DIY

I have not been,
generally speaking,
a Do-It-Yourself-er.

When walls
require paint,
I look for
a Painter,
with a Capital P,
that stands for
Professional.

So, I suppose
it stands
to reason that,
in the past,
when I required
that rush of
Revelation

that comes
when you
connect with
the You

who has a
Room in
The Mystery,

I went looking
for a Guide,
with a Capital P,
that stands for
Preacher or
Prophet or
Professor.

While I don’t wish
to deny them
their credentials,

these days I
find myself
enchanted
by the notion
that I don’t need
a Professional
to connect with
my Self.

I’ve always had
the Key to
my Room in
The Mystery.

And, when I
meet my Self
in there,

if it feels
like fun
to paint the walls
another color,

I know I can
Do-It-My-Self,
thank you
very much.

(Photo by Flow Clark; UnSplash)

 

Champagne

A moment
will come
when you will
taste the
champagne
that celebrates
the Cosmos of
adoration and delight
that is What Is.

It may be when,
after a period of
bewilderment,
you see that
what you must do
is spend a day
with the one who
has bewildered you,

dazzling them
with unadulterated
moonshine kindness
and affection
cleverly disguised as
one favor after another.

You will
be tempted
to turn it into
a Hallmark Moment,

and write yourself
a congratulatory
card,

as if you have
discovered
a cure
for bewilderment.

Resist.

Remind yourself
that bewilderment
is nothing but
thirst.

And there is plenty
of champagne
to go around.

(Photo by Alevision Co.; UnSplash)

 

Treatment

We don’t even
attempt to hide
our addiction to
Judgment,

our stashes of
assessments and
evaluations and
measurement-by-measurement
comparisons,

our secret
compartments of
critiques and
castigations and
condemnations,

especially the ones
we’ve hoarded
for our Selves,

to be consumed
in secret,
along with a
cocktail
or two of
self-pity, or
renunciation.

If you
grow tired
of captivity
you might
consider
treatment.

It’s offered by
the Love Maker
whose idea
of a good time is

dousing your
judgments
in 100-proof
affection,

setting them
ablaze with
flames of
approval
that consume
your condemnations
with enough
warmth and
light

to keep you
creating
adventures
for your Soul
that will
entertain us
in places
Judgment never
heard of.

(Photo by Klara Kulikova; UnSplash)

 

Seriously?

If I was
less hampered
by a lackadaisical
gene –
I blame it all
on DNA –
I might
get serious
about tracking
down the
origins of
the ludicrous
notion that
“the fear of
The Lord
is the beginning of
wisdom.”

I might make up
a story about
how it first
appeared
in a comedy club
on the outskirts of
Afterlife City.

Good thing the
adoring
cherishing
embracing
beloving
lets-see-if-we-can-
sweep-them-off-
their-feet-with-a-
flurry-of-celestial-
smooches-
Love-
Consciousness-
we-can’t-find-a-
good-enough-
name-for
has a
sense of humor.

(Photo by Luis Quintero; UnSplash)

 

Bluebird

Dear One,
I will no longer
refer to you as
divine.

It’s like calling
a bluebird
blue.

And to say
you’re perfect
is like saying
he was
built to
fly.

Superfluous,
like comparing
his wings to a
butterfly.

To say
you’re adored
by the Love
that
made You

is like
pontificating
on what
is in the
voice of
that eagle
piping to her
beloved.

We lose our
Way with words,
we can’t
get there
from here.

So be grateful
that you already
abide
right
in the heart
of
What Is.

(Photo by John Duncan; UnSplash)

 

Artist That You Are

Sometimes
the Script
for the Character
You chose to
play,
this time around,

calls for You –
I mean
Your Character –
to take on
burdens
that require
You to show us
what suffering
feels like,
and,

Artist that
You are,

You will convince
us with Your
Art,
and

We will be
grateful
for a scene
to hone the
craft of Our
own acting
to improvise
how Love is
played.

Because,
in the Third
Act,
it’s Our turn
to inhabit a
suffering scene,
and

Your turn to
stage a
redemption,
and

so it goes,
as we rejoice
to recall,
in divine
relief,

that it’s
all about
the Art.

(Photo by Myznik Egor; UnSplash)

 

Birthday Card

Suppose your
Beloved,
on the day
marking your
birth,
gave you a card,
written
in her own
hand,

in which she
extolled,
one-by-one,
her love and
appreciation
for the ways
in which
she insists
you have demonstrated
your love
for her,

including
refilling her
morning
coffee cup
without being
asked,

and you know,
for a hard fact,
to do so
she must overlook
the messy myriad
of ways
in which you
have been
anything but
loving.

Darling,
let me sadly
count
the ways.

Would your
heart fill
till it leaked
from your eyes?

Would you know
you have discovered
territory in
her heart
that makes you
believe
there must be
vast places
yet to be found,

even though
you just turned
seventy-three

and her hair,
and yours,
is whiter
than ash from
a well-hidden
flame?

(Photo by Edward Howell; UnSplash)

 

Dictionary of the Divine

In my Dictionary
of the Divine,
which I was given
at birth,

I recently discovered
that the definition
of “Obedience”
has been reduced to
a single
instruction:

(I must assume
this is an act
of miraculous
intervention,
since the space
originally given to
Obedience,
last time I looked,
went on for pages.)

Now there
is simply a
parenthetical note
to refer, instead, to
“Creativity.”

I thumb my way back
and here’s what
I find:

“If you feel
compelled to
know your Maker
by Obedience,
obey this:

“Go forth and
create new ways to
Love:

“Ingenious,
gorgeous,
brush strokes in
colors that shock
the palette,
dance moves that
laugh at the
imagination,
music marinated in
The Mystery,
words that break the
sound barrier.

“You are commanded
to expand
the definition of
‘Love’
until it requires
its own
dictionary.”

(Photo by Aaron Burden; UnSplash)

 

Sharp-Edged Shadow

Sometimes you must be
belligerent
about your decision
to be
You.

Especially with
that alter ego
you concocted
to mollify the
mavens of
patriarchal
hierarchy,

who prefer your
modest
deference
to your
insistence that
the You
you chose
is a perfect fit
for that
Ancient Soul
who laughs
at the notion
you owe
the rest of us
an apology

for casting a
sharp-edged
shadow
when you stand
under the same
Light
that shines on
All of us who
have every right
to be bold.

And, if I
bow
in your Presence,
please know
that I bow to
honor your
performance,
as well as
my own,

because I
rejoice when
belligerence
becomes
Holiness.

(Photo by Rene Bohmer; UnSplash)

 

Rhythm & Blues

I confess:

I believed,
not so long ago,
that being
my Self –
my “True” Self,
my “Real” Self –
was
The Grail.

I might require
a bookshelf full of
RealSelf-Help books and
a hard drive stuffed with
Oprah Winfrey videos.

But I’m
waking up and
rubbing the dust
from my eyes.

The light that’s
getting past
the piled up
words and images
is all the Vision
I need:

I love Oprah,
but I’m seeing
I’m every bit
as much my
True Me as
she is Oprah.

Who else
would I be?
Who else
have I ever been?

Now
the question is,
The Question
that’s serenading
my Imagination with
an R&B anthem,

The Question Is:

Can the
Real Me
finally learn
how to
dance?

(Photo by Drew Dizzy Graham; UnSplash)