Prepare the Ground

The Sower, Vincent Van Gogh

When man is grounded in authentic truth and love, the roots of desire themselves wither, brokenness is at an end, and truth is found in the wholeness and simplicity of Nirvana: perfect awareness and perfect compassion. Thomas Merton, Zen and the Birds of Appetite

Prepare the ground.

Begin with new earth

and mix my baser soil

with falling rain.

Find illicit weeds

and by their roots extract

vain desire.

Raise higher

your righteous flame

and make ready the land

for summer’s living

grain.

(9 April 2012)

Night Train (California Zephyr)

The urgent night train,

rushing quite near

calling me, calling me

come away from there.

Listen! the whispering wheels

rumble on;

not a moment to lose,

but in a moment

long gone.

Despairing,

in the dark night I hear

a distant train calling

in another man’s ear,

and wondering

how opportunity’s lost

I feel in the wind

my fear’s cold cost.

(22 July 2010)

Meditation on a Grey Morning

Grey morning

lights

the bland sky.

Black birds light

on bare trees

thin limbs wavering

as they flit

scanning

the frozen earth.

All the world is waiting,

to unwind explosive buds

to shed thin shrouds

and burst into emerald light

as joyful black birds rise

into the endless

blue sky.

Great is their faith,

these birds and trees.

They know beyond all reason

that the sun

will thaw

the icy grip

of violent winter

and consume the aching world

in the radiant heat

of resurrection.

(10 January 2013)

December Fog

Winding over fast roads
through shrouded hills, 
we see the familiar valley
disappear
under a white sea,

                   human confusion 
                   dissolving
                   into pure cloud.

                                   over frozen white roofs
                                   beyond the veiled ridge
                                   the dark disc rises.

                                    Black dawn 
                                    breaks the long night

                                    and spills dirty light 
                                    over the waking city.

                   In the twilight sky
                   shadow shapes
                   fly in V 
                   over still trees, 
                   looking for rest,

any place to touch 
soft, giving ground 
and call it 
a nest.

(16 Dec 2010)

Storm at Sausalito

Sailboats lashed to the pier,

ebon masts, dark trees bare

with tightly shrouded canvas sail,

rigging singing in the gale,

pier groaning, grey waves grind

clinging sloops to taut lines,

steel bulwarks rise and fall

against gleaming, cool jetty walls.

(12 May 2010)

Canticle

In the murmur of darkened trees,

I hear your voice,

I want to sing,

but grating words cannot contain

gusty night-wind’s

solemn praise.

In the hush of trembling leaf

hosannas rise, rush

home to Thee.

(17 Aug. 2011)

The Only One

"The only One Who can teach me to find God is God, Himself, Alone."

Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation.

The only one

who can fill black night

with interior light,

who can lead me

past the gun-shots, 

thump and thud,

hate filled percussion,

of hidden mines,

the death of 

children

is God,

Himself,

Alone.

(26 Jan 2013)

Vestige

“This is the reality I need, 

the vestige of God in His

 creatures.”  Thomas Merton

_

Bright day,

seaward breezes

clearing the sky,

Can you feel the chill?

Can you hear sounds of

rushing trees,

of mockingbirds

calling

cawing crows?

Behind life’s song

can you hear the beat,

the steady

basso continuo?

Oh, just gaze

hard enough

into the

living blue,

and be it!

You’ll climb the

bright back of night

and enter into

the song -

the song

in the mind

of God.

(27 May 2012)

Saint

Louis Tiffany and Company, "Dogwood" Design Window: 1910-1915.

“The pale flowers of the dogwood outside this window are saints. The little yellow flowers that nobody notices on the edge of that road are saints looking up into the face of God.”  Merton, Thomas, When the Trees Say Nothing: Writings on Nature

Her black eyes gaze

with pleasure.

My hand

flows slowly over her sinew, 

ears, fur; she purrs in praise 

that  life is right, 

hunger sated, 

love remains.

Looking into her eyes

I see a flame

beyond her understanding

beyond my understanding:

the spark

of being

freely given, 

freely accepted.

(31 Oct. 2013)