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)

 

Fist Pump and a Grin

Were You Born In a
“Sinners In the Hands of An Angry God”
Neighborhood,

Taught At Your Mother’s Knee
That Your Reason To Be –
Born Sinner That You Are –
Is To Become
Everything You Are Not?

I Call Nonsense On That.

You’re Made of Pure Light,
Taking a Ride Through
What’s Left of
The Garden of Eden.

Just Be You,
With a Fist Pump
and a Grin.

If You Find Yourself
Misbehaving,
You’ve Got a Whole Bag of
Soulful Tricks.

Pick the Ones
Dipped In Love

Any Other Tricks
Are Soaked In Fear,
Designed To Exercise The Ego.

You Don’t Need Those.

Just Flip a Loving Bird
At That Jonathan Edwards Dude,

But Remember to Smile,
With a Fist Pump and a Grin.

(Photo by Curated Lifestyle; UnSplash)

 

Kids Being Kids

I Know
I’ve Said This Before,
But It’s
Fathers’ Day and
That Got Me Thinking.

Our Big Brother,
Jesus,
Is Reported to
Have Said That
Our Maker,
Whom Some Call
Father,

Gets the Grins . . .
I can Imagine Him
Clapping His Hands
with Divine Delight . . .
When We,
His Beloved
Created Ones,

Behave Like
Happy Kids
Turned Loose
In a Playground.

Not That I Believe
Every Word
In a Book
That Says
Being Wise Begins
With Being Afraid of
Our Adoring Maker –

That Makes No Sense –

But That Book
Also Says She’s
Like a Mother Hen
Hugging Her Little Ones
Close Beneath Her Wings.

It Makes Me Wonder Why
I Get So Serious,
Imagining I Must
Bend the Knee and
Clasp Hands
Beneath Bowed Head,
To Come Before
My Maker,

When All They Want,
for Father’s Day,
Is a House Full of
Kids Being Kids.

(Photo by Edward Cisneros; UnSplash)

 

Every Bit As Heavenly

Watching a Video of
a Graybearded Man
With a Voice
Woven from
The Heart of a Father
Singing Goodbye
To His Son,

With the Tender Tones of
a Baritone Angel,
Plucked from Behind
a Microphone In a
Texas Tavern,

But This Time Singing
for a Panel of Celebrity Judges
on a TV Talent Show,
Where One Judge
Is Known for His
Sharp-Edged Sword
of a Tongue,

But Even His Eyes
Are Spilling as He
Rises With the Audience
To Raise Their Hands
In Joy.

I’m Watching This
on a Sunday Sabbath Morning,
at the Same Time
I Once Spent
Singing Holy Hymns
and Kneeling With
Head Bowed to
Rest On a Pew
While Whispering
Prayers to
The All That Is
Divine.

It Comes to Me,
In a Whisper from
My Maker,
That My TV Talent Show
Texas Father’s
Tearful Triumph

Is Every Bit
as Heavenly as a
Sabbath Prayer.

(Photo by A.C.; UnSplash)

 

Hang Time

I’ll Honor Your Own
Sightlines
By Presaging This With

What IF . . .

The Maker of All That Is
Love and Light, Joy and Laughter
Has No Wish
To Be Worshipped and Obeyed,
No Desire
To Be Served.

What IF . . .

She Just Wants To
Hang Out With You,

Listen To Your Heart Beat
Its Stories of
Joy or Despair,
Gladness or Sadness,
Hilarity or Amazement?

Think of Your Stories As
Prayers.

What IF . . .

He Just Wants To
Comfort You,
Bump Fists with You,

Come Up With
The Next Line to
That Poem
You’ve Been Playing With,
Flash You an Image
for That Watercolor
You Daydream About?

Think of These As
Answers To Prayers.

What IF . . .

She’s Sitting With You,
Right There On the Couch?

He’s Got His Arm Around You,
Pulling You Close?

(Photo By Jason Hinrich; UnSplash)

 

Did You Think He Was Kidding?

When I Quote
Jesus,
from The Big Black Book,
I’ll Use an Asterisk
and Say

*“I Hope He Actually
Said This,
Because
I Love It,” . . .

to Wit,

“If You Want To
Truly Be
In Heaven,
Become
Like a Kid.”

Am I Stretching Things
To Say
This Must Mean
The Being of
Love and Light,
Joy and Laughter
Some Call
“God”
Is Actually . . .

A Big Kid?

It Follows,
Doesn’t It?

The Creator,
The Maker of
All That Is,

Is Playful and Curious,
Loves a Good Joke,
(Just Look Around)
and
Has Little Inclination
To Be All Serious
In the Way That’s
Required
To Be All Judgmental
and Such.

In Fact,
It Might Be Said
He (She) Just Wants
To Play With You!

Did You Think
Jesus
Was Kidding?

(Photo from the Movie, “Dogma.”)

 

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.