Laughing

If you know
there is a
Supreme
Benevolence
inhabiting
every precious
Soul,

no matter how
disfigured by
the rigors of
choosing
to be
Human,

you will also
know how
superfluous
and laughably
useless are
your judgments,

whether of
your own
pearl without price
Self,
or that Other
whose price is
beyond rubies.

There is no
Judge,
no Jury,
they are
figments
of imaginations
gone awry,
overwhelmed
perhaps,
by the
freedom
built into
our divine
natures.

But let your
imagination be
captured,
for a
moment,
by this
conjecture:

What if
Judgment
is the mortal
enemy of
human
connection,
indeed
connection
with any
living thing?

What limits
to the
creativity of
infinite
connections
would remain,
if you allow
the Supreme
Benevolence
to laugh
away your
Judgments?

(Photo by Mieke Campbell; Unsplash)

 

Old White Dog

You keep trying
to measure your
Self.

As if you were
ordering a
replacement,
only this time
not your
Self.

Better productivity
numbers,
more travel
miles,
better ratio of
outdoors to
indoors,
less accumulated
stuff,
more fitness,
less sitness,
taller,
leaner,
better dressed
for success, and
younger.

But let’s see
what else
has been
replaced,
along with
your
Self.

Wait.

Where’s that
old white
dog
that was
here a few
minutes ago?

(Photo by Marek Szturc; UnSplash)

 

Persona Grata

You can trust
the You that is
You.

I’m not talking
about the
Persona
you’ve been
assembling
from other
people’s
blueprints,

beginning with
your parents,
who may not
have known
you arrived
from Eternity,
already
perfect,
where you’ll
return
when that
Persona
has served
you
and is ready
to be laid
down with
love and great
affection.

So, beware
trusting the
blueprints –
they’re endless –
and don’t fret
too much about
construction
flaws.

It turns out
you’re in the
Cast of Characters
in a dramedy,
part farce,
part tragedy,
all masterpiece,

and the flaws
just keep the
audience guessing
about what
will happen
next.

So, keep it
Real.

Trust
the You that is
You.

(Photo by Carles Rabada; UnSplash)

 

Believe It

You can’t believe
You’re beloved,
can You,

after all You’ve
done and
failed to do?

Adored, cherished,
even though
the list of Your
lazy lapses
would occupy
a dozen chapters
in a Dostoevsky
novel, and
a recitation of Your
secret sins
would have its
own shelf
in the Library
of Congress.

You can’t believe,
can You,
that there
are legions
of angels
assigned
to guard
every footstep,

even though
You often
choose to
give them
the slip.

You insist
that Your
record will
haunt You
all Your days,
but You’re
the only one
carrying a copy
around in Your
back pocket,
constantly
pulling it out
for Your
incessant
review.

You can’t believe
You’re beloved,
can You?

But You
couldn’t take
the measure
of that love
even if You
tried to
comprehend it
every day of
Your forever
life.

(Photo by Julia Kadel; UnSplash)

 

Art Supplies

I stood
at the entry to
The Mystery,

basking in the
Light of the
Eternal Present,

where I have
no beginning,
no end,
and I’m forever
safe.

I looked around and
rejoiced in
the freedom
of knowing
there is no
past here.
It’s vanished.
It doesn’t exist.

Nor can I
lay my hands on
the Future.
It’s nowhere
to be found.

I’m free.

But then
I noticed
this moment
seems to be
predicted by that
last moment,
even though
it’s gone.

I saw my
freedom
being arrested by
my past.

Just then
my mirror
image
emerged from
somewhere in
The Mystery.

“Come inside,”
I said to
my Self.

“We sell
art supplies
in here.

“Let’s see what
you might be able
to do with that
next moment,
and the
next one,
and the
one after that.”

 

Patchwork

There are,
at least,
a thousand-and-one
ideas,
from at least
a thousand-and-one
places,
about how
You should
be You.

So, will You
patch together,
with spit and
bubblegum,
a patchwork
You,

in order to
make happy
those
thousand-and-one
idea spewers,

as if You
owe them
a debt, or
to avoid their
ridicule, or
dodge their
displeasure, or

to placate
the relentless
demons of
shame and guilt
with whatever
must be
sacrificed of
Your For Real
Self?

Or will You be
Who You Are.
Now.
In this instant.

(Photo by Volha Milovich; UnSplash)

 

Couch Potato

You’ve been thinking
you’re not where
you should be.

You’ve been
afraid
you’re lost,
overwhelmed,
anchored to that
couch by terminal
sloth
and fatal
procrastination.

What if
where you are,
right now,
is a portal to
The Mystery?

Where the
Magic
inflates your
Soul with
Joy
captured from
the laughing
breath
of a circus tent
full of
children.

Where you are,
right now.

What if fear of
where you are
is fermenting
more fear
by the gallon?

What if love
of exactly
where you are
is what opens
the door to
where you
should go
next?

 

Paradox

There was a
deep thinker
named Zeno,
who loved to
ponder his
paradoxes.

“What if,”
he surmised,
“it’s impossible
to get there
from here,

because no
matter
how far
you think
you have gotten,
when you reach
the halfway
point
there will always
be a similar
distance
remaining?

Always.

Into eternity.

You will never
get there.”

What if,
I surmise,
we’ve been
bamboozled
by a thousand
Zenos
into believing

there’s
somewhere
else
we must be,
or some One
else
we must be,

and we’ll never
get there
from here?

What if
we’re already
there,
the One
we’ve always
been?

 

Running Amok

Let your
Imagination
run amok and
see yourself
getting that
audience with
The Creator
(she/he, her/him)
you’ve been
longing for.

There’s time for
one question and
you’ve brought
The One
you were taught,
from childhood,
to ask.
Every minute of
every day.

“Creator,
what is
Your Will
for my
life?”

After She
stops laughing,
She grabs your
gaze
and says to you,
Her voice dripping
all over Her desk
with
adoration for
You:

“Silly One,
I love the hell
out of You,
but you have it
bass-ackwards.
The Question is
What Do You
Long To Do With
Your Self?

All I ask
is that it be
something that
will show
the rest of us
there is
no end in sight
to expanding
the borders of
The Kingdom
of Love.

Let your
Imagination
run amok.”

(Photo by Jamaal Cooks; UnSplash)

 

Round Table

Somewhere
in The Mystery
there’s a
round table,
in a coffeeshop,
or a pub,
if you prefer,

with a motley
mix of
soulful Ones
taking up
the seats.

They’ve been
meeting here
for millennia,
to swap
escapades of
love
and adventures
concocted from
joy and untamed
creativity.

There are some
loose rules:
Talk of guilt or
shame or
adverse
comparisons
cannot be taken
seriously,
but may be
made the
butt of
madcap jokes,
if done with
proper
loving disdain.

The group
has anointed
a scribe,
whose task it is
to send
the best ideas,
via overnight
dream mail,
to their favorite
earthbound souls.
You’ve probably
received
one or two.

I almost forgot
the best part:

It’s possible,
if you’re paying
attention,
if you lay aside
that guilt and
shame, and
those laughable
comparisons,
to join them.

There’s a seat
at the table
for you.

(Photo by Rok Zabukovec; UnSplash)