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

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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)

prayer

Photo Brian Federle: Morning, Washington State, Aug. 2014


deep in my center

lies the
word.

it resonates
softly, it
whispers
in my ear.

its lover,
silence,
embraces
the word
like thick mist
caressing
golden
coastal slopes.

but this crude song is
a metaphor,
an anxious gong,
a poor imitation,
a mockingbird.

patiently,
the word
resists
all explanation.

it just simply
is.

(3 Sept. 2010)

Angeles

Just before nightfall

your new leaves

softly sway

in the cool delta breeze,

your limbs glint

in flames of

a deeper shade

where rough trunk rises

from clambering vinca,

to violet fire.

Oh! Dance with the angels!

Dance with Lord

of the Trees!

His breath will stir you to passion.

His song will lull you

to sacred sleep. 

(22 April 2012)

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 Obscure Sense of the Presence of God

Walking down a street, sweeping a floor, washing dishes, hoeing beans, reading a book, taking a stroll in the woods-all can be enriched with contemplation and with the obscure sense of the presence of God.    Thomas Merton. The Inner Experience: Notes on Contemplation.


I see how the evening sun lights
the high grass, trees shift in the gentle wind
and small brown birds flit between
outdoor tables as young women
reach for coffee cups
drop sweet crumbs to the rough sidewalk,
to the birds.  Intent on home-work,
office-work, they never look up
to see how the sky
deepens to darker hue;
how day will fade soon
and vermilion night set fire
to the seaward hills.

The west wind will finally drive them in,
and the grateful birds will all fly away.

I see how Your love lurks even in the weeds
that grow on the edge of the most
tended garden; hides in the cries of
the grieving mourning dove;
falls like rain in the tender,
moonless night.

(30 July 2013)

The People of the West Wind

Suisunes once lived

beneath the Twin Sisters.

Ascending beyond the vineyards and twisted oaks,

they still drift through morning mist,

and walk the sacred paths

of their fathers.

Guardian oaks still embrace the People.

Meandering branches lean low,

give clambering children

an easy climb

high to where acorns

fall in the western wind

to feed

their hungry

souls.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: 

The Suisunes people, called The People of the West Wind, lived for over 10,000 years in the area where I now live... but they nearly died out within a generation of exposure to European missionaries seeking to save their souls. They would have eluded the attention of the Spanish longer had they not given refuge to escaped mission Indians.  In 1810 several dozen of these gentle people committed  suicide rather than submit to the Spanish.

If you listen carefully in the morning breeze you can still hear their laughter.

Flow

It flows

over highways
dripping down
lamp-posts
through gutters,
pounding
storm drains,
filling
narrow lanes,
past dark houses,
past high-tension
wires, driving
through
constraining fence,
unfettered
it fills
the green hills
and rolls
through folding slough, past
low bridge and causeway,
ever lower
down to Suisun Bay,
unstoppable
like a swimmer’s blood
pulsing through throbbing vein,
reaching for Gate of Gold
to break free,
to become
one with
One.

(19 April 2011)

Out of the Silence

“Out of the silence, Light is spoken.” Thomas Merton

I walk

into the morning.

Birds

drowse

in the dark,

unseen breeze

strokes my 

arms, my bare neck,

as egrets

over the edge

of the meadow

rise

as the Holy Spirit

moans

in tones

of morning light.

(17 July 2012)

Oblation

Photo N Federle: Egrets in Suisun Marsh, 2019

Bathe me in light, with warm

water wash, submerge

my submissive head,

my face, my hands,

my wayfaring feet.

Oh, cleanse me!

prepare me

to walk

into your perfect

day.

Miracle

“Come, dervishes: here is the water of life. Dance in it.”
Thomas Merton

The night looked bad.

Waves towered,

clouds racing

across the glaring moon,

the sea pounding out

all hope for their little boat,

when a ghost approached,

softly glowing,

impossibly walking across the

wet way.

Terror gripped them.

They saw grim Satan

striding across the waves

to take them down

to his watery hell,

But Peter,

truth clearing his fearful eyes,

saw His face, felt His peace

and, radiant with surging faith,

joyfully stepped over the side

to join his beloved Lord.

His feet touched the soft water.

It was like walking

through shallow puddles.

Lifting his legs

he moved slowly forward,

when looking down,

dark doubt

sucked him under

legs first,

then waist deep.

He cried, "Lord, save me!"

and thrusting his hands

to heaven,

he felt the strong grip raising him back

to life.

(28 Sept. 2012)

Morning (Good Friday)

Therefore let me know trust in the feelings of my heart. My hope is in what the hand of man has never touched. Do not let me trust what I can grasp between my fingers.

 Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude.

Young grass

high and thick

drenched

filled to brim,

by morning sun released

a fury of green, trees

believing that golden day

will stay.

Persist, oh life,

in the cold of winter,

and beat, oh heart!

With tender heat

awhile yet

I breathe!

(6 April 2012)

Do Not Gaze into the Night

“We do not see the Blinding One in black emptiness. He speaks to us gently; His light is one fullness and one Wisdom.” Thomas Merton


Do not gaze into the night.

He is not in the cold wind
tearing at tender leaves.

No, nor does He live
on the mountain of thunder

nor on the crashing shore
where the surf pounds
time on rocks as old
rhythm itself;

You’ll not
find Him
in the piercing cries
of the children
of Syria;

but in your own
brilliant darkness
washed clean
by your tears

there you will find Him:
gentle, and full,
and wise.

(8 June 2012)

In the Territory of the Gerasenes

Image: Solomon Raj

From deep inside

I heard them,

howling hatred

lashing me with my own hands

gashing the rocky tombs

with my own bloody feet.

Late at night

they cursed and fought

deep inside

my aching skull.

I was their prisoner,

and they were many…

But then I saw Him by the lake

and my soul leapt

even as Legion arose

as with my ragged voice they raged,

“what will you do to us?” 

but my soul cried louder,

“Save me!” 

Hearing us both,

He drove the dark spirits

from my unclean breast

and into the beasts….poor swine.

Madness cast them

into death’s deep pit….

but I could hear only

silence.

Peace

filled me.

My hand moved

only when I commanded,

and what my eyes saw

I clearly viewed.

The people of the village

fearing a man who could

compel demons,

begged Him to leave.

Blind fools!

If only they could see Him

as I do.

As he was going, I begged to go too

and stay forever in the light

of his face.

But this grace

was not

for me alone…

He told me to go

and proclaim without fear

how His love saved me

from my soul’s dark night,

and led me here,

into paradise.

(18 Feb 2013)

Transfiguration

This stained glass window can be seen inside of 

St. Peter the Apostle Church, 179 Baldwin Road, 

Parsippany, NJ, USA. 

Website: www.saintpetertheapostle.org/

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From this holy height,  

I gaze into
my Father’s eyes.

His fire scorches

my trembling flesh,

and fills my soul

with sacred breath.

In joyful flames

I suddenly see

I never was

what I appeared to be.

(25 February 2013)

Chemin de Jerusalem

“Openness is not something to be acquired, but a radical gift that has been lost and must be recovered.’ Thomas Merton

I walk slowly seemingly without aim or direction, gaze down to flowering tiles, waver, feel lost, yet see the way leads always to the center

(22 June 2012)

Who I Am

“To say that I am made in the image of God is to say that love is the reason for my existence, for God is love. Love is my true identity. Selflessness is my true self. Love is my true character. Love is my name.”   Thomas Merton. New Seeds of Contemplation

Through bone-wrapped eyes, through murky vitreous,
through matter grey, lightning emotions flying
at the speed of light through my
tunnel vision, I focused on what was
just beyond the
end of my
nose.

I did not create that small voice
singing sweetly in
my ringing
ears;

but just before dawn, fingers numb,
hair disordered by the
western breeze
blinding
me
to Your love,

I heard Your voice!

Now the warmth of morning
cradles me
like
open hands.

Now I know
who I am.

(24 May 2012)

Ascension

“Deep contemplative silence communicates prayer.” Thomas Merton

Your voice

sings

words 

suspended

mid-flight

like apples 

falling

in a 

dream.

I hear

my soul

breathing,

ascending

to your

voice.

(11 Aug. 2012)

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!

Intricate Psalms

Photo: Brian Federle, Sun in Clouds, Hawaii 2016

Clearing the tallest

eve of the big house,

the sun overwhelms.

Then the mockingbird chants

intricate psalms —

All praise to the

lord of the sky

and with glory

fill the land!

Eucharist

Caravaggio,Supper at Emmaus 

National Gallery, London

Walking through the dusty grove

we talked of death and empty graves

when a stranger suddenly appeared.

He walked with us and asked why we trembled so.

Amazed that he seemed not to know

of the blood and pain in Jerusalem,

we told him

how dark the day became, how the sun slid down

to shivering night

when, broken, our friend was placed in the cave.

Rebuking us for our lack of faith,

he explained how it was all foretold in the ancient books;

from Adam to David, the inevitable grave

insatiably claims

corrupt humanity

until now.

We heard, eyes cast down,

when at Emmaus he broke

our common bread

and looking up, we saw Him.

His face was blazing like the sun!

We blinked, and then he was gone,

but the bread remained.

(7 May 2011)