Simplicity of being

Photo: Brian Federle, Lanterns, 2014.

"....it is of the very essence of Christianity to face suffering and death not because they are good, not because they have meaning, but because the resurrection of Jesus has robbed them of their meaning.” 

Thomas Merton

*********

The moon fades, 

clouds enshroud stars

pale trees glare 

ensnared by winter winds 

blanching at death's edge,  

and yet you whisper 

gently in the rain, 

promise me gifts 

of disease and pain

to strip me clean

and pure again.  

O, make me

your sacrament!

pure essence,

of eternal gain.

(11 Sept. 2011: rev. 5-17-2018)

Fountain of Fire

“Just as it is impossible for a man to see his face in troubled water, so too the soul, unless it be cleansed of alien thoughts.” Thomas Merton

Closing in
the ancient wind sweeps
still waters, turns clarity
to confusion, joy
to primal fear.

I seek my face
but see only a blush
on the river’s edge,
red betrayal seeping
from deep within,
from a wound unseen.

Cleanse me, O Fountain of Fire, 
still my fears
and again I’ll see
my face
washed clean
by grateful tears!

Deep in Grey

Deep in grey

we wait

as black night drops

suddenly 

and completely.

At the end of our day, 

hope is measured

one careful procedure

at a time.

Night is not kind in winter.

Too early It comes,

and stays too long,

brings fear,

red eyes and stinging tears.

lit by red numbers

night measures our lives

one pulse at a time,

in dim blue bars

gleaming in the distant ceiling.

Clasping hands

In the fading day’s light 

we pray

for one more 

morning.

(28 Oct 2010)

Memory

sometimes in mass

as sacred songs

wash over me like rain,

I break free

and drift

into memory,

and again you rise,

your tears flow

as tears fill my eyes,

your dying breath

whispering

good bye;

after so many years,

the knife still cuts

again, and

again

(20 May 2015)

Elegy for Mary

Tree and Woman in Fog: Mt. Davidson

It’s cold today

though the sun rises

as usual.

                     

Routine

binds together days

and keeps my gaze

firmly fixed on

here and now.

First coffee,

then showered and dressed

I start another commute

down wet roads,

through misty

grey hills;

but today I stop

and think of you

your gentle laugh, the joy

buried In a cold Ohio field

and my throat tightens.

I can’t breathe, my eyes blur

until deeply sighing

I whisper the prayer

you taught me

and again see

the living world

with unclouded eyes

and go on.

(1 Dec. 2012)

Above Berkeley (For Connie)

Past stone houses Along the dangerous road We raced, top down Past the homes of the rich Laughing We flew into the night To the top And when we stopped The March wind still filled my hair And lifted my breath High above the bright city (its streets were constellations  Carelessly glittering Diamonds Cast into black waters) But walking past dark bulldozers Beyond the battered, red, warning sign Our laughter suddenly fell Startled by the silver presence Above the trees. We climbed to the peak As a halo encircled the full moon Silenced at last We heard an almost-human cry. Nearly invisible, we saw them, The plaintive, grazing deer. Image: Deer in the Grass courtesy of Ron Jensen 4/28/2013

Incident

"Inexorably life moves on toward crisis and mystery." Thomas Merton

Out on the edge
death staggers,

frail legs falter
and fail,

but wait!
light is arising,.

life resuming,
breath prevails.

Final Parting

“The things that are on the surface are nothing; what is deep is the Real.” Thomas Merton

The visit was nearly over;
all that could be said
was nearly said.

My mother lay still on her sick-bed,
carefully arranged in the living room,
smaller than ever I saw her,
pain numbed at last,
as peacefully she fingered her rosary
and waited for me to come in
to say goodbye.

Walking into the dusky room
I knelt down at her low bed
and kissed her sallow face and embraced
her thin, cancer-riven body,
when suddenly she held me tight,
and with surprising strength, pulled me down,
tearfully embracing her child,
and nearly breathless, whispered in my ear,
“I never thought anything like this
would ever happen to me”

and empty at last,
I left.

Vigil

Deep in the twilight grey
I wait
for black night to drop
suddenly
and completely.

At the end of the day,
hope is measured
one careful procedure
at a time.

Night
is not kind in winter.

Too early It comes,
and stays much too long.

It brings fear,
red eyes
and stinging tears.

Lit by throbbing numbers
night probes your veins
one pulse at a time,

as your shivering soul watches
from cool blue bars
gleaming in the distant ceiling.

Stroking your hands
In the fading day’s light
I pray
for one more
morning.