The Trick Is To Remember
When you agreed to
play the character
that is you,
and read the script,
you loved your part.
You hugged
the director
and praised
the playwright
and danced around
with such delight
about the laughs
you’d get
and the tears
you’d feel,
so real you
wouldn’t have to
fake them.
Now the trick is
to remember
it’s an art:
You are not
your part.
You are the
pure heart
that will know
precisely when
to improvise.
(Photo by Sebastian Kurpiel, UnSplash.com)
Sometimes I Imagine
Sometimes I pray,
like this morning.
Sometimes I imagine
I hear answers:
“Why do you see
yourself
as a criminal?
“Who told you
I keep track of
your sins
of omission
and commission?
“As if I need
a CPA or I
keep a prosecutor
on staff, or I
spend my days
on the bench
wearing a black robe
and dividing
sheep from goats?
“I’m more into my
Parties for Prodigals
Program, my
Rags-to-a-Robe-
and-a-Ring
thing,
my Sit At the Head
of the Table,
This One’s for You
Banquet.”
Sometimes I’m not
sure where to
draw the line
between what
I imagine and
what I hear.
(Photo by Anthony Delanoix, UnSplash.com)
The Keeper of the Button
Sometimes in the darkness
before you arise
you may feel lost
in a jungle of
unfinished tasks, or
unrequited love, or
a shameful lack of
diligence about
this or that;
to the point that
you wish for
a button
you might push that
whisks you away into
nothingness.
Imagine that
The Keeper of the Button
requires this:
You must first
sit down for
one hour
and inquire of
yourself if there is
one thing
you can say for certain
you were born to do.
When you find something
you will know it
by the way it
stirs a sense of
Mystery,
a touch of the
Divine.
But you will know it.
Then you will say to
The Keeper of the Button
that you have
changed your mind.
You see a way out
of the Jungle.
(Photo by Ajit Singh, UnSplash.com)
One More Cup of Tea
It has been suggested,
with the best
of intentions,
that what you
do today
should be measured
by how many
heartbeats you
have left.
As if your desire
to have one more
cup of tea
with that last
ginger cookie
must be reconsidered
because it cost you
one hundred beats
to read this.
My suspicion that
“Life’s too short”
is one of Fear’s
most subtle lies
is growing stronger
with every
breath.
(Photo by Svitlana, UnSplash.com)
Imaginary Friends
You think you’ve
outgrown having
imaginary friends.
But you haven’t.
It’s just that
the ones you had
as a child were
much better friends
than the ones
you have now.
They didn’t tell you
how lazy you were or
that you were ugly or
untalented.
They taught you
to play and
paint with your fingers
and talk back to
your parents
when necessary.
It’s not too late
to make some new
imaginary friends,
or even just one
who will say to you,
“Wouldn’t it be fun
to sit down and
write about
grownups having
imaginary friends?”
(Photo by Roberto Nickson, UnSplash.com)
Tourist Traps
If you find yourself
stranded
in the State of
Cause-and-Effect and
What You See Is
What You Get,
remember that
your Country of
Origin is
The Mystery,
where such
antiquated notions
are seen as
tourist traps, like
The World’s Biggest
Cheese or
Come See the
Petrified Doughnut.
When you’re from
The Mystery,
you’re never truly
stranded.
Have a laugh
at the Doughnut,
take some photos,
then
turn the key
in the ignition.
As soon as you
remember where
you’re from,
the car will
start again.
(Photo by Roberto Nickson, UnSplash.com)
Safety
I believe
it is our birthright
to feel
safe.
Not the pseudo safety
that comes from
numbers
of accounts
or Facebook friends,
nor the
fragile and breakable
safety of
people, places, things,
nor the
imaginary
safety of
oaths and promises.
Rather,
the safety of
your Being
exactly
Who You Are
and always
will be.
Think of it as
the Safety of
Divine Intention.
You were meant
to Be.
(Photo by Serge van Neck, UnSplash.com)
ERLEICHDA
It is a quiet
delight
to see that
being divine –
as are you,
by the way –
doesn’t diminish,
by a single iota,
the unobstructed
pleasure
of the coffee
that rests,
warm,
in my Special Cup
that says
ERLEICHDA
on its side,
which means,
I am told,
Lighten Up.
(ERLEICHDA: a word
from Tom Robbins’
Jitterbug Perfume.)
Your Beingness
What if
this Sunday morning,
because
the First Church of
The NBA Playoffs
is an afternoon service,
you wandered into
the First Church of
the Creator of All That Is,
out of curiosity or
old habits,
and you found
the choir loft filled
with angels.
Cherubim and seraphim,
and all manner of
celestial beings,
singing
your praises
and declaring
their adoration of
your beingness,
because,
as you
may have heard,
back Home we
are called
The Beloved Ones.
In On the Joke
It appears to me
that we arrive on
the Planet as
adventurers from
Paradise,
where we have been
schooled in
the Arts of seeing
the Invisible, and
assembling
the Implausible into
everyday miracles,
using ordinary
Magic and
a highly developed
Play Ethic.
Only to be
instructed that
we are here to
grow up, to
adopt Work as
our Ethic, to
leave behind
the Invisible,
the Implausible,
the Magical,
even if the
40-hour workweek is
mortally wounding
the Earth,
and causing us
to require
40-hour workweek
therapists.
That renegade prophet,
Jesus of Nazareth,
went about teaching
free classes in
Becoming As a Child Again,
but I guess
they thought he was
joking.
Lucky for us
there are always
a few who
are in
on the joke.
(Photo by Edi Libedinsky, UnSplash.com)