Q&A

I had Occasion
to Review
the Report of
a Traveller Who,
by nearly Dying,
Travelled to
The Other Side of
the Gossamer Veil
that hangs between Us,
the Earthbound Ones,
and the Home
to which
We Will Return

when We Cease
Breathing
Our Planet’s
thick Atmosphere
and Rise to Be
Greeted by
The Maker’s
Adoring, Cherishing, Grinning
Embrace.

The Traveller
was Allowed to
Return –
Her Choice –
to The Body
which She’d
become quite
Attached to.

But not before
She was Gifted
a Heavenly
Q&A.

She Questioned This and
was Answered That,
until She was at
Her Last Query:

“Oh, Maker,
Why did You
Make Us?
We’re rather an
Obstreperous Lot.”

The Maker Laughed.

“Indeed You Are,
But All of You,
My Precious,

Are Works of Art.

I call You
My
Eternal
Celestial
Collection.”

(Photo by Zalfa Imani; UnSplash)

 

Prodigals

You’ve heard
The Story,
even if You’re not
a Righteous Reader of
Holy Writ.


The Errant
Disrespectful,
Selfish Son
Who Strong-arms
His Father to
Purloin a Share
of The Family Jewels
by Abusing His
Birthright.

Then creeps Home
to Beg a corner
in the Barn,
to Sleep and Cower,
after Losing
the Jewels
in Faraway Flings.

To which
His Father grins
as wide as His Arms
stretch to Welcome
His Boy

to a Celebration
in which the Neighborhood
will Feast in Joy
at His Return.

I imagined my own Version
of this Parable of
Unconditional Adoration,

wherein Grandma offers
Her Cherubic Grandson
a Bowl of Chocolate Ice Cream,
served in a Bowl
given to Granny by
Her own Grandma.

But Little One
grabs the Bowl and
drops It,
Shattering The Heirloom
in His Eagerness to
Add More Scoops.

Grandma Smiles and
Scoops Him Up,
pulls Him Cheek-to-Cheek.

“No Tears
My Cherished Chickadee,

there are Plenty More
Where That Came From.”

(Photo by Jordan Whitt; UnSplash)

 

Monster In the Closet

Wise Ones
Teach
that the
Deepest Wrestle
is not between
Good and Evil,
but rather
a Face-Off
between
Glowering Fear and
Grinning Love.

If Love is
The Light
that The Maker
used to Form
the Face of
The You
that Will
Forever Be,

How did
Fear
Sneak into
The Garden
of Delights,
sowing Weeds of
Fight and Flight?

I believe
It crept into
The Light
bearing
The Noxious Notion

That We Will
One Day
Cease to Be.

The Unholy
Dagger of Doubt
that The Maker
Holds us in
The Arms of Forever.

The Dread that
We have Waited
Too Long for
This or That,
Fear Masquerading
as Regret.

I Want
to Learn
to Live
in the Knowing
that

To Be
Is the Laughter
that can Vanquish
the Imaginary Monster
in the Closet of
Not to Be.

(Photo by David Brooke; UnSplash)

 

Please Sit

Please Sit
In This Chair
I Am
Offering You.

Relax.
Allow Me to
Take Some of
Those Garments
You’re Wearing.

The Cloak of
Laziness
You Imagine
Binds You.
The Vest of
Narcissism and
Selfishness
You’re So
Ashamed of.
Your Habiliment of
Always Taking
The Easy Way Out.

Now
Let’s Look at
You.

You’re a
Light Being,
a Ray of
Illumination
from the Eternal
Flame of
Love and
Light and
Laughter.

You can’t
be Bound by
Creed or
Greed or
Fearful Need.

Just Sit.

Be.

If Duty Calls,
If You Must Go,

I Understand.

It’s Been a Joy
Sitting With You.

Before You Rise,
I Will Bring You
Those Garments
You Were Wearing.

Do With Them as
You Please.

(Photo by Harli Marten; UnSplash)

 

Squirrels

I have no
Occasion to
Dispute the
Useful Illusion
of Separation
between
You and Me.

It gives Me
Joy to Traverse
That Landscape
of Trees and
Squirrels
and
Trails, and the
Arc of
the Sun or
the Raincloud,
from Here to There
to Be
with You.

I Love the
Apparent
Now and Then,
Light and Dark, of
Sunrise and Sunset.

But to Imagine
Any of That
Beauty
To Be
Apart from
The Radiance
That Transformed
Love and Light
into
Squirrels Lit by
The Sun
is the Only
Heresy.

And You,
My Friend,
can’t Separate
Your Truest
Self
from

The LoveLight
that Gave
Birth to
The You
That Is.

(Photo by Dusan Veverkolog; UnSplash)

 

Cosmic Conundrum

Don’t Be
Misled
by
well intentioned
Priests
in Tight White
Collars and
InDoctrineTainted
Robes,
Constrained by Fear.

Who Imagine a
Distant Deity
Demanding Kneeling
Worship and Obedience.

Who has Fashioned
a Will for You
to Ferret Out and
Bind Your Self to,
Lest Your Life Be
Lost.

Arise,
Brush off Your Knees,
Bent by Prayer, but
Soon To Be
Bent by Dance

When You Feel
Your Heart
In Rhythm to the
Delicious Drumbeat of
The Truth:

The Love and Light
and Laughter
those Priests called

God
Wants You
To Be
Exactly Who
You
Most Want
To Be.

(Photo by Darius Bashar; UnSplash)

 

The Daydreams of Particles

Foment a Daydream,
if You can,
of the
Mother Matrix,
Made of Lavish Love
and Laminated Light

That Burst into
a Bombast of
Cherished Fractals,
Waves of
Beloved Particles,
Each Adored and
Bathed in That
Laughing Luminosity
that Earmarks
The Divine,

of Which
You are One.

Yet,

In Your Pocket
You Keep a
Leaky Pen
and a
Wrinkled Scorecard,

with Which
You keep Track of
Hits and Runs
and Errors,

Like a Religion,

Forgetting
That It’s All
a Game,

and This Lifetime
but a Season
of Games,

That there Will Be
Other Seasons of
Wins and Losses and
Tears and Trophies.

In Tracking
Your Errors,
Sometimes You
Imagine
You could Lose
The Divinity
That Is
Your Birthright.

Don’t Be
Silly.

(Photo by Kenjiro Koya; UnSplash)

 

Transcendent Tropes

When The
Fisherwoman Poet
Casts Her
Magic Net into
The Lake called
Mystery,

She has
No Idea
What words
will Swim into
The Weave.

She only
Knows

She Will Catch
exactly
The Finned and
Rainbow scaled
Slippery Thing

That will
Transmute
into Beauty

The Moment
She Reels in
That Invisible
Skein of
Transcendent Tropes.

My Beautiful
Friend,

What Daydream
Compels You
To Cast Your Own
Longing
Into
The Mystery?

You Must
Believe
You Will
Catch It.

(Photo by David Clode; UnSplash)

 

Loving Intoxication

I Daydreamed
that The Veil
drawn between
This World and
The One
Our Souls call
Home,

Parted,

Enough for
a Hand
to Beckon
My Imagination
to Go
Hand-In-Hand
Through The Veil,

Into a
Cosmic Theater
where Thousands of
Wide-Eyed
Souls

Awaited the Arrival of
an Ascended Master

Whose Love
for Us
Who Waited

Compelled Him
to Teach Us
Something

More Precious than
can be Measured,
except by The Same
Adoration
That Holds Us
in Eternal
Embrace.

The Murmuring of
Souls
grew Silent as

The Master Appeared.

He Grinned and
Bowed to Us,
then Spoke
for Hours of

The Holiness of
Humor,
The Loving Intoxication of
Laughter.

His Name was
Robin Williams.

(Photo by Yvette de Wit; UnSplash)

 

Gangsters

A Gang of
Lab-Coated
Gurus,
the Sort that
Arm Themselves with
Electron Microscopes and
Build Raceways for
Particles of Light,

Astonished Themselves
Awake
to the Reality that
If They
Poked a Particle
“Here,”
Another Particle
“There,”
at an Infinite Distance,
Felt the Poke
and Giggled.

And
“Time” and “Space”
Disappeared
Into
Oneness.

Another Gang of
Starry-Eyed Contemplatives
Deduced that
there Is No Force that
Binds Oneness that
Compares with
Love.

How Better to
Imagine
Divinity
than That?

What could Possibly
Be
More True than
This:

It’s All Divine.