Resurrection Clothes

The Visit Beached in his lean-back chair   He sits reclin ed and staring into what   I cannot reach .   An introvert at soul , h e comes alive    W hen younger spirits enter , sit   A ttendant after banter in the circle   Discovering their own lives inside   His gift of weaving wings from spiderwebs     Memories of dialogs gone by   Characters like sibling stars   Intermingling until   A laugh erupts and bubbles from the belly up   U ntil it catches fire a round the circle   Fills and lifts o ff high    Into eternal elements.         Inspired by Mary Lou Kowalski's little book of poems and commentary entitled Old Monk, this is the first (and only, so far) in my hoped-for collection: Old Married.    

Transfigured, Transformed Jesus, just as You on the mountain with Moses and Elijah, whitening, brightening in the sight of those with eyes to see, were changed from inside out, that what was in your soul shone forth as light, called forth a burst of joyful pride from the One-Beyond-All-Form: “My Son, my focus of delight!” So are we called in this our ordinary life to shine, be changed, be light. As Elijah, so Elisha. As our Lord, so we, watching You with laser eyes, trained to see You everywhere, will be transfigured, be transformed, shine bright. And shining, move as You did toward the Cross, that light may burst across the universe as our particle ignites. 12/14/19 Inspired by the story of Jesus’s Transfiguration in Matthew 17:2 (and commentary) and the invitation to us in Romans 12:1-2 in The Message Devotional Bible .

Being where I am is such a long-forgotten skill but now I’m trying it again… in this body, here, and now, breathing this breath, cool and quiet, filling me, then pausing, holding still, then letting go, exhaling long and soft. And walking down the tire-worn drive between the woodlot on my right and grass and trees and landscape on my left, and beyond and almost out of sight, the county road, each step a balancing my body knows. And looking upward into trees, their leaves, their separate shapes, their variations on the color green, kaleidoscopic, mesmerizing shiftings in the bluest blue-sky breeze. And now attending to the sounds of katydids and crickets, birdsong echoing from trees, a car and my awareness of which way it’s coming from, and when it passes by and glides toward town. And catching next the grassy scent of cattle in a neighbor’s pasture, bringing back old memories of other homes and pastures, children youn...

Jesus Wept Yes, but before that, and after, You groaned, so deeply toubled, even angry, one translator says and as the word in Greek implies: embrimaomai (almost unpronounceable, the word itself has so much weight). You felt that, Lord, and You exuded that, so much that those who saw, and felt, could tell how much you loved Your brother Lazarus. Anger, then. A strong reaction to a death, but don’t we all, who love the dead, the dying know that anger at the loss? We even blame You, Lord, or Your Father, or Someone who “should have been there,” could have stopped this! Why oh why did this have to be? And then the weeping, Then again the anger. Why? We must let go, though, let You handle this. The grain of wheat must die to bear more life. You have ordained it so. The rising from the dead or nearly dead, is rare, we know. And therefore anger here, and tears. It is all right, we know: embrimaomai. For Bernie and Pollyanna, 6/1/19 ...