Who Imagined This?

Who Imagined
That Our Maker
Wants To Be Feared?

Lest the One Who
Fails To Fear
Be Judged
a Sinner
and Sentenced To
Eternal Oblivion
In the Furnace of
a Renegade Angel
Some Call Satan.

Who Imagined This?

In Spite of
The Injury To
Innumerable Souls,
Including My Own,
Caused By Such
Perjury,

I Forgive Them

Because Our Maker
Forgives Them.

Because The Love
Without Judgment
Our Maker
Floods Into
All That Is,

Is the Remedy
For Such
Perjuries,
Such Sullied
Imaginings.

The Only Remedy
That Will
Overwhelm
The Fear
That Produced Them.

(Photo from UnSplash)

 

Ask a Child

The Big Black Book
Says Somewhere –
Not That I Believe
Everything
Between Its Covers –

But I Want To Believe
That Jesus Said
The Very Best Way
To Enter Into
The Love and Light,
Joy and Laughter
That He Inhabits
Is To

Become As a Child.

Does That Mean
Study and Discipline
and Rigorous
Exercise of the Spirit?

Let’s Imagine
Asking a Child.

“You Must Learn
How to Play,”
I Can Hear
a Young One Say,
Tagging You and
Running Away.
“You’re It.”

“And Laugh
Whenever You Have
the Chance,”
I Can Hear
Another Kid Say,
Giggling.

“And Learn To Love
the Other Kids,
and Those Who Take Care of You,”
Says That Quiet Child
Hugging Your Leg.
“Trust That They Love You
More Than You Can Imagine.”

I Want To
Become As a Child.

(Photo from UnSplash)

 

Are You Available?

I Know You.
You Love Jesus,
Don’t You?

If He Calls You
To Feed That
Homeless One,
You’ll Be There.

If He Calls You
to Pray for
Your Neighbor,
You’re On Your Knees.

If He Calls You
To Empty Your Wallet
for That Guy
Holding Out a Can
At the Entry To
The Safeway Parking Lot,
You’ll Fill That Can.

God Bless You.

Question:

If Jesus Wants You
To Go To
Open Mic Comedy Night
With Him,

or Catch That
Marx Brothers
Film Festival,

or Swap Goofy Dad Jokes
About Bears Without Teeth,
(Gummy Bears),

Are You Available?

(Photo by Andrej Lišakof; UnSplash)

 

Dripping My Divinity

I was Watching
the Season Finale
of a Beloved
Television Sit-Com.

Love Was Re-Ignited
Between Alienated
Paramours,
Un-Coupled Soulmates
Coupled Again,
Un-Paired Hearts,
Re-Paired With
Sloppy Affection.

Un-Friended Members of
Childhood Tribes,
Drawn Together Again
By Cords Made of
Re-Membered Hi-Jinks.

Then I Clicked To
a Scene of a Chapel,
In a Place
Hollowed from
Quivering Aspens,
Leaning Over
To Kiss a Mountain Stream Still
Ferrying Aspen Leaves To
Their Next Stop.

In the Chapel,
Families With Uplifted Arms
Legs Folded
Into Meditation Mantras.

I Asked My Maker,
Who Is Always With Me,
In Which of These Ensembles
Will I Be Closest To You?

She Said

You Choose.

They Are All Dripping
My Divinity,

(Photo by PJH; UnSplash)

 

The Great Omission

I Wanted to See
What My Spiritual
Forebears Considered
to Be Those Virtues
I Should Cultivate.

Lord Knows There Is
Much Room for Improvement.

I Began With
The Book.

At Least The
King James Version of
The Book.

Aha!

First Letter of
Apostle Paul to
The Corinthians:

“And Now These Three Remain:
Faith, Hope, and Love.
but the Greatest of These Is
Love.”

High Five, Apostle!
I Love It!

Then I Found These,

From the Greek Philosphers,
Plato and His Pals,

The Cardinal Virtues:

Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance.

Fist Bump, Plato!
I Like It!

But Something Is Missing.
Then It Comes To Me,
While Scratching My Chin.

The Great Omission!

Thank God for
Saint Robin Williams.

LAUGHTER!

Give Me a Hug, Robin!
I Cherish It!

(Photo from TikTok)

 

Scrivener’s Error

The Being
of Love, Light, and Laughter
Whom Some Call
God –
I Prefer Creator
or, How About
Maker?

Why Has That Being
Been Typecast,
from Primitive Tropes,
as Being an Unsmiling
Demander of
Worship and Obedience?

Who Once Dealt With
Failure to Bend at the Knee
With Enough Rainwater
to Submerge Every
Earthly Inhabitant,
Infant or Grampa,
Plant or Creature,
Until They
Stopped Breathing.

Except for Eight Survivors,
Huddled In a Boat,
Forewarned to Bring Along a Small Zoo
of Four-Legged Critter Pairs.

What If
That Maker
Is Truly a
Cosmic Comedian,
Who Once,
It Is Reported,
Had His Son
Tell the Crowds
They Must Become
Mischievous Children-at-Heart
To Merit
The Maker’s Grin.

To Become Robin Williams,
or Lucille Ball,
or The Marx Brothers,
or Those Little Rascals?

What If
“Worshipped and Obeyed”
Was a Sad
Scrivener’s Error?

(Photo By Yunus Tuğ; UnSplash)

 

Seeking God

Were You Taught,
as I Was,
That You Must
Seek God?

As If
Our Maker
Is Hiding from Us,

Separated from Us,
By Rows of
Esoteric Texts,
or
Words That Can
Only Be Spoken
By Saints and Sages,
or
Visions Shown Only
To Those Who Practice
Meditation
At Least An Hour
Every Day.

To Those Who
Embrace Such Disciplines,
I Tip My
Faded Baseball Cap.

But, What If
We Are Each
Facets of Our Maker,
Divine Alter Egos,
Without Exception?

What If
We Are Always
At the Heart of
An Embrace,
Closing In Around Us,
With Endless Warmth and
a Grasp of Laughter

At the Notion
We Must Seek
The Love That Finds Us
In Every Endless Moment?

Once I Imagined
The Maker Was Jealous
of The Music I Was
Listening To,
My Heart Dancing.

I Swear I Heard
The Maker Say,

“Just Think of Me As
That Drummer,
Because
I Am.”

(Photo By Wesley Tingey; UnSplash)

 

Soul to Soul

Imagine Your Soul
Came Into Your Body,
Hidden In Your Mama,

Loaded With
The Gifts
You Wanted to
Pass Around to
The Rest of Us
Souls In Bodies.

Gifts of Love
Wrapped In

The Love of Music,
Sung or Danced, or
Played with
Instruments Created
as Another’s Gift,

Perhaps a Passion to
Arrange Bouquets of Words
In Vases of Story or
Oratory or
Riffs of Rhyme or
Rants or Reason.

Maybe Your Soul
Bears Offerings
Brushed Onto Canvas, or
Streamed On a Screen, or

Sawed and Hammered
Into Shelter for
Our Soul-Filled Bodies.

Naming and Numbering
Gifts
Is as Infinite as
The Souls
Who are Without
Beginning or End.

Some Say
Our Souls
Joined Our Bodies
To Be Birthed Into
A School of
Hard Knocks.

But What If
We Came Here On
a Treasure Hunt,

To Find
These Gifts
The Maker Hid
In Our Souls,

With The Grin
That Lights
The Stars.

(Photo by Sebastian Dimitru; UnSplash)

 

Heaven-Bent

Sometimes Seekers
of the Treasures
Known Only
to The Soul

Speak of
“Ascended Masters,”
As If
Our Souls
Issue from
All That Is
Divine,
Formed of
Love and Light,
Joy and Laughter and …
Ladders?

As If
Our Maker
Has Set Us
At the Base of
Mount Holy,
Facing an Eternal Ascent
of Some Infinite
Hierarchy.

What If
Instead of Clambering
Higher and Higher,

The Maker’s Desire,
In Sparking Out
a Universe of
Love-Soaked Fractals,

Is To Loose
Tribes of Artists,
Heaven-Bent on
Seeing How
Far and Wide,
Low and High,
They Can Expand
The Love In Their
One-of-a-Kind
Expressions of
The Art of
Embracing Fear

Until It Collapses
Into the Arms of
Love That Knows
No Hierarchy.

(Photo by Brad Barmore; UnSplash)

 

The Crawl Into My Lap Club

You Know
That Gramma
You Had
as a Wee One,

Who Swept You Up,
The Better To
Fill Your Eyes
With Honeybuckets of
Grinning Adoration?

You Know
That Uncle
You Had

Who Emptied His Pockets
of Small Change
So You Could
Buy a Scoop of
Orange Chocolate Bliss
In a Waffle Cone?

Let Me Ask You:

When You Wanted
To Be With
One of Them,

Did You Feel
The Need
To Clasp Your Hands and
Kneel Before Them,

Or Summon
A Priest With
a Collar and
a Handful of Candles?

Or Did You
Crawl Into Their Lap
And Lay Your
Sleepy Head

Where You Could
Feel Their Heart
Beating Out the
Music of Their
Delight In You?

Why Did We Ever
Imagine Our Maker
To Be

Anything Other Than
The Creator of

The Love
and Light
and Laughter
Crawl Into My Lap
Club?

(Photo by Getty Images; UnSplash)