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How Do We Say God?

How do we say God,
and why does it matter?
If whatever I do say
both is and is not good.

What is sufficient
to define a Creator?
The Sufis remind us
we face God each way.

How do we fix this
divine restoration?
To put back together
what anger tears apart.

Why do we want peace
and not just between terrors?
If God is our Alpha
then hate’s not Omega.

Why do we punish?
Our great hurts need healing.
How are we judging
those we have not yet faced?

How do we see God,
and why could this matter?
If health’s stretched out planning
builds more arms creating splatter.

If God is for health care,
and how could S/HE not be?
Then Love can’t be measured
in automated artillery.

Where is our rich soil
and how have we tilled it?
Or have we over-drilled it
for more blood and gore?

Why do we say God
and how does it matter?
For restoring Christ’s graced peace
sacred seeds grow together.

 

 

These lyrics more or less work with “Foregiveness”, by Susan Werner, on her The Gospel Truth CD.

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Broken Planting Oaken Tree

We have tree traditions,
still accessible in diverse backward
and forward
reforesting cultures,
of planting a commemorative tree
when a great and portentous series of loving events
comes to its untimely rest.

Recently
my middle son’s lifetime friend
decided it was time to travel with the starlight
and so he left us heartbroken,
trying to be happy for him,
and sad without him,
to become OK with his decision
that he had uncovered enough sadness
despair
depression.
His final vote was cast
and no one else was invited
to participate in his great transitional selection.

So, my son and I
will go into our messy forest
also known as the back lot,
where former residents have dumped asphalt roofing shingles,
and buried an entire breaking down garage.

If we were to dig deeper than necessary
we would probably find other mislaid treasures.
Shattered glass bottles and hearts
and open rusted food and toxic feeling cans,
and plastic of all dismembering colors
and ugly unshapely shards of angst,
but this day
we will dig only as deep as we must.

We will first visit a handful of oak babies
sprouting up under bushes in the side yard
and among poison ivy on the north side
so my son can choose which of these
will become Greg’s oak tree of new life
not beyond
yet still after suicidal death.

We will prepare this sapling’s new home,
digging a deep and wide welcoming hole
among back lot brambles of our thoughts and feelings,
then clear away potential choking vines and voices
now covering a clearing
surrounding trees have left
just right enough for a growing Greg
Large shade tree
to hug my son’s grandchildren,
and their Greg the OakTree loving children.

Then we will uproot our chosen new life tree
with reverence
and baptize her future MotherTree roots
of sacred fertility,
and as we sprinkle holy compost
to shade her vulnerable transparency to shaded light,
we will sing our allegiance to gratitude
for each life created through Father Sun,
nourished with Mother Earth,
sadly smiled with sacred GrandMother Moon,
sprinkling sounds of thanks
for each day
of each life
this oak tree,
as Greg,
will continue bringing us.

We will read and look and listen as Jesus taught
it is ungrateful sacrilege to remain angry
about not having received more grace
than we could have earned with more generosity of time,
when we could choose instead
to give thanks for each day shared with us
doing the best we can,
to give care as we would continue to receive.

Our love for Greg
grows through this oak tree’s future shade,
and west wind protection
for all our future days of thanksgiving
and suffering lost loss,
security for our children’s
healthy and happier children
knowing
remembering
feeling
sensing
this canopy grown Greg
still choosing flight
with starlight nights.

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All Dancers Matter

Those who pray by marching
can pray alone
in endless competitions.

Those who pray while dancing
can only pray together
for timeless cooperations.

Hate and fear can only angry march
side by competing side
in uniformity of lock-step supremacy.

But love and compassion
can also truth and beauty dance
and sing
in full hope octaves
of multicolored harmony.

Resonant solidarity of ballrooms
and street performers
singing and chanting and drumming
good news gospel resonance
rather than bad news mono-marching hate.

We can sing and dance cooperatively
to angry patriarchal elitist marchers
more effectively than merely speak in not-kind shout,
and across,
and back and forth,
flow anthems up and out of all inclusive love songs.

This singing dance can,
with enough harmonic polycultured voices,
become sustained ego-happy filibusters
through marching hate,
marathons of love
proactively singing and dancing
alongside those marching through dualdark fear and anger,
inviting them to rejoin
our dancing gospel choir.

For every hate-mongering military march,
we have thousands of love-mentoring lyrics,
and,
therefore,
potential dancing lyricists.

Anger and marching paranoia are mutually competitive
double-binding allies,
as are love song and grace of dance mutually harmonic.

We can choose to march and shout ourselves apart,
but we would more democratically,
and gracefully,
prefer to dance and sing our cooperative ways together.

Those who pray while dancing
can only pray together
for timeless cooperations.

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Sweet Revenge

Greatest revenge
perhaps to become even.

Becoming even
to love what and whom Earth has given
and taken,
will give and take,
until we are each even.

Only wonder and no worries
about which gender you are and are not
or prefer to verge and submerge with and without
or even if you prefer them all
evenly
eventually.

Warmest wise investment
perhaps love within and between such events.

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In Season And Out

In and around Auschwitz
Barbed wire still weeps
through too long denied rain.

In and around Annihilation
Denied climates fast creep
toward pathology’s pain.

Through surrounding Anger
Charged hate denies sleep
for those who must explain.

In tyrannic Acid
Barbed boundaries sweep
out lies of monstrous strain.

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Integrity of Empathy

Why need we insist on a difference
worthy of significant notice
between universal empathy
and uniting trust in co-relational health?

Whose interests,
economic and/or political,
are served by severing
external face of nature’s intelligent form
from integrity’s internal spirit of regenerate function,
co-empathic trust,
or whatever unlanguaged choices our insides inductively feel
and then deductively-reductively,
yet trustingly,
think feel right
and true,
and good,
and rationally balanced?

How could universal Yang’s empathy
not include unitarian Yin’s integrity of regenerative trust
in DNA’s and older RNA’s decompositional holonic mirrors
of enthymematic fertile rememory?

Why would ought else feel and sound and think
as antipathic negative powers of dissonance,
anticipating chronic ecopolitical paranoia,
vulnerable to further sociopathic condemnation,
exacting higher educational and parenting standards
for ever more fear and anger management?

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Outrageous Raves

I doubt the opposite of bliss
could be hate,
for bliss blinds synaptic
and fast-fades ephemeral,
as if it too soon
had never been.

Hate broods and breeds
festers and feeds
on past angry memories
fading forward future fears
of empty echoing
hot flowing paranoia
feasting on should have beens,
could have becomes,
if not for ruinous mortality.

In life’s end,
defeat,
in our beginning,
terror of relentless terror.

No, I sense the opposite of bliss
is rage,
blindingly synaptic,
fading back to slow-burning distrust
of life’s long-suffering challenges,
anthro on anthro.
At least, I cannot recall rage
about the weather,
or mosquitoes,
or even swarming bees.

Rage,
contrasted to more generic angry fear-filled panic,
overpowers even Earth’s transpeciating terrors
then fades back
as if it had never been
any more than hyperactive mistrust,
unsafely harbored in swarming seas of dissonant stress.

Blissful rave through hateful rage,
Earth’s vast embodied stage
for feelings flowing like light and dark clouds
before sun and star light’s constant transparent witness,
waiting for emotive multicultures to learn balance,
like midway infants
learning which operatic brights
bring bliss
which bring rage
and what will outrageously radical raves feel like
to timelessly sustain,
living full-stretched balance.

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