Now We Have a Show
It’s a play
is what it is,
a whatchacallit,
a dramedy.
Half farce, half tragedy,
wholly beautiful.
Somebody gorgeous
and extraordinary
had to play that
half-crazy, half-genius,
wholly divine
character
you auditioned for.
We are all
so grateful
you took the part.
(photo from The Globe Theatre, by Simon Annand)
At Ease
Imagine,
or, even better,
if in Real time,
you are sitting.
Still.
On the couch.
At ease, finally.
The claptrap
accusations of
dereliction of duty
silenced
by a luminescent beam,
when a portal
to The Mystery
opens to your
quiet scream.
And you see yourself
inside.
Beloved.
Round Trips to Square One
I’m pretty sure
The Therapist and The Priest
would agree
you’ll be making
round trips to Square One
until you learn to
love your Self
unconditionally.
But that’s a plastic-wrapped,
coffee-stained cliché.
So maybe we could say:
Beneath that
broken record
desire to be
Someone Else,
or that counterfeit relief
that you’re not Them;
Beyond that
terror
that there is nothing
that could
make you happy;
Your Divinity
is ready to
Rock-and-Roll.
Going Deep
While looking for
meaning,
I discover that
WEIRD
was first used to describe
the supernatural,
the unearthly,
the uncanny.
Going deeper,
searching for
more meaning,
I find
supernatural as in
miraculous,
unearthly as in
out of this world,
uncanny as in
extraordinary.
To each of you
miraculous,
otherwordly,
extraordinary Ones:
Take back your Word
and
take a bow,
Weirdos.
(Photo from TravelPortland.com)
Hierarchy
Look it up. Hierarchy:
A word invented
by priests to
subvert
the words of Jesus.
Who told a hardworking,
righteous rich man
the Way
to the top
was to give handouts
to the poor
till he reached
the divine and effortless
bottom.
Who told the grownups
to apprentice themselves
to children.
Who called the meek
the Blessed.
Hierarchy?
It should be called
Liar-archy.
Imagine
You and I,
we are
a Mystery
we keep trying to solve
with holy books and
taking vows to claim
our holy titles
so we can paint them on
our holy clubhouses and
print membership cards.
But Mystery
isn’t holy or
in need of clubs
or bibles.
Sometimes it’s quite
profane and
laughs and scoffs at
titles.
Imagine
how free to
finally see
You and I,
we are
a Mystery.
Sorry, Word Dude
According to my man
Webster,
Guardian of Words,
(see what happens
if you break one of his
artitrary and capricious
rules),
according to him
The Supreme Being
alone
owns the word
Divine.
Sorry, Word Dude,
but when it comes to
Divine,
I am herewith
drawing a line.
Now watch me
step over it.
You belong
over here
too.
It’s Not Too Late
I sat with my Self
this morning,
sharing a cup of
strong coffee.
We had a little talk,
actually
it was big:
I confessed my sins.
All the times I
turned my back
on him and
trusted another to
tell me who he is
and how he should be,
when he was
right there in front of me
the whole time.
He embraced me
and we
had a good laugh.
Then he reassured me
it’s not too late.
I think I could learn
to love that guy.
Photo by Sue Christenson Gillard
Rise Up!
I’ve been but once,
but once is enough
to know that for the next
Year of our Lord
I want to rise up
and celebrate
all the Sacraments of Easter
in New Orleans,
where Churches bust out
into Royal Street parades,
with white linen dresses
and seersucker suits,
ancient convertibles
and carriages drawn
by mules kin to the donkey
Jesus rode into Jerusalem
to get the dancing started.
Papal Bull
In the year 1582,
by way of papal
bull(sh-nicker),
New Year’s Day
was moved to
the Dead of Winter,
after being celebrated
on April 1
for practically ever;
on or about the
Springtime Equinox.
Makes perfect sense:
new beginnings and
all that.
One rumor has it
that those who
played the rebel
and flew the vernal bird
under the Pope’s
should-have-minded-
his-own-damn-business
needlenose
were called
April Fools.
Clowning and trickery
ensued, to rattle
the righteous order.
Which is why I declare that
clowns and tricksters
everywhere
should seize the day
from the Popery
and start our year,
um,
yesterday.