Inhabit the
Flesh and Bones,
Veins and Brain
You Imagine to Be
Your Self.

But That Same
Imagination
Often Dreams
Nightmares of
Cosmic Distance
from The Beauty
That Is
The Soul of You,

Imagining It to Be
Lost,

Searching Desperately
In a Thousand Places
With Eyes Too Often
Blind
To The Soul
That’s Dancing
With Joy,
Love and Light and Laughter,

Tying It’s Lifeline To
The Heart of You.

No, My Fearful Friend,
Your Soul Is Here
To Save
The You That Is
You.

(Photo by Andrej Lišakov; UnSplash)

 

Piano Bar Epiphany

The Piano Bar Man
is Playing through
His Stack of Requests
for Elton John and
Billy Joel and
Simon and Garfunkel,

When It
Comes to Me:

Every Face
at Every Table,

Talking, or
Eyes Closed, Enraptured, or
Busy With Chewing;

Every Face
at Every Table,

an Expression of
The Maker.

Of a Sudden
I am Teary-Eyed and
Look Away, Embarrassed.

Sorry for Staring.

When It
Comes To Me:

The Piano Man
Is My Maker, Too!

We Are
Being Entertained
by The Maker!

Oh, My God!

He’s Playing
“I Love You Just the Way You Are.”

I’m Going to Lose It!

Right Here
In the Piano Bar.

I Hope
I Have Enough
for a Hefty Tip.

(Photo by Rob Simmons; UnSplash)

 

Expectations

Have You Been Living
In a Cosmos
With a Cosmology of
Expectations?

Did The Ones
Who Gave Birth
to You
Believe that
the Higher
Their Expectations
the Higher
You Would Rise?

Did The Ones
Who Presided Over
Your Classrooms
Measure Your
Grade Point Average
on a Curve of
Expectations?

Did The Ones
Who Sign Your
Paychecks
Measure the Dollars in
Expectations?

Were You Led
to Believe
That The Maker of
All That Is,
The Designer of
Your Singular Soul,
Measured That Soul
With a Ruler
Marked with
Expectations?

That There Is
An Eternal Price
To Be Paid,
Reward or Punishment,
Judgment to Be Assessed
in Units of
Divine Expectations?

What If
The Love That
Formed You,
The Light That
Holds All That Is,
The Laughter That
Dissolves The Fear of
Imagined Separation from
The Divine . . .

What If
The Love Who
Adores You
Has No
Expectations?

(Photo by Paul Campbell; UnSplash)

 

Let’s Play

Play along with Me,
just for a bit.

Imagine You Are
a Bright Little Piece
of the Love and
Light and Laughter
That Is
All That Is.

Call This You
Your Soul –
I know,
I’m hardly the first –
But Play With Me.

By the Way,
Your Soul Is
Perfect.

Now,
have Your Soul
get your Body –
Fat and Wrinkles and Scars
and All,
It’s Just a Body –
Out of Your Chair.

It’s Your Costume
for the Scene
We’re going to
Create.

Wherever You Are,
Greet the Other Players
in the Scene
As If
You’re Playing the Scene
with their Souls.

In My Scene,
I told the Soul
at the Front Desk,
in the Hotel
Where We’re Staying,
that My Life
finally Had Meaning
Now that My Cup
was Full of
the Free Coffee.

He Laughed,
I Love Him.

I haven’t had
This Much Fun
In a Long While.

I should Make
a Habit of It.

(Photo from UnSplash)

 

Here’s a Daydream for You

Our Older Brother,
Jesus,
Is Quite The Storyteller,

when He Isn’t
Stripping His Belt off and Chasing
Religious Con Men Out of their Temples,
or Holding Toddlers in His Lap
so They can Braid Dandelions into His Beard.

One of My Favorites
Is the One About the Dad
Who Caves In When
His Snark of a Son Demands
His Share of Dad’s Estate Before
Dad has even Kicked the Bucket.

Sonny Boy then Jets off to
The Big City,
Where He Spends His Cash on
Hookers and Strip Bars.

The Kid ends up Slopping Hogs,
for Minimum Wage, Until
Desperate,
He Hitchhikes Toward Home,
Hoping Dad will Let Him
Sleep In the Barn.

But Dad Won’t Have It,
Drives Out to Where
Someone Saw the Kid,
Leaps from His Car,
Eyes Brimming,
Hugs the Boy and
Covers His Cheeks with Kisses.

Wait, there’s More:

Daddy Hires the Boy’s Favorite Band
and Throws a Dinner Party
for The Kid
at The Best Restaurant In Town.

At One Point
He Whispers In The Kid’s Ear,
“By the Way,
I Still Have You In My Will.”

Here’s a Daydream for You:

Jesus Takes You
Out for Breakfast,
Tells The Story,
and Says To You,

“That’s How Much
You Are Loved.

“How About
You Start Loving Yourself
As Much?”

(Photo by Kris Tian; UnSplash)

 

There Are No Diplomas

I’ve got a Bone to Pick
with the Dogma Trainers
Who Insist

The Creator
Set This Place Up
as a Boarding School,

With Classes in
Worship and Obedience
to Commandments
Cast In Stone,

and Instructors
in Disciplines
Written in Ancient Tongues
and Printed in
Leatherbound Libraries,

With Grades to Divide
The Sheep from The Goats,
Recorded in Books of
Life and Death,
to Make Judgments
That Last to
Eternity and Beyond.

What If
This Cosmos
Was Meant to Be
a Playground of
Choose Your Adventure,
for Light Beings
Who Shimmered
Into a Trillion Sunbeams,

from a Blazing Love
Whose Only Desire Is to
Experience Adoration of
All That Is?

But Light Loves to
Play in The Dark,
Risking Fear of
What Can’t Be Seen,

For the Joy of The Mystery,
the Ecstasy of Creativity.

But You Need Not Fear.

There are Classes in
Every Art of Illumination,
Every Language of Laughter,
Every Sport of Love
Wrestling Fear Into an Embrace of
Overcoming and Sanguine Submission.

You Cannot Fail.

Your Divinity
Will Not Be Graded.
There Are No Diplomas.

Only The Next Adventure.

 

Metaphor Maintenance

It May Be Time
to Tuneup Your
Metaphors,

Or even Toss
a Few of Them.

Let’s Start with
The Top Shelf,
Metaphorically Speaking:

If You’re a Believer
in Such Things,
What Is
The Kingdom of Heaven
Like?

(It Is Reported that
Jesus was a Fan of
Such Inquiries.)

First, Is It Truly
Like a Kingdom,
with Royalty and
Kneeling and Bowing?

Or Maybe It’s Like
a Theocracy,
with Laws and Obedience and
Consequences for Disobedience.

Or Like a Religion,
(from the Latin, “religare,”
meaning “to bind,”)

Or an Eternal Hierarchy,
with Ascended Masters.

But What If …

That Love Light that Is
Diffracted Into a Trillion Fractals,
a Rainbow of Light Beings,

Is More Like
a Family of Footloose Afficiandos
of the Affectionate Love Arts,
Who Love to Cover Fear
with Murals of Kindness and
Its Kinfolk of Joy?

Goofy Uncles and Antic Aunties,
Who Grin and
Poke Each Other In the Ribs
When You Test Fly
One of Your Wild Wonderings,
Who Rush to Embrace You
When You Stage
One of Your Messy Meltdowns.

What If the Hereafter,
When It Infiltrates
the Here and Now,
Is More Like Your Family
On Its Best Day
Dream?

 

Sultans of Separation

Why have We Let
the Experts at
Damned Dichotomy –
Heaven or Hell,
Saved or Lost –
Draw the Maps and
Write the Instruction Manuals,
Compose the Curricula and
Cut the Paychecks?

Their Lexicon is Endless:

Good or Evil,
God or Satan,
Win or Lose,
Right or Wrong.

The Sultans of Separation.

Imagining in Nightmares
of Being

Something Other than
Divine.

As If
That Could Ever
Be.

They’ve Dressed Fear
In a Bogeyman’s Mask.

Perhaps It’s Time to
Set a Trap of
Undiluted Love,

Bait It with Joy,

from Which Fear
Cannot Escape.

Adopt Separation
Into the Family and
Change Its Name to
Laughter.

(Photo by Brooke Cagle; UnSplash)