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)

 

Stop

You must
stop
lying to
your Self.

You must
stop
telling
your Self

You’re not
Who
You want to
be.

You are
already
Everything
You want to
be.

You just need
a place to
experience it.

That’s Why
You’re Here.

You’ve been
lied to.

They meant
well, but

You’ve been
lied to

by anyone
who has
told You

You’re not
Who
You want to
be.

You are
already
Everything
You want to
be.

(Photo by Janko Ferlic; UnSplash)

 

Lifetime Guarantee

Do you understand
The Gift
you’ve been given?

Let’s begin with
how you have
no beginning and
no end.

Let’s take a look
at the warranty
tattooed on
your Soul,
when you drifted
out of the
Mystery to
take on that
body,
the one you
chose –
it was no
accident.

“Guaranteed
to be loved.”

In spite of,
perhaps because of,

your highwire
acts of foolishness,
your defiance
of the adoration
that beckons you
with the
Magic Arts
of Creation,
your occasional
rages of
fearfulness and
doom.

A Guarantee is a
Guarantee.

Consider a possible
Adventure –
perhaps across
lifetimes, if
you need them –

wherein you
wrap your Self
in that Lifetime
Guarantee,

then step
back out on that
highwire,
this time with
a circus act that
defies gravity
with laughter,
that tightropes
over fear
with brazen
affection.

(Photo by Casey Horner; UnSplash)

 

The Method

I’m not a pro,
and maybe I’ve
misconstrued,

but I understand
there’s a Method
of acting wherein
the actor becomes
the character
they’ve chosen to
inhabit.

That sounds
exhilirating!
Perhaps for
my next
performance
I’ll become
a man who
mows his lawn
on schedule and
is handy with a
hammer and
power saw,
a man who prefers
a tent and campfire to
a slightly shabby
B&B overlooking
Bourbon Street.

But not this time around.

Whether I audition
for the part of a
sexy singer-songwriter,
or get to play
quarterback,
or CEO,
or prima ballerina,

I will live the part,
yet

I will remember,
as the sun rises,
and I’m getting into
costume,

that my Method
must embrace
my Soul,
the One that is
forever beloved
by The Love that
applauds that
I Am.

(Photo by Laura Marques; UnSplash)