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)

Consoling Mary

Freely flow her tears;
a dam so brimful
cannot contain
such towering waves.

Wondering that
my words fail
to give peace,
I reach out
and take her trembling hands.

Tearful,
I brush away
all her
bitter tears.


(13 April 2011)

The Sadness of Holy Saturday

Through the moonless night

clouds choke receding light

and the world descends

into darkness.

Where are you

as winter's chill pierces my hands? 

Oh, where have you gone? 

Do you not care that I decay

without your gentle breath,

that without your light 

I wane like the failing sun?

Why have you abandoned me?

Through my tears I see 

two millennia of agony, 

the six million slain,

all the fallen generations

newly free, heavy nails 

at last released. 

The Other Brother

It was a hot day in the field

when, returning at last

bone-tired, sore from

tending your stiff-necked flock,

I saw bonfires,

extravagant blazes lighting

the way to our house,

but not for me

home late from

work,

so I asked your servant

“why such celebration?”

That’s when my anger exploded;

…poor fellow, he bore my rage

and yelping away

cried it wasn’t his fault!

No, it wasn’t.

It isn’t.

It’s You.

You ask me to obey

and obediently I honor you every day.

With sweat and callused hands,

I cajole this stingy land

to give up a little wheat.

With my blood

I water these fields;

but when I wanted to show

my friends a little generosity,

I asked you for a stingy goat,

a meager feast, and

you said “no.”

So here he is, come home at last,

profligate brother…prodigal,

wastrel, drunkard,

sinner!

He’s back

and suddenly the prize calf

I worked so hard to make so fat is slain,

a royal feast for your favorite son

(though somewhat late) come home again!

But,

as always

my anger fades

in the glow of your summer love.

I don’t like this!

but you tell me

that your love does not diminish

but increases with the giving…

and, after all,

it is not every day that one’s brother

is to life recalled.

So for you, father,

I’ll look him in the eye

and let him back

into my life.

Atonement

"There must be a time when the man of prayer

 goes to pray as if it were the first time 

in his life he had every prayed."  Thomas Merton

Grey mist

rises and falls

enfolding parched hills

easing autumn’s harsh pain

saturating the spreading valley

with gathering rain

and mercy.

(1 Oct. 2012)

The Window of Being

“Actions are the doors and windows of being. 

Unless we act we have no way of knowing what 

we are. “ Thomas Merton

Walk

through the door

and do

not stay

in this dark room,

silent,

inactive

thin soul of

yesterday’s

rain.

No.

Break open the window,

and breathe deeply

the light

of being.

(25 Oct 2012)

Compassion

Photo: Brian Federle

“What is my new desert? The name of it is compassion. There is no wilderness so terrible, so beautiful, so arid, and so fruitful as the wilderness of compassion.” Thomas Merton

I’ll wander with you
in our pain.

Though dry days
and star-drenchd nights
we’ll search the sharp rocks
for pools of cool tears.

Forty days and
forty nights shall we journey
through the wilderness,

to the green oasis
where we’ll flourish;

audacious 
lilies in hidden springs

and there  
we’ll possess
every good thing.

(13 Oct 2012/revised 7/31/2018)

To My Wife in Mourning

bright day,still birds, black
spots on the blue sky, slightly
sway in trees, and wait

for winter to stay
or summer at last to come
like we’re waiting for

the pain to stop, death
to give way to the winter
sun’s soft, warm embrace.

(for our son, Brian, 3/4/1986 - 3/25/2017)

Mercy

Night sways.

The lilting tree fills

with mercy.

Raging day,

blue-jay’s anger,

dolor of

rose petals

softly falling

to tender

grass

forgiven

as whispers

the fading tree,

“do not

forget me.”

(22 July 2012)

Wildfire Close to Home

“The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another. “ Thomas Merton

Night streaks the afternoon sky.

Smoke pours through trees
riots through suburban streets,
flames snarl, snap in the meadow,
the red beast
just beyond the fence.

I feel its glare
as wild heat brushes my brow.

Crossing arms, I walk
quickly, first to the corner,
then to the threatened house,
where my young neighbor
clutches her baby
and wonders
when will it be time to flee,
leave home,
abandon furniture, new carpets, tv
dreams of
safety.

We watch and wait
for the calm firemen
to arrest this marauder,
cool its rage,
restore to ordered life
this blue July day.

2012 - 2017

Soft July

since you've been gone the days

are silent

except for the rush of wind

in our apple tree.

See how the fruit hangs

heavy, pulling low

the branches;

ready.

so I’ll wait in the shade

of soft July

and think

of you.

(9 July 2014; revised 7/29/2017)

Baptism

Rain falls
peaceful, unceasing
filling brimful
the bright day.

Liquid shimmer
glowing ocean
softly silting soil
like love
filling full an empty soul,

O cleanse me
as, trembling,
sinful, I walk into
your sacred font.

St. Peter Addressing the Begger

Look up at me, turn

your wide eyes,

expectant, wondering,

hopeful, and see

what I can give.

Do you want a coin? Some-

thing good to eat? Do

you want a little

kindness?

I have none of these

to give you

but the kindness

and the secret of

the seeds of healing

flowing all around you

spring breeze,

swirling gentle desire,

blessing your torn lungs, infusing

your tainted blood, singing

sweetly your freedom!

In His name, then, I command you

to rise and take your place

beside me, and enter into

His holy temple!

(14 April 2013)

In the Cold

In the cold

there's no room

for old fears; tears

that freeze on your

cheeks are

useless.

Lying under narrow eves

on porch or sidewalk grate

waiting for sleep 

or death

to ease your pain, 

you cannot remember

how you got this way;

for thought, like water, 

congeals to solid rock,

and you can't 

even pray.

(12 Dec 2012)

*******

Author's Note: Estimates of the numbers of homeless in the US today range from 200,000 to 500,000, many of whom are unsheltered children.  This is a national disgrace.  Update 3/2017: President Trump's new budget inhumanely slashes poverty programs while increasing military spending.  He thinks this will make us more safe.


**********


В холодное


В холодное
здесь нет места
за старые страхи, слезы
что мораторий на ваш
щеки
бесполезно.

Лежа под узким кануны
на крыльце или тротуаре решетку
ожидания для сна
или смерть
чтобы облегчить вашу боль,

Вы не можете вспомнить
как вы получили таким образом;

для размышлений, как вода,
застывает в твердые породы,
и вы не можете
даже молиться.

***

Автор отмечает,
Оценки числа бездомных в диапазоне сегодня США от200000 до 500000, многие из которых являютсянезащищенных детей. Это национальный позор.