all for the good

oh! those days of sweetness. yet nothing different in the particulars.
the same exertions, the same sweat, the same itches unscratchable.
the same drudgery. but a modicum of relative ease--the number of inanities reduced.
the luck of the draw giving me concern and empathy rather than derision when i fall.
the comeraderie of the workaday brethern sweet and simple and stern and mystical.
the sounds of a favorite song come with ease to my mind. and the gods retreat from their strangeness, put on robes of human gentility. and we quaff together under the stars of my imagination. cigarettes shared.
but then the psychadelic dreams and ultra-fluidity begin again and the gods their fiery unearthly aspects resume. and chords begin their denoument. but even that is sweetness too.
the last few dregs of my coffee; the last tiniest sip of my beer.
on a dark desert highway . . .

a better class of enemy

you've heard the saying that you can judge a man by the caliber of his enemies. i have decided to consider whether i will allow myself to be a better man. it is a serious and dreadful question. full of peril. but, in the end, there can only be one answer. to the bat-cave, robin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

my hand

see? i have extended my hand. and lo! the nations against whom i have turned crumble into dust and my generals soldier-knights collect the booty. and all shall then enter into the basilica and worship the true god. and those whose love for justice and for each other is pure, they shall i bless. they shall i make those whose works never fail, and whose lines extend forever.

9.24.09

g-dhead as undifferentiated, all-encompassing variety and potentiality. that apparently is the orthodox view from augustine to the psuedo-dionysius (or vice-versa).

if so, and if we are created in his image, then how is there truly an 'i' and 'thou'? when i bow down in worship of the ONE, why does the one, whom i respectfully 'see' as infinitely far and infinitely cold and infintely pure, flit thoughtlessly and irresistibly into my own skull? how then am i to arrange myself for worship?

what if the Jesu were to ask to be my blood-brother and grasp arms with me, and then pull me onto a stone altar and take my body wholly into his? what then?

what if apollo, that fore-image of the Jesu, were to become my lover. what then?

what if ploutos, god of plenty, were to slip into my spine?

what if the 9 muses were each to impregnate me? what would happen? what if.

9.17.09

pearly whiteness. expanses sweet and curves and trails unending circle back and across in joyful tearful wondrous deadly thrill.
bone-chattering mind-numbing jaw-rending neck-breaking.
i soar and fall and soar again. then stillness and blackness and star-reaching peace that forcibly fills me down to my toes.
and i hold on for dear life.

and then the train arrives.

9.16.09

everything is false.
everything is true.
the master walks upon the blackness in between these vast oceans of white and black.
and he slips not, else he dies.

the curse and blessing of childhood is a lack of understanding, but mercy.
the curse and blessing of adulthood is complete understanding, but none.

stray but a little, and the quest is doomed.

9.14.09

upon a sea of blue-black waves i stand. feet planted.
waves part around me and all is glass and stillness.
i look out to the distant sandy-dark shore. no one looks back.
i raise my arms, the gods look on with interest.
i look to my left, my faithful companion smiles sweetly, an encouragement.
to my right, my bailff looks sternly toward the shore, eyes never wavering.

and so down i bring my arms with crashing blackness rushing whiteness roaring vacuum of air.
my lungs freeze and my brows grow long and white.
it is done. but what?

9.9.09.b

all light and melodious ambrosia flows from the divine essence into the lesser iternations. and all dance. all rejoice at the exstacy of living. all rejoice because there is no end. the song for them is eternal. all their ecstacies are but a drop in the pool of their collective consciousness, which is as an ocean, eternal, all-encompassing. their love for us is genuine, but their minds are too great to hold us in their thoughts tooo closely. i am happy to be along for the ride, though.

god. you have my permission, such as it is, to do as you will. let they divine power flow througyh me, although it is difficult for a human to withstand your immensity. i fly, i float, i arise through the ethers to your blessedness.

when last i saw a flower
more blood and closer it flowed to heart and mind
and worries not had i
and time was inexhaustible, as was my strength
and the old and weak i pitied.

when last i saw a flower i laughed
for i was more beautiful and more puissant
for worries not had i
no lady fair need i woo nor child dandle
and work a future far away and amicable in its imaginings

when last is saw a flower i cried not
to see children cry or old men's eyes so weepy;
my eyes were dry, dry as bone, for my life and mind and heart were untrammeled.

when last i saw a flower i sniffed,
for i knew that armies and muscle prevail over such frivolities as petals and sunshine;
i believed in strength and i wanted some for myself.

yet now,

if i ever see a flower again, i shall be abashed
for my strength has seeped into nothingness, my heroes disgraced.
my dreams tattered beyond recognition,
and toil my only relief from the peace of hearth and home.

if i ever see a flower again, i shall weep, for i die, and it remains.

a shoe.

a shoe. a boot. a sheet. a shoot. a tree. a presence as wide as a continent, longer than a world. down it comes. there is no one to believe it, to see it, and so, i again am ripped from the tapestry of the world, and placed into his unbelievable nothingness; a ruby in a black box, a black box of black velvet and outside the velvet, precious woods inlaid, unreachable.

"Doubt" and "Certainty"

Just watched the wonderful movie "Doubt". I had never seen the play, so it was fresh to me. It was such a gorgeous, lush, taut, wonderful movie. Of course, every moment without Meryl Streep in it is a wasted moment, but I loved the experience so much.

What I loved about it was the transcendent aspect of Streep's character's certainty. Of course, this parochial school principal had years and years of experience in spotting sexual predators---she had seen it more than once. And she had the life experience to recognize that children are vulnerable, as well as little hellions at times. But there is more to Streep's "certainty" than professional judgment. And certainly more to her actions based on that certainty than professional ethics or even moral injunction.

SHE KNEW. And she had a conviction to pursue and destroy, or at least remove, the evil in her world, even if it cost her her job, vocation, her religion, even her faith. Conviction to complete an act, even when it may cost you your IDENTITY--THAT is a transcendent, mystical experience. There is no other explanation. When you HAVE to do something, even if it is costing you the basis and foundation upon which your own convictions is based---that is more than going out on a limb, it is cutting the limb off and hoping it doesn't hurt too much when you land.

And what I most MOST loved about Sr. Aloysius (Streep's character) is that she never, NEVER had a moment's thought of her own personal safety, never had a doubt that she WOULD pursue this man (no hand wringing, she's the anti-Hamlet), and never, never doubted that she would prevail.

I think anyone who professes (or is stuck with) a faith in a transcendant, personal and moral G-d should stand up and take note. Being devoted to G-d is dangerous--he will do things to us, change perspectives, change boundaries, etc., within us, and make us brave, even if we have no will to be. But, as Sr. Aloysius so winningly demonstrates in the end of the move, that doesn't take away our base emotional selves. Once the fire is extinguished, the sword carefully cleaned and put away, we will be wracked with tears, "doubts", and misgivings. But that is the flesh re-asserting its will over the spirit. At that moment, our weakness becomes a virtue, it is allowing the balm of gilead to wash over our tired limbs. Then, and only then, are 'doubts' permissible. All else, as Sr. so waspishly admonished her junior religious, is just "wishing it was over so one can return to one's treasured simplicity."

Sr. Aloysius sacrificed her peace of mind, her happiness and probably risked her sanity, by pursuing with rabid devotion her mission to educate and protect children. Being grasped by so powerful a mission is truly a grace--but perhaps not a grace to be asked for.

g-d created silence.

we created speech.

sometimes g-d likes to punch us in the gut and knock the wind out.


he must tire of the chatter.


when we are silent too, he smiles.

but he can take as good as he gives, so you can't fault him. much.

perhaps we began to fail as a truly spiritual civilization when we exalted prose over verse. and verse over song.

oh save me oh lord, for they mercy's sake.

every night i water my cup with my tears.

and uproot me not.

the discipline of spiritual emptiness

i saw a little tract once while a parishioner at St. Ignatious in San Francisco. It was all about the discipline of spiritual emptiness. the idea is that we constantly leave our hearts open, free, unemcumbered, not bogged down with thoughts, so that grace or the Lord can rush in when necessary to use us. I like that. And I never understood it, although I've come now to understand, somewhat, 10 years later.

we must list passively, on the inside, while the exterior self moves and shakes and acts. inside, we can be still waters, ready to receive god's bombshells.

lady of the sorrows

lady of sorrows, pray for us.
lady of worries, pray for us.
lady of fears, pray for us.

lady victim of violence, pray for us.
lady victim of uncertainty, pray for us.

lady queen of hope, pray for us.
lady queen of peace, pray for us.

lady of resolve, pray for us.
lady of courage, pray for us.
lady of wisdom, pray for us.

lady of smiles, smile on me.