What if he did not rise from the tomb
As young and vibrant god?
What if he did not rise
Dressed in bright white robes,
But walked forth barefoot as old beggar
Out of the common catacombs,
Scars of nails and thorns still bleeding….
Still he walks the streets of every town and city,
Homeless, hungry, outcast in the cold.
If you seek him only singing hymns in church,
You will never find him in your heart—
What’s worse, you’ll live inside delusion,
Never hear hard message that he preached.
“As you do unto the least of these,
So do you unto me.”
Today is a day of darkness,
A day when the fairest star is obscured,
Held within a tomb of stone— reserved.
Somewhere deep in that space of gloom
Mystery stirs, kept within the dark,
Beyond where mind can comprehend the healing of holiness at work.
As close as we are in prayer,
We cannot cross the boundary—
The portal is closed for now, blocked by door as dense as stone.
Profoundly heavy, we remain alone in grief.
To wait in the night demands a certain depth and height,
Trusting the Universe’s Collective Subtlety and Breath.
Death is completely safe…. It is not a final end….
Blends and bends with the light of the stars,
And burns with Light, reserved as we wait Return.
It was total chaos that night in the Garden.
Soldiers coming out of shadows.
And then the kiss—that most infamous kiss of betrayal.
Someone drew a sword and slave of a high priest lost his ear—
There was blood flowing everywhere until it was healed.
Then out of darkness came a young man, almost naked,
Running among the olive trees… I could not tell his age.
Perhaps he was twelve or fifteen or eighteen….
When they grabbed him, he squirmed away from grasp,
Leaving behind his linen loin cloth, running totally naked,
His bare skin reflected in the light of burning torches.
I never learned his name, though next day
Wondered if I saw a glimpse of his face
In the crowd gathered at the cross.
Of course by then, he had clothes again.
In future years, if someone thinks to write the story
Of those horrific, miraculous days….
I wondered if they’ll remember that naked youth,
Running in the shadows of the night.
On such nights as this
There is no reason
To risk betrayal of walking on thin ice of the lake,
Eat supper with friends by magical light of the Moon,
Cup of wine and the bread finally blessed at last….
Carry weight sure to break me as part of the task.
I keep warm at the fire burning inside.
Dog trying to warn at the turn in the road,
No need to enslave me, as I hold the leash.
Still, I go to places where fear still abides,
Endure empty space of loss of my friends.
Alone, except for the desperation I hold….
Regret on my back as light as prayer on my lips.
Finally, I learned to live with broken heart—
Found strength and forgiveness deep inside myself.
Because of you… I found me, and so….
I fall on my knees and thank you
I’m ready now to cross the field, walk back home,
Round Moon high above throws light on the road.
No parade of great fanfare; no terrific reviews—
Only cold feet and peace in my heart.
With every shape, every crag and mountain
Comes wordless incantation, hidden
Silent in dark holiness of hardened stone.
Yet even within density of rock
There is an empty space, a quiet breath,
A thirst that can never be fully quenched.
Do not be misled by apparent dryness,
Mountains bend their heads toward sea,
Place a foot in every wave that sweeps upon the shore,
Raise their peaks high above clouds to see
What we mere mortal women and men
Lack length of years to widely envision.
What stubborn independence resides in sanctuary of wilderness—
Cannot be domesticated even though we climb,
Dive from cliff or fall alone in narrow crevice—
Down, down to where stillness lives and waits in marbled veins.
Through suffering and grief, I’ve come to listen
In ugly dank halls of death to linger,
Sad music haunting through the vale,
Pathos hard to understand or grasp,
Yet strangely there is a whisper, forever present…
A glacial gift that seems both unmoving and forgiving,
Remains as granite symbol of eternal love….
Waits patiently to see the preying eagle soar and cross blue sky,
Inviting vision deeper than human eyes can see.
This year, approach of Spring has been slow,
Snow after falling snow resisting,
Yet inexorably it comes, this tilting sphere,
Slant of Sun finding warmer bliss,
Melting last piles of winter
Hiding inside cold shadows.
Greening wholeness is portal
Where heat of summer is soon to come,
Glory rising from tender Earth.
Now the snow releases streaming water,
Reveals debris that was covered since October,
Dead leaves brought down by wind and storm,
Frozen under piles of snow through months
When light was dim and poor.
What was caught is now released.
Listen carefully and you’ll hear it in the breeze,
Sweeping across the lake and hills
Like a slow emerging understanding, profoundly rooted,
Frees the blind heart to see afresh,
Germinating deep under crust of Earth.
Two kinds of beauty
Stand before my eyes today….
One is startling.
Second is subtle.
I pause to listen to the world,
Both voices speak without a word of judgment,
Cannot say which I love the most.
At times the world of beauty overwhelms,
Demands I give attention,
Shocks me to awareness of what
Height the world achieves—
Texture, vibrant color, magnificence,
Brass section of the orchestra.
Yet when I am at peace,
Pay attention to smaller detail,
Hear the minor key under louder melody,
Movement of hawk soaring high in air,
Snail crawling up green stem,
Reflection on the lake of hills beyond—
Like nuances in fine wine,
I taste blackberry, cinnamon, tobacco,
And something there I cannot name.
Only out of inner calm
Does the delicate flavor come alive,
Speaks as other spices fade upon the palate—
Patiently the subtle beauty whispers,
Tip-toes into busy world and calmly waits,
Reminds me how often I am blind.
Especially on such days when I am busy
That’s when I need to sit,
Open eyes to beauty surrounding all around
Waiting to be noticed and so easily overlooked.
I want to see it all, never want to miss
Small piece of puzzle
That makes the picture whole.