we are not invincible

no cure for the cold
no remedy for growing old
no stability for aging bones
we are not invincible

the kingdom of God is on the move

6/20/2011. Encinitas, CA
the kingdom of God is forever advancing. it doesn't stop, detour or lull. it doesn't take holiday. it doesn't take weekends or vacation - it doesn't want sick time. it don't pause. it doesn't sit still in waiting rooms or linger. it doesn't get hung up on theology or wait for theodicy. it doesn't hide on election day, or at last call or in the midst of apartheid. it doesn't wait for me to wake up - though it's waking me up. it doesn't wait for me to get moving, though it gets me moving. it is always in 5th gear, burning 65 mph 'round town, around curved roads, 'round the heart, farming landscapes like a drunk.

she neither tires, nor stalls. i stumble out of bed in the morning, she's never in bed. never sleeps - wide eyed at 3 am in the white street lights. I have nothing to give. She's always giving. I need a beer and a wind down. she pulls me over for a sobriety test. hands me a cup of black coffee. she puts air in my lungs. blows em full, like a sail.

i start running with a tail wind behind me - in me, around me. "don't stop," she whispers in my ear. "not on long weekends, or in the twi-light, or when you can't move anymore. not at road blocks, not when the road dead ends, not at death, not even when you're in bed with the flu. don't stop when you loose, when you're loosing, when you've lost. not when you're broke, not when you're broken like a twig. not when you're last, not when you're past due. don't' stop. rest, be still, but don't stop," she says.

"the kingdom of God is on the move."

now it's a part of me

i keep waiting for the great American dream
to open up it's doors.
but they reman locked,
chain bolted.
maybe there's a way in over the back fence,
then what?
do i just become apart of it?
maybe i knock on the door,
and sell em some of my girl scout cookies,
then disappear.
now it's a part of me

Green Bay, Wisconsin

3/24

Whatever compels renewal - let it be.
whatever has force,
power over the broken human initiative,
melody to heal - let it be.
let the snow fall,
let the landscape crack,
let the earth grown,
let all things material & non, be new.
let their essence be quality,
improving upon lasting goodness,
opposing the dark night
of decay.
may the arteries of mankind pump, new
red blood in our souls.
may babies be born miraculously
in hospitable wombs.
may this change the course of our rugged time
with newness,
with the frankness of grace and improbability.
may orphans find a voice,
find a home,
find a meter,
and shape the contour of our existence
with struggle and resolution
despite the incessant plate shifting and warfare.
whatever compels renewal - let it be.
let it be now.

Miami Florida.

3/15

the valley of the shadow of death where Your rod and staff comfort me is the essence of life. all of our education about living and dying - breathing, about our needs and limitations comes from the low land of despair. without adversity, we loose what was established in the garden. us, in need of You.

i hear things

3/2/09 - San Diego, CA

i hear heart beats
in places that have no meter
pounds and thuds
choirs of singers
in spaces where no one can make a sound
a hymn is found
reverberating endlessly
in dark matter
in corners of closets
trapped within (fuzz in the pocket)
miracle over matter
minds renewed by the mad hatter
or what we call
the unknown badder
mixed with what we know and don't
science and fiction and both
things we can't even being to mutter
sound round
pound for pound.

28 days of phrase.

the old man is snoring. outside, his tears are falling from the sky and dampening our dirt - sand, whatever. i got sick this week and that slowed me down. i missed a few days at this, and then i started playing catchup with everything else. saturday is a good day for pancakes with the family and stillness. silence, but for the pooling of rain on grounds that cannot hold it. my world is at peace.

despite high competition from the first season of Friday Night Lights, i buttoned up the a chapter called 'the origin of appetite' in Lewis Hyde's "Trickster." We followed the "Trickster" through ancient mythology. Our mediator between the god's and man, He consistently used craftiness to steal particles from them (ie, fire) and hand them to us. He knows where the fat is and where the meat is. He ruffles feathers by taking the line of culture and eating the essentials right off, leaving the dangling, vacant hook. He knows his appetite. He hungers, like all vessels for rich food at premium costs, but he curbs it, because he's seen the power of the cavernous belly. He eats delicately to avoid the snare of desire and leaves the rest. He's been the glutton. His intestines grew accordingly to house nine miles worth of portion, they wrapped around him like a noose. so he knows his borders. He's like Jesse James. He knows when to get in, and get out.

it's a subtle awakening. a wake up call to assessment. What owns me, due to my allegiance by consumption? i'd like to pretend i never wrote that and go with my rainy saturday afternoon. after all, we are at peace here in cardiff, ca. but, who then, will be responsible for the levity of their thoughts?