POEM: Fearmongers

Fearmongers

Fear-mongers rein upon US
And weave so much dread
Of what dismay due
We simply back into
A dark future
Like bit players
In a bad horror film
Where more than budgets are slashed
And we feign surprise

This short poem addresses the pervasive human experience of fear.  Though the fear addressed in this poem relates to the daily weave of fear, almost like background noise, which leads to learned helplessness in our body politic.  Everyone is familiar with the classic horror movie behavior of backing into a dark, dangerous situation, with the audience calling out to pay attention to the completely predictable eventuality of being slashed in some way.  This irrational cinematic behavior provides the image for this poem.  Further, the inevitable slashing is juxtaposed with feigned surprise.  This feigned surprise is the logical outcome of being cowed into fear so pervasively that obvious scary outcomes coming our way need to be denied to rationalize our feelings of helplessness.  Perhaps the least surprise should be expected around the persistent reality that fearful behaviors lead to fearful outcomes.  Fearful means are inextricably linked to fearful ends, just like any other means and ends are tied together.  Ultimately, fear brings out the worst in us.  Endemic fear immobilizes us as a well-functioning society.  A politics of fearmongering, and a society awash in fear, has little grounds to expect to flourish.  May we have the courage to resist and challenge fearmongering.  May we openly and honestly address the inherent scary outcomes within our body politic, so that reasonable and sustainable outcomes can be nurtured.

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POEM: About It

About It

I am helpless
Though God
Is more eloquent
Just saying
I love you
And there is nothing
You can do
About it

This poem is a tribute to human helplessness and the redeeming love of God which we have no control over.  Being helpless is a universal human experience.  While this can be frustrating, helplessness is a vulnerability that can open us up to experiencing God.  This poem juxtaposes the typical experience of human helplessness with the simple and hopeful reality that God’s love for us has a unconditionality; we are helpless against it; we can’t do anything to change it!  The “it” in the title and at the end of the poem is another of my intentionally ambiguous pronoun which refers to both helplessness and God’s love, the mutually reinforcing core themes of this poem.  The message of hope and grace is that not everything that we are helpless over is a threat to us — quite the opposite.  Life itself was unbid by us, yet we partake of it.  We are awash in a sea of grace.  This doesn’t obviate the fact that we are also surrounded by inhumane, even hostile forces.  Nonetheless, such grace, and a disciplined awareness of such grace, can offer a powerful counterbalance to the forces of evil in the world.  Reflecting such grace into a difficult world can really mess with the minds (and hearts) of your fauxs.  So have some fun with it!

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POEM: Setting Sail

Dear brother
This morn
I must part
Like the wind
I can
Know longer
Take your merchant ship
Any moor
Borne to sale
For that is knot
What I was billed for
To harbor
In relative safety
My cell in a dudgeon
Seeking asylum from
My most rugged dreams
And giddy travails
For this is
What it must be
A boat
Beyond fortuitous cape
Err akin a strait jacket
A-company-ing such a torrent
Of allusions
Weigh more than
I can fiord
A lock-ness monster
On every channel
A rout to cove it
With others’ bayou
For-going more spunky cruise
Yet before I am
Awe a loan
Scarcely able
To creek
I am disposed
To hanker a mist
Opportunity to feel
The rein in my face
A cross
My bow
Slinging my buoyant bones
Beyond sovereigns
So so stately
Powered by the moist awesome winned
Any challenger might face
A salt on any countenance
As wee grow stronger
With every see
That seventh heaven!
And in the end
If you get my drift
In come docked
For missing inaction
My life know more
Than a message in a bottle
Know assurance
That upon my death
Will pay
Cruel comfort
To those left to morn
Until you sea
Your craft is rigged
And waves bigger than you
Bid you
Your sole to leave dry ground

This poem is inspired by the John Shedd quote: “A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for”; as well as the proverb: “Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors.”  Of course, there is a parallel narrative weaved within this pun-ridden poem.  This parallel narrative speaks to the forces that keep us from setting sail on our dreams, reining us in on shore with seemingly better things to do.  In the rough seas of life, may you not merely seek safe harbor, but take the opportunity to hone your sailing skills.  The strange inevitability of life is that you won’t make it out alive; so, hopefully, at the end of your life you can pass attest to the thrilling aspects of life, not merely how you kept secure and comfortable til the end.

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POEM: Come Alive

At a party
A stranger
Approaches several guests
With great anticipation
Won by won
Not asking them
The routine inquiry
“What do you do
for a living?”
Instead asking them
“What do you do
that makes you come alive?”
Though it soon becomes clear
There is only one real question
Will they ever be the same?

This poem is inspired by one of my favorite quotes, by Howard Thurman, a theologian and activist: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”  This poem uses one of my favorite poetic devices, other than puns of course, the intentionally ambiguous pronoun; specifically, they in the last line.  This can refer to the several guests, or as to whether the answers to the two questions will ever merge into the one same answer.  As you would have rightly suspected, both of these interpretations reinforce one another.  The only use of a pun, twice, in Won by won, is a tip of the hat to another favorite quote of mine, by Gandhi: “Be the change you want to see in the world.”  This line infers that change comes about not simply by pondering questions, but my living and modeling the change that we want to see in the world.  The inquiring guest adds their own life to the weight of the question.  In a related quote, by the great Albert Schweitzer: “Example is not the main thing in influencing others. It is the only thing.”  The poem is mine.  The quotes driving this commentary are others’.  Of course, plagiarism is the highest form of flattery — a quote attributed to an unknown but highly flattered author.

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POEM: War on Poverty

War on Poverty

In our nation’s capital
We are drowning in think tanks
Our chief armament
In the war on poverty
And for all of their business
They have made up their mine
Poverty is not the problem
Poverty is the solution
Yet the war ever undertaking
Congress versus progress
Commander-in-chief of CEOs
Backed by supreme courts and county jailers
Triune bosses super intending won
Until six feet under
With nary a heart
The only pauper resting spot
From their holey canons
Granting fiats where one can scarcely ford
Pronouncing victory
In their own dialectical weigh
Emptying their echo chambers
Buy and buy
Only saying
Let them eat ordnances

This poem is in honor of the 50th anniversary of the “War on poverty” declared by President Lyndon Johnson in 1964.  Of course, there is war and poverty aplenty still.  Sometime in the 1980s, during the inglorious Reagan regime, I heard a phrase which has stuck with me ever since: Poverty is not the problem; poverty is the solution.  Fortunately, this phrase was uttered as a biting critique of the implicit assumptions of a capitalistic plutocracy.  The war on poverty is about the same age as me. The material wealth in the United States of America has more than tripled during this time.  Further, for at least centuries, there have been enough material resources to meet the basic needs of every human being on this planet.  Answering the question of why there is widespread poverty worldwide and within the fabulously wealthy U.S. is perhaps the most important inquiry humans on this planet can address.  The only real scarcity on this planet is within the human heart.  Talk is cheap, and rhetoric is not very nutritious.  Surely, Man does not live by bread alone.  As surely, Man does not live by focaccia alone.  Mother Theresa perhaps said it best: “It is a poverty to decide that a child must die so that you may live as you wish.”

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POEM: Unending Vocation

She summoned me
To tell me
Of my new job assignment
I soon realized
That it was
Not beneath me
But behind me
So I moved on
In my unending vocation
As I was tolled

This poem is autobiographical.  This experience of mine could be viewed even as the first step in my unending vocation of poet.  I have often used the phrase “Not beneath me, but behind me” to describe the process that I experienced leaving my “regular” job and career.  This specifically applies to the new job assignment referred to within the poem.  In retrospect, I don’t think that my supervisor/boss expected my job reassignment to be a discussion, but rather a simple informing me of the way in which I was to me managed.  This disconnect exemplifies why I made a relatively quick decision, within a matter of days, to not accept the new assignment and request part-time work entailing my old job duties which were being curtailed.

I also knew that any job with this employer was terminal.  I would have to do something different.  It took me almost two years to quit the part-time work afforded me while I was starting my own business.  Though the decision and timing were more about my emotional and spiritual health than financial.  I hadn’t netted dime one from my new business.  Nonetheless, I knew that my toxic job environment was killing me, bringing out the worst in me.  Certain death is a good motivator.  I choose life, however uncertain, than certain death.  This choice seems somewhat obvious, but I think that it is a choice not made nearly as often as it should be.  Probably something to do with learned helplessness, settling for mediocrity, and false pride.  I took pride in being autonomous and tough, living on breadcrumbs.  I would rail against the stupidity of my employers for not even providing me breadcrumbs for my high aspirations.

Fortunately, I eventually came to realize the great gift that this total desert was, for me to be able to separate myself from such toxic work relationships.  It reminded my of my divorce, in the sense that I felt that my chosen profession, of which I was well-trained, was mine, and these fools should leave, not me.  Of course, this wasn’t going to happen (actually, in the case of my divorce, this did happen).  So, I left.  The leaving of my profession was entangled in another reality, that of having 50-50 custody of my kids and not willing to move elsewhere for work.  So, fate had its way with me…and I am all the better for it!  I sort of backed into parlaying my unique talents into a new vocation: as the greatest punster for peace in the English-speaking world!  How many people can say with certainty that they are the best in the world at something?  What a privilege to not relegate such a momentous reality to a mere hobby.

This whole process was very humbling and awe-inspiring for me.  I have grown a great appreciation for going through “bad” stuff, trusting my own instincts and the benevolence of a higher power to come out on the other side even better off.  I consider myself to be a very creative and imaginative person.  I consider myself very intelligent.  I could not have predicted the good things to come.  I fooled myself into thinking that I could foresee and control the future.  Fortunately, I could not.  Fortunately, my future was better than I had even dared imagine.  From this experience I have come up with a saying: God doesn’t give me want I want; God gives me something better!

May you find the courage and wherewithal to follow your instincts and dreams, trusting that there are powers at work that will bring good things into your life, even better than you dare imagine!

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POEM: Each Day a Work of Heart

For every won of us
Each day
Is a work of heart
Canvassing inexhaustible possibilities
Of epic themes
Momentary epiphanies
And daily grooves
Imploring colors
Exploring textures
Mating with perfect light
Not mirrorly framed
Buy the ornate
Or threw making a scene
Shooting blanks with one’s chimera
Taking residents
In a mythical selfless portrait
But climbing stares
Crossing a-ghastly gape
Enduring risky convictions
Chopping epilogues
Aslumber jack knows
Would
Like the back of his hand
If only
How to brandish a climax
While never pandering exhibitionists
And never finishing
As a museum
Of beginnings unknown
Endings all too familiar
And what work
Goest unseen
The ultimate intra-mural
Being more than animated
For an others viewing
And awe the rest
For if the day is seized
Even gallery slaves
Can Marvel®
At what is still life

This poem is intended to help you remember that your life is a work of art, a work of heart.  Hopefully, the mining of you heart’s treasures is a lifelong and joy-filled adventure.  I hope that you have the courage to dream, partly for the simple joy of it, but reserving a few special dreams to make come alive for yourself and others.  May you take risks in service of your dreams.  May you focus less on how others judge and misjudge your most treasured dreams.  May you know what makes you alive, and may you know this more deeply than anything else in the world.  May you live into this knowledge wholeheartedly.  If you should fear that your dreams and passions might not fit into what the world needs, rest assured that what the world need is for people to come alive!

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POEM: Forgiving Justice

Forgiveness can no more refute
The demands of justice
And its claim reguarding the lost
Than justice can outflank
The necessity of forgiveness
To open the door for peace
A heart rendering choice
The difference being
Securing one’s house
Or living in a precarious home

Being a lifelong peacenik, I have happened across numerous conversations along the lines of: which comes first, justice or peace.  It’s not quite a fair question, but my heart tells me that like produces like.  Justice produces justice.  Peace produces peace.  Like many questions posed as either/or, the truest answer more resembles both/and.  The question is really about forgiveness and grace.  Everybody at sometime wants forgiveness or grace when they have behaved badly.  If justice were sufficient, then forgiveness should be denied.  But we want more.  We want peace.  If you feel that justice is sufficient, and that you are willing to forgo peace, then I suspect you may have some unresolved anger issues.  Of course, anger can be a great driver of working for justice.  This anger can be a good thing.  Equally true, anger is a poor foundation for forgiveness and grace.  Peace comes from a place rooted in hope and possibility.  Peace cannot be guaranteed, but it can be denied.  Peace is a gamble.  Peace requires taking a chance.  As John Lennon said, “Give peace a chance.”  As Gandhi said, “Peace is possible.”  Peace is not simply a theoretical possibility.  Peace is also rooted in the direct experience of forgiveness, grace, and love.  The sheer gratitude of having a life present that was given to us without our doing often gets eclipsed by the dreadful threats of loss of that life, by whole or piecemeal.  The gift of life makes possible all else in our life.  If our life is taken from us, have we lost more than we have been given?  Dare I ask: how can this even be unfair?  As I like to say: life isn’t fair, it’s excellent!  I sense that this question has been answered in the reality that it is a rare person who would believe that it would have been better to never have been born at all.  It may be equally rare to find folks who can persistently focus on this primary grace making all things possible in our life rather than dealing with the actual or feared losses in our lives of things that we have built or gained at least partially due to our doing.  The latter is the makings of justice-seeking.  The former is the makings of peace-seeking.  Justice-seeking and peace-seeking are not mutually exclusive.  However, achieving peace requires a perspective rooted in the grace of life, which is fragile and uncertain.  In fact, the very fragility and uncertainty of life makes it all the more precious!  I do see peace-seeking as a higher function, encompassing and fulfilling justice-seeking.  Peace-seeking is rooted in gratitude, the expression of recognizing grace.  I think of it this way:  To truly believe in justice, you must believe in justice for all.  Believing in justice and fairness only for myself or some in-group (which I happen to belong to) is not justice.  Like Martin Luther King, Jr. so eloquently and simply put, “Injustice anywhere is injustice everywhere.”  With widespread injustice, which no sane person would deny, to seek justice for all means balancing, risking securing justice for yourself and your own in order to achieve widespread justice.  Such a bold undertaking can only be embarked upon with a measure of grace and forgiveness in your heart.  It is the promise of hope — real possibility — rooted in the experience of grace and forgiveness, that is an inescapable element of fulfilling justice.  There must be a peace in our heart, based on this real possibility, that foreshadows the peace and justice that we hope for.  So, what is my answer to the question: which comes first, justice or peace?  My answer: gratitude, and, of course, the corollary of gratitude, which is forgiveness.  Forgiveness is an expression of fairness, even justice, that others should be afforded the same infinite and sacred respect for life that life itself deserves.  We have already “won” by being alive.  The rest of life just needs to be lubricated generously with such a gratitude-filled awareness.  So be aware, life is good!

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POEM: Lust Potential

Lust Potential

He looked about him
And saw
Their cups were filled
Even overflowing
And still
He mourned
The size of their cups

Years ago, I heard a description of heaven as a place where no matter the size of our cups all that we would know is that our cups are full.  I thought that this was a brilliant and beautiful image of humans resolving their relentless need to be more than who they are now.  This heavenly description illuminated some brilliant facets of human reality: that regardless of our capabilities we can be fulfilled, and that we need not compare our capabilities to others.  Of course, while this is a heavenly scenario, an illuminating ideal, us earthbound folks must grapple with envy, jealousy, and the unquenchable inclination to be more than we are now.  I believe that the first two can be redeemed; the latter I suspect is behind any impetus to even be redeemed!

Envy is the emotion that we feel when we want something that another possesses.  Typically, this is viewed with a negative connotation, a precursor to destructive behavior and relations. Envy lives within a worldview of scarcity, closed-sum thinking, and the fearful consequence which may ensue.  However, it can be viewed as inspirational, a precursor to creative behavior and relations.  Such inspiration can be made possible by living into abundance, where even loss or lack is parlayed into some positive gain, creating room for growth.  Jealousy is the emotion we have when we fear that we may be replaced in the affection of another.  Jealousy is also typically viewed with a negative connotation, living out of a place of insecurity, focusing on what we may lack and what another may want.  Jealousy is simply pre-mourning a potential loss.  And while mourning is a critical human developmental process, attempting to do the work of mourning before an actual loss has several great dangers.  First, the loss may never occur and we end up training for an event that is only in our head — this is needless worry.  Worse yet, such needless worry may actually facilitate our fears coming true, become a self-fulfilling prophecy — or perhaps more aptly, a self-unfulfilling prophecy!  Next, dealing with an imagined loss may have little bearing on what it takes to deal with an actual loss that does occur.  Like envy, jealousy is rooted in fear.  Fear holds us back from deeper and larger realities.  Nonetheless, even fear offers the pregnant possibility revealed in a stark contrast between itself and love.  Redemption is always looming!   Weave only got to hang in there!!  Both envy and jealousy can be wielded as an effective diagnostic tool to identify our fears, thus opening the possibility of testing these fears against the standards of love.  Love manifests itself in many ways.  Love can be the enjoyment and passion aroused by the preferred particularities of our life.  Love can be the filial or brotherly affection we experience with one another.  Love can be the intimate and erotic pleasures of a lover and best friend.  Love can be the unconditional love of God-like proportions, ever wooing us to be better, even more than we are now.  Love can be experiencing unconditional love so that we need not worry about what we have or don’t have, or who we are or aren’t.  Mysteriously and paradoxically, this latter unconditional acceptance seems to be the firmest foundation for change.

I wrote this poem partly because I have a personality where I see everything against a backdrop of perfection, which can drive me to heights of positive aspirations, or reduce me to a mole mourning mountains of loss potential.   I see the aspect of needing to be more than we are as an inescapable facet of being human.  Fortunately, it is not the only facet.  There is the rest.  I can experience awe that life has to offer without adding or subtracting anything.  And by not comparing myself to other, I become incomparable.

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POEM: Not Right in the Head

I am just
Not right
In the head
Just left
Of center
Heart beats
For know reason
To love

The mathematician, physicist and philosopher, Blaise Pascal, said, “The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of.”  For most of human history in most cultures, the heart has been considered the center of our being.  Modern Western civilization is a notable exception.  In fact, the infant modern state of America suffers from an exceptionalism founded on narrow logic gone crazy.  This everyday insanity routinely considers it wisdom to destroy the natural world to grow business.  We have rationalized ourselves into a path of destruction that seems necessary.  We have come a long way since the so-called enlightenment, with its iconic cornerstone of “I think, therefore I am” famously penned by the philosopher Rene Descartes.  I sometimes wonder if Descartes was actually at a bar when he scribbled his scrambled thoughts on a bar napkin, got home and couldn’t quite make out his writing: “I drink, therefore I am.”  These days, it is common to consider nature secondary to business, a natural resource to be consumed in the course of making a profit.  Of course, our war on nature cannot be won.  Most people will assent to the overwhelming stupidity of this cruel logic, but our hearts may be so atrophied that we may no longer be able to muster enough courage to change our lemming ways.  Fortunately, humans need not be bound even by logic.  The heart has its reasons.  The heart has its ways.  No business plan can imprison love.  It may be no accident that our hearts are situated left of center.  Without love, logic starves.  Now, the danger of a desperate, starving logic should not be underestimated or discounted.  Nevertheless, when hearts reconnect and souls unite, human communities can be rebuilt, and in such a way that nature thrives rather than being consumed.  When the logic of our dominant culture is self-destructive, only a fool would stay that course and not look elsewhere.  That elsewhere is not some sci-fi future uncharted.  That future is reconnecting to the ancient and eternal wisdom of the heart.  There is a solution to not being right in the head.  To delve into the workings of our hearts, not simply the machinations of our brains, is eminently reasonable.  Let’s make it so…

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POEM: Somewhat Religious

Priscilla was born into a very religious home
She was conceived in a somewhat less religious car

This very short, funny little poem gets at several aspects of religiosity.  First, sometimes people who are “ex” anything are the most harsh and self-righteous — whether it be ex-smokers, ex-drinkers, ex-sinners, or what have you.  Of course, ex-sinners often specialize in recovery (or penance) from a particular sin or type of sin.  Unfortunately, a zealous focus on one area of shortcoming can foster a blindness to other areas of shortcoming.  This imbalance or hypocrisy is often much more obvious to others than the person experiencing it.  One interesting saying regarding the difference between religion and spirituality is this: religious people want to avoid hell; spiritual people have been to hell and don’t want to go back.  This poem points to another aspect, that is, religiosity can become particularly dangerous when it’s zeal to help others avoid a hell that they have already experienced overshadows their own growth and compassion concerning their own shortcomings in other areas.  This blindness and lack of compassion to another’s current experience, even though it’s part of one’s past experience, typically doesn’t play well to someone currently experiencing what may or may not be perceived as a problem.

This poem specifically addresses a parent-child relationship.  Parents often paint a prettier picture of their own past behavior to their children.  This poem directly addresses this thorny issue.  I suspect that fostering a certain confidence in a child’s positive view of their parents is commendable.  Nonetheless, at some point in a child’s development, they need to see that their parents sometimes dealt with issues in less than ideal ways and still turned out OK, or perhaps have to deal with enduring harm.   Keeping it real, or authenticity, is an important characteristic to model for children (and others).  While there may be developmental issues that warrant avoiding too much information, kids are rather adept at detecting phoniness.  What child has traversed through adolescence without having to seriously confront the hypocrisy of adults, parents included?

Hopefully, our pasts, with all of their shortcomings, provide valuable raw material to practice compassion with ourselves and others.

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POEM: It’s About Time

One day
I had a dream
God came to me and said
Meet me tomorrow at 4:32 pm
On the bench
In the small park
At the corner of Ashland and Collingwood
Near your home
You have something I want
My first reaction was
Doesn’t God consider all of the riches of the world
As but a penny?!
Doesn’t God consider a thousand years
As but a second?!
What could God possibly
Want from me?!
My second reaction was
Isn’t that time and place
Awefully specific?
I closed shop a little early that next day
And I sat there
In the park
Lots of traffic
But not a soul
It seemed somewhat foolish
Know one there
Accept the neighborhood homeless guy
And, of course, me
So with perpetually bad timing
The homeless man blurts out
Yes, all of the riches of the world are as but a penny!
Yes, a thousand years is as but a second!
So be aware!
Now
A well dressed passerby
Shakes his head
Without breaking his gait
I was stunned
Buy the time
I could
Muster a thought
He was walking away
So I
Blurted out
So, if all of the riches of the world are as but a penny
And a thousand years is as but a second
Can you spare a dime!?
Without turning
He lightly raised his hand
Giving a somewhat dismissive gesture
Just
Saying
Sure
In a sec

This short poem is an elaboration of a joke I once heard.  I liked the juxtaposition of the sense of wealth and time from a divine and a human perspective.  The “better off” human(s) in this poem find themselves ironically betwixt the divine and “worse off” humans.  The joke exposes the gap between God and humans, as well as the gap between “better off” and “worse off” humans.  To someone with an immediate need, like the homeless, putting them off temporarily is essentially putting their need off essentially forever.  If not now, when?  The sad rationale that “better off” persons use regularly is that “the poor will always be with us” (to bastardize Jesus’ words), so we can help them occasionally when it is convenient for us — thanks homeless people for presenting that ongoing opportunity!  Unfortunately, this typically falls far short of meeting the need of many persons at any given time.

It is no accident that I wrote and published this poem during the Christmas season.  Jesus was a homeless man without worldly riches.  If we were to look to Jesus as a model manifestation of humanity and divinity, then celebrating Christmas would look little like modern Christmas, with its commercialization and focus on getting and consumption.  For at least centuries, humans have had the resources to meet every basic human need.  Yet, a painfully huge proportion of “present day” humans go without basic needs.  This fact of abundance stands as an indictment on the scarce and barren worldview that carries the day for most of us much of the time.  This is a worthy reality to reflect upon this “present day.”

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POEM: An Answer to the Problem of Evil

An Answer to the Problem of Evil

One morning God woke up
Before there was such a thing as morning
God was well pleased with God’s self
“I know that I am all that!”
In fact, the only thing better
Than knowing I’m all that
Is to not know I’m all that and then find out I’m all that!
So God got lost
And it’s been mourning since
Good morning

The epic title of this poem is somewhat ambitious, since this poem, no matter how optimistic or hopeful, obviously doesn’t bring an end to the problem of evil.  Of course, the title begs some humility in suggesting “an” answer, not “the” answer.  What I hope this title and poem offer is a positive perspective on the intractable problem of evil.  This poem addresses one of the deepest and thorniest philosophical and theological issues that exists: how can evil exist alongside a powerful, loving God?  Nonetheless, my hope is that this poem’s playful tone elucidates something about the nature of God in the face of such a mournful human problem.

My understanding of salvation is deeply rooted in a transcendent perspective which ever moves me toward that which is larger, more all-encompassing, and more whole — some would call this spiritual perspective as seeking a higher power or God.  I see this process of salvation or enlightenment as a continual trading up to something better.  In the process of trading up, one must give up the current or old to make room for the new and better.  This is a mournful process.  Losing things of value is difficult  This is especially true when things of value are taken away from us without any choice on our part.  These events and processes of loss seem to capture our attention quite effectively.  Somewhat ironically, the process of gaining things of value, especially when due to no choice or action of our own, generally receives little complaint, and often scant attention.  Exhibit A: the gift of life, your very existence.  Unearned gains, the stuff of grace, is the companion of the problem of evil: the problem of good.  Of course, few people demand a solution to the problem of good, not seeing a need to address it as a problem.  Still the philosophical and theological issues are exactly parallel.  To be fair and balanced, these issues should be addressed as the problem of good/evil.  No doubt, some have aspired to amorality as a deeply ironic and banal way of “transcending” such a problem.  If we can’t do any better than this, then we certainly can’t do any worse!  Such a desperate, nihilistic approach seems to me like destroying the question to avoid having to answer the question.  But back to the question at hand!  The process of mourning loss (and celebrating gain) are inextricably linked.  My definition of sacrifice is this: giving up something of value for something of greater value — “trading up.”  When loss is put in perspective of gain, then loss can “gain” positive meaning.  This is certainly no justification for evil, but it opens the process of redemption.  My favorite example of this is getting hit in the face with a two-by-four.  It is possible to learn/gain wisdom from such a situation, whether it was at the hands of another’s cruel intent or an “accident.”  However, just because it is possible to learn/gain from such a situation, does not mean that it is good to hit people in the face with two-by-fours.  It means that such bad situations can be redeemed, placed in a larger, “transcendent” perspective, where wisdom can be gained.  No doubt there are better and worse ways to learn/gain wisdom, but every situation offers raw material for learning.  So, let’s redeem those worthless coupons of loss, whose face value is meaningless, into something greater, something with meaning and value.

This poem sets up this process as God getting lost to us, so the even cooler prospect of discovering God is opened up.  The implied calculus of this deal is that the pain and loss of not knowing God is worth the coolness of (re-)discovering God. The playful tone of this poem emphasizes the creative and playful aspect of God.  Hopefully, this lighthearted aspect of God can be manifest in us enough to make up for the heavy-heartedness of all the pain, loss, and grief that we experience.  So, let’s carry on with the longing and groaning of such discovery.

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POEM: Of Cucumbers and Fences

The punk was going to take
My cucumber
From my fence
So I clutched
My trusty shotgun
And I fired a shot
Way over his head
He scattered like so much buckshot
Having triggered his nerves
Like a fresh kill
Whose life would only ebb
A lessen all-too-familiar to mortals
Missing his heart
By a million miles
Would win me no award
As marksmen
Or neighbor
But sure enough
Would secure
My pride and property
For another day
My generosity unknown
For had he asked
A cucumber I’d have given
In unspeakable modesty
I am the grower of cucumbers
As well as
The builder of fences
And if I can’t have your respect
I’ll settle for your fear
Only growing
Outside my fences

This freshly grown poem sprung from a conversation I had yesterday with a new acquaintance in a coffee shop, perhaps appropriately with a poetry reading occurring across the room.  This poem is based on a story told to me by a self-described spawn of an old hillbilly, now serving as a leader of Libertarians.  Early in the conversation, I was threatened to be taken out back and beaten to a pulp, minus some snot.  This is not the first time I have experienced such a first shot over the bow in a conversation with a new Libertarian acquaintance.  As it was a public place and each of us apparently had some modest respect for the law, we could not compare manhoods directly.  He did confess that his threatening manhood was in fact a joke.  I suspect that there was a small truth to this.

While this poem is written in the first person, much like Adam or Cain and Abel, the story is of his proud hillbilly father.  Those who know me would expect that it wasn’t my own story, except inasmuch as it is all of our’s story.  I find the juxtaposition of a prideful swagger all-too-familiar with violence and a genuine down-home generosity as intriguing as it is commonplace.  The true conflict is between pride and generosity — one of which can be defended with violence.  Both the pride of the gardener, with his fence and shotgun, and the punk who dares steal from another’s labor, begs for something more, a deeper generosity.  Sometimes a punk’s taking is innocent, as from a garden meant for all, that garden of eatin’ of which we have all experienced.  Many times a punk’s taking is a lazy pride asserting that all is theirs for the taking, without regard to their neighbors.  Of course, the gardener’s pride can lead him to mistake himself for the Gardener, the giver of all, who possesses a generosity overwhelming any value-added we may contribute by our labor.  The fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, curses us with a fruit of awareness that competes with an all-encompassing awareness of the Gardener.  That competing awareness is the builder of fences, which both cuts ourselves off from the one garden and cuts others off with our fences.  The birth of private property possesses us.  Scarcity becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, yet our profits remain strangely unfulfilling.  We look to grow fears outside our fences faster than thay grow within.  We learn to plunder with ease, not work, generous abundance.  And plucked from the vine such fruit dies.  Many a firstborn son has been planted at the hands of fearful gardeners a tempting to secure puny labors.  Such Abel-bodied young men stand as a testament, a very old testament, to the Cain-do attitude of private profits.  The first fruit is offering your best to God and neighbor.  The only sin: hoarding your first for yourself, and offering only your excess to God and neighbor.  What is it that would steal our hearts?  All fruits, and gardeners for that matter, die; only first fruits are born again and again, turning death into life — an offering Abel to banish fear, and transcend scarcity.  The fence between life and death is only the fence we truly know and fear.  And everyone knows: it takes a thief to know a good fence.  If you should cross a thief, or perhaps two, generously invite them in, or scarce join them.  May there be one fate shared: good for all.

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POEM: A Farcical Foundation

A Farcical Foundation

An abundance
Of people
Build
Bank accounts
And resumes
In lieu of a better world
In the face of scarcity
Hoarding ourselves
Leaving our shares as chump change
Our resumes bankrupt
In grate sell deception
Talked into ahead in arrears
Left behind as good as a rite
A pauper wresting place
For a loan and a fraud dwelling
Only in habiting the largesse heart
As a lust resort
Fabricated upon a farcical foundation
Unable to settle what has been billed
Dropping all in loo
Of a better world
Too mulch
To imagine
For those with
The lyin’s share
Only as per jury
Of one’s peers

This poem gets to the heart of the matter.  The great divide in life is between wholehearted living and heartless living, which, of course, is not really living art all.  Choose life, not lifelessness!  As Jesus aptly put it, “You can’t serve both God and money.”  The love of God is the beginning of wisdom.  The love of money is the height of foolishness.  Of course, you only need to worry about this when God and money compete for your allegiance, say, most of the time you are awake! In modern monetized existence, a rather full assessment of what one values can be ascertained by how one spends their money (or not spends as the case may be).  Unfortunately, such an assessment process happens to be accurate precisely because of the great poverty in our lives which focuses on money (not God). A better accounting might include looking at how we spend our time.  Not surprisingly, in a culture which seems only to serve money as its highest value, Western civilization has managed to bastardize the typified 1950’s quest for leisure time by increasing work hours (and decreasing leisure time), even though productivity has grown by multiples.  There is way more money and “stuff” in the world than a few generations ago.  Still, the quality of life for the majority of the world’s population languishes.  As has been true for centuries, if not longer, there has been enough “stuff” to live good lives, except for the stubborn fact that humans have not learned to share well.  When will we accept the sociological and spiritual reality that beyond meeting our basic needs, money contributes little to happiness.  Perhaps more aptly put, if we hoard money for our own use beyond our basic physical needs, we will pay a social, political, and spiritual price for it, which will negate the perceived benefits of hoarding or consuming more.  In choosing disciplined simplicity for ourselves and generosity toward others, we can build more than bank accounts and resumes, and experience the most valuable stuff in life, the stuff that money can’t buy.

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POEM: Getting It Together

I see tragedy in the world
Not as the enemy
To be retreated from
Nor as an accident
Captivating my perverse stares
Rather a musing
These puzzling pieces
Of my heart
Shuttered into a million pieces
In chanting invitations
Entranced overtures
Moving beyond words
As a gait way
To the presents
Of an unbroken whole

This is yet another poem about hope, a familiar theme of mine.  With all of the tragedy in the world, it can be difficult to have a light heart.  I often muse that I have to laugh to keep from crying.  This seems to me to be a basic choice of perspective to bring to life.  How should I orient my attitude in life?  Staring at tragedy can become a perverse rubber-necking, like seeing a wreck that you can’t seem to take your eyes off.  My personality is built in such a way that I easily see the falling short of any given situation compared to some more perfect ideal, or even the being aware of multiple perspectives or choices that are equally inane, in some banal equivalency.  The former is a perspective of idealism.  The latter tempts infinite forms of nihilism, all leading the same place: nowhere.  Perhaps needless to say, I identify much more strongly with idealism.  I deal with -isms all the time!  For me, the decisive factor in choosing between idealism and nihilism is a devotion to a positive outlook.  Great minds have pondered the tally between good and evil, and it seems that it may be a close call.  Some try to escape the question by believing that it doesn’t matter, that it’s all the same.  Of course, it does matter what we believe.  Some times believing is seeing.  I’m betting my life that good is stronger than evil, or simply that I am going to try really hard to be on the side of good.  I see a major developmental task in life as sorting out my relationship with the One, which some may call God, perhaps Tao, or even hope.  This always takes place in context of the myriad of things, the many, the stuff of our everyday life.  This poem alludes to our hearts being shattered and shuttered into a million pieces.  The poem ends with the epic allure of an unbroken whole, or perhaps, within human capabilities, healing and reconciliation of broken and estranged people.  The transition, the path, the opening between, mere musings and such a desired positive state, is filled with invitations/overtures, most of which will go unanswered/unfulfilled, and movement beyond words to action.  This requires taking the lead.  This requires inviting people to be better when being worse seems much more plausible or practical.  This requires my own volition of acting better when being worse seems much more plausible or practical.  My best, most simple definition of leadership is this: bringing out the best in others.  I have hope because it brings the best out in me.  May our highest hopes incarnate hope for one another.  Make it so…

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Martin Luther King Day history and reflection

Martin Luther King Day is coming up on January 20, 2014.  MLK Day is celebrated in the U.S. on the third Monday of every January.  The first official celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, as a federal holiday in the U.S., was 1986. This upcoming MLK Day will be the 29th annual celebration.  Many younger folk will not remember a time without a MLK Day holiday.  However, much like Dr. King’s long-haul struggles, getting an official King holiday met with strong resistance for a long time.

As told here:

“Congressman John Conyers, an African-American Democrat from Michigan, spearheaded the movement to establish a MLK day. Representative Conyers worked in the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s and was elected to Congress in 1964, where he championed the Voting Rights Act of 1965. Four days after King’s assassination in 1968, Conyers introduced a bill that would make January 15 a federal holiday in King’s honor. But Congress was unmoved by Conyers’ entreaties, and though he kept reviving the bill, it kept failing in Congress.

In 1970, Conyers convinced New York’s governor and New York City’s mayor to commemorate King’s birthday, a move that the city of St. Louis emulated in 1971. Other localities followed, but it was not until the 1980s that Congress acted on Conyers’ bill. By this time, the congressman had enlisted the help of popular singer Stevie Wonder, who released the song “Happy Birthday” for King in 1981, and Conyers had organized marches in support of the holiday-in 1982 and 1983, respectively.

Conyers was finally successful when he reintroduced the bill in 1983. But even in 1983 support was not unanimous. In the House of Representatives, William Dannemeyer, a Republican from California, led the opposition to the bill, arguing that it was too expensive to create a federal holiday and estimating that it would cost the federal government $225 million annually in lost productivity. Reagan’s administration concurred with Dannemeyer’s arguments, but the House passed the bill with a vote of 338 for and 90 against.

When the bill reached the Senate, the arguments opposing the bill were less grounded in economics and more reliant on outright racism. Senator Jesse Helms, a Democrat from North Carolina, held a filibuster against the bill and demanded the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) make public its files on King, asserting that King was a Communist who did not deserve the honor of a holiday. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) had investigated King throughout the late 1950s and 1960s at the behest of its chief, J. Edgar Hoover, and had even tried intimidation tactics against King, sending the civil rights leader a note in 1965 that suggested he kill himself to avoid embarrassing personal revelations hitting the media.

King, of course, was not a Communist and had broken no federal laws, but by challenging the status quo, King and the Civil Rights Movement discomfited the Washington establishment. Charges of Communism were a popular way to discredit people who dared speak truth to power during the 50s and 60s, and King’s opponents made liberal use of that tactic.

When Helms tried to revive that tactic, Reagan defended him. A reporter asked Reagan about the charge of Communist against King, and Reagan said that Americans would find out in around 35 years, referring to the length of time before any material the FBI gathers on a subject could be released. Reagan later apologized, and a federal judge blocked the release of King’s FBI files.

Conservatives in the Senate tried to change the name of the bill to “National Civil Rights Day” as well, but they failed to do so. The bill passed the Senate with a vote of 78 for and 22 against. Reagan capitulated, signing the bill into law.”

It wasn’t until November 2, 1983, that President Reagan signed the bill that made Martin Luther King Day an official federal holiday, to be first celebrated on January 20, 1986.

I have a tradition of attending our local community-wide annual MLK celebration.  In Toledo this event is called a “unity” celebration.  I find the theme of unity somewhat incongruous with the divisive issues that Dr. King boldly and controversially confronted and persistently pursued.  These celebrations seem much closer to “have a nice day” than “get jailed for justice.”  While I consider it a victory to have won official recognition of Dr. King’s life and life’s work in the form of a governmental and nationwide celebration, the institutionalization of Dr. King’s institution-challenging message and life’s work is problematic.  Of course, hard-fought victories can never be permanently institutionalized, but must be fought and re-fought by spirited and compassionate folks across generations.  Institutions tend to be guardians of the past and the status quo.  Fully alive people need to secure the day and the future.  Like they say: activism is the rent you must pay for living on this planet.  Otherwise our lives will face foreclosure.

Of course, MLK Day cannot expect to be immune from the inane, monetizing, unjust powers that be — just like every other holiday (formerly holy day).  You can expect way more people to get excited about businesses selling discounted merchandise of MLK Day, or most any other holiday, than righteous and indignant people overturning the moneychangers’ stranglehold of debt on working people or their insistence to monetize every ideal or spiritual venture.  Every celebration is met with a tsunami of merchandising.  Buy your sweetie something expensive, commensurate with your love — which can’t be bought, but may be sold.  Celebrate dead presidents by spending dead presidents.  Buy some munitions for Independence Day.  Honor veterans by living out the consumers’ creed: Live, Work, Buy, Die.  Thanksgiving has been overrun by the commercialization of Christmas.  Perhaps this is not surprising, since the Christmas season now reaches before Halloween.  Martin Luther King, Jr., quite aptly, is in good company with Jesus.  Yet the eternal question remains: Is MLK Day just a day off?

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POEM: I Do What I Love

I do what I love
I do what
I love

One of my greatest tenets of evangelism, sharing of good news, is encouraging all to follow their passions and do what they love to do.  It is a form of spiritual insanity to expect that we can manifest love in the world without doing what we love.  Love comes from love.  The way of love is love.  Fortunately, love finds a way in life even without our choosing it, ever inviting us.  Love does not depend on you or me, but when we participate in love then love grows all the stronger.  May your life, in all your doing and being, converge with love.  If not acting in accord with love, then your life will not be worth beings, and you will find all else that piles up in your life is simply what you do do…

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POEM: Writing Poetry

I like writing poetry
except for the writing part

Writing poetry is an art from the heart.  If there is work in writing poetry, of which I don’t find much, it somehow relates to brain functioning.  My favorite definition of writing poetry is the heart and the brain making love.  Making love is usually about the experience itself rather than some particular outcome.  Of course, if you are trying to make a baby, this would be a notable and epic exception.  Quite oddly, the reader gets the final product, the poem, the baby if you will.  And like most babies, they can be quite messy, even a complete mystery.  Plus, the parent consistently finds their own babies more beautiful than others.  Most importantly, the poet gets the experience of composing the poem, the making love.  In my opinion, the poet gets the much better portion.  No doubt, a great poem can replicate much of the joy in the reading as in the composing.  Nonetheless, there is something intimate, personal, and even private, that the poet alone garners.  This poem alludes to the fact that the actual writing of a poem can often be the work or effort expended to make accessible some of the poet’s inspiration to others.  This may be the least beneficial aspect to the poet.  Certainly, poets would like to experience a resonance and appreciation of others.  Perhaps more certainly, the poet cannot expect much tangible compensation.  Thus, to the poet, the composing is often the most treasured aspect.  There is sometimes a chasm between the intense joy of creating and the created, a mere image of the creator’s experience.  This can leave the final product, the written poem, seeming something like word porn, unable to capture the act of making love, except perhaps as peeping into another’s private act.  Hopefully, on a good day, my poems will be experienced as heart-mind erotica.  If not, just screw it!

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POEM: Blood Donor

Blood Donor

I work 24/7
365 days a year
I work holidays and vacations
I even work in my sleep
I am a blood donor
My work is a gift
Enrichness
Serving what is but hours
The miracle of life
A present shared
Through countless vessels
And singular hearts
From whence it comes
I pay it forward
I save by giving
As the circles of life
Grow stronger in us
For today it is my bag
And some day it may be yours

I have been a blood donor most of my adult life.  Not too long ago, I got my 5-gallon donor pin from the American Red Cross.  Donating blood is one of the easiest ways to save a life.  As an answer to the perplexity some have regarding my relaxed lifestyle, eschewing work (at least in the form of a “regular” job), I joke that I work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  Of course, this is referring to my job as a blood donor — which pays just about as well as my other jobs!  In my job running TopPun.com — maximizing prophets — I work virtually all the time as well, through the labor-saving device of the worldwide web.  Similarly, I see most good work as nonstop.  As Gandhi said, “My message is my life.”  In my quest for rest and abundant sabbath time, I am communicating an important message to the world: abundant rest and sleep are integral to a wholesome life.  Thus, I am working even in my sleep.  So, if you want a job that you can do in your sleep, allowing you work 24/7 and remain well-rested, I would highly recommend being a blood donor.

You can download this blood donor poem here: Blood Donor Poem.

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