Figuring Out Life While Aging
With the silence of light in darkness,
with the yearning for tenderness
of an obedient child,
the compounding of grief
and relief
releases
comforting perfume:
scars and other gifts
that have awakened me
in a forgiving world.
—/
The delightful impermanence
of sunlit flickering shadows
shows me a path
out of the fearful
cave, out into
the blue-skyed green-leafing
world,
where storms can pass,
and living through them
teaches the beauty of joy.
Branches with green buds
in the early morning light,
swaying and sun-bless”d
-/
Through bare grey branches
I can see spring’s pink blossoms:
transient beauty.
-/
Ambushed by beauty -
the blossoming Bridalwreath
declaring spring now.
-/
Smoke rises
from the extinguished candle:
the aura lingers.
-/
With the ambivalence of March weather
I miss the weight of your eyes,
looking among stones
from the cairn we built together.
I go to the lake searching
for stones I can choose
to build my new cairn
on the foundation of ours.
Inspired many years ago by a sermon by Rev. Amy Persons Parkes
It doesn’t make sense.
It never made sense but,
I liked him, and more -
I felt complete, listening
to him, being
with him.
I didn’t like the other followers so much,
Maybe Mary and a couple of the quieter ones,
but Peter’s constant blustering and posturing,
his wild swordplay and then, after the arrest,
his noisy denials, distancing himself from the teacher,
even as he died.
He was dead. I saw that. With the women.
He bled.
The women followed his broken body;
I left.
I wandered, lost.
I walked
and walked.
My thoughts, thick and chaotic,
roiled and battered me,
but I couldn’t forget
him.
It never made ‘sense’;
there was no logic or plan but
when I was travelling with him
it felt right.
Sometimes, I even liked Peter.
After I found myself walking
toward Jerusalem again,
I remembered
I’d left my bag in the upper room.
I needed my stuff. I needed to leave.
They were still there.
I could hear them before I got up the stairs;
they sounded excited, even happy.
I could hear Peter’s voice rising about the rest,
and I was furious.
I opened the door.
They turned and all laughing and yelling:
“He’s alive! We’ve seen him.”
What idiots! I saw him die while they were hiding.
I saw the nail-marks,
the wound in his side,
his body’s release
and collapse.
I saw his blood stop.
I told them that and rushed away,
choking on their words, their joy.
I remembered his stories of being in the desert,
And went there to pray.
I remembered him, and his stories,
his tolerance of Peter and the other jostling ones.
And I still needed my bag.
On the Sabbath, I went back.
They were there again, quieter
but joyful. They
welcomed me.
My heart opened.
Then, beyond sense,
He is here.
A voice speaking my name;
out a dark window, the shining moon:
small joys.
Matthew 4:1-11
The courage of grocery shopping
among stones,
in times of hunger.
The courage of refusing a parachute
near the map’s edge,
while demons wait.
The courage of letting go
not paying ransom
for all wishes granted,
All these are our daily tasks.
When does death begin?
Before the last breath,
at the diagnosis,
when the symptoms reach consciousness?
A trip and fall in old age,
a desolate, desperate plunge,
as the car skids
on an icy road?
With childhood illness,
at the first breath,
when the sperm
lands on the waiting egg?
When eyes first meet,
as lips and hands touch,
with the grasping embrace
and thrust?
Death begins with life.
This cold house shivers and sheds,
waiting for me to leave
and find my home.
—/
Three texts before breakfast
and into the mist
of the climate change day.
—/
Golden willows on the hillside,
Swollen elm tips across the street:
Spring comes.
When words hide
in your mouth-mind,
charades speak.
– 2019
Sometimes confusion or an unnamed feeling
explodes,
lit by words bursting
into meanings
previously hidden in darkness and silence.
Rejoice:
a part of your brain has
new synopses
shaping your
Mind.
Learning Living 