Kitchen?

The hole in the kitchen ceiling has sparked our kitchen conversation again.  Yes, the construction folk will drywall the hole.  In the meantime, we discuss dioramas.

Yesterday they fixed

The bathroom plumbing,

Cut a large square hole

In the kitchen ceiling.

Rather hard

To ignore.

Once things get started

It*s difficult to ignore

The undone pieces,

Particularly

The large square hole

In the ceiling.

At dinner last night

We thought to make it 

A PVC pipe shadow box,

Title it something creative

Like Plastic in Process,

Rather like the dioramas

We used to make

In grade school.

Top down

There is most often an order to things.  The trick is to figure out which order makes sense.  Sometimes it seems that the thing I most want to do (the kitchen, for example) comes absolutely last.

Now we work from the top

Down.

Silly us.

We thought to do the kitchen

First.

Thank goodness the bids 

Came in

Too high.

So we started

With the leak

In the roof.

We have learned again

To work

Top down.

The kitchen

Will come last,

Probably right before

We move.

Impossible things

In the mailbox this morning was a quotation from Madeline L*Engle (sorry Madeline... I still have no apostrophe) which spoke of blessing six difficult, problematic people before breakfast (referring to the White Queen from Lewis Carroll*s Through the Looking Glass).  I have always liked the quotation.  The time before breakfast, that barely awake time before the coffee has really kicked in, allows me to consider things which don*t seem possible later in the day.

Impossible things are more likely possible

To consider

Before breakfast.

My barely conscious brain

Hardly knows

Which end is up

Or down

Or sideways.

This is the best time to write,

Newly awakened

The plate of impossible things

On the breakfast table

With the morning coffee.

Me and the White Queen

Clink our juice glasses.

We consider

Impossible things.

Jaws

Today is acupuncture treatment #3.  Already I have learned new things by paying attention to new things.  It seems I store tension in my jaw.  Jaw exercises have not been part of visits to the physician or therapy or working out twice a week.  Maybe the dentist might have said something, but I don*t grind my teeth at night, so probably not.  It*s not a surprise that blocked ears and blurry eyes might have some relation to tense jaw. It*s all connected, after all.  Meanwhile, I open and close my mouth like a fish, and remember that a smile might be therapeutic to me, as well as those I encounter.

Already I learn new things:

It seems the tension in my jaw

Contributes to blocked ears,

Blurred eyes.

When I exercise my jaw

By smiling,

Whenever I remember

To smile,

The world lightens

My ears clear

The blur that still remains

Softens to new possibility.

When I pay enough attention

To open and close my mouth

Like a fish,

Usually in private,

My ears clear,

My eyes

 Seek out

New things.

Realized dreams

It rained yesterday, all day... the soft soaking kind of rain, the kind we needed after day after day of hot and sun.  Sometimes a simple change of weather, even gray and rain, makes the next day look different, allows for new possibilities.

Yesterday

The steady soaking rain,

The gray skies

Made the green grass

Somehow greener.

Today the sky bloomed blue

Still humid

But there are possibilities

Like clouds

They float and drift

Where the wind blows.

The clients I see

Every Monday

Find new hope

In the fresh washed grass,

Even the one who arrives

Skeptical

Every week.

Today she laughed

When I told her she deserved

Her dreams

Realized.

Sway

It seems it*s not only parents that sway by way of calming their babies.  I notice it sometimes in others, sometimes in myself, sometimes in the mentally ill.  It seems to come from somewhere way back as our genes were formed.

Years ago I stood

In back of a church

In Ypsilanti,

Baby boy in my arms.

I swayed

As mothers do

As fathers do.

It seems

An automatic

Calming sway

Arrives at birth.

The man in the pew

Across the aisle

Rocked and swayed.

There was no baby,

No wind,

No music.

In the pauses I heard

His whisper

As he swayed.

Now I think he may have been

Schizophrenic.

Today we stood in back

As ushers.

We watched children,

Parents,

Old people, young.

One woman swayed in the back pew,

New babe

In arms.

Another man

Two pews up

Swayed in rhythm

To nothing I could hear or see.

Now I wonder if there might be

A universal calming sway

Installed in us

From the very beginning;

If perhaps

We can re-calibrate our ears

Our eyes

Our hips

To rock from one side

To the other

And back again;

To remember

The sway.

flute

I have never been to Iceland.  Much less bought a flute there.  In three and a half weeks I fly to Scotland for a pilgrimage to Iona.  I wonder what I will carry back home with me.  I somehow know it will be beautiful.  I imagine it will take some time to learn its use.

I dreamed I bought a flute

In Iceland.

I figured I would learn to play

On the flight home.

I opened my eyes

As we prepared to land.

I had slept all the way

Across the Atlantic.

It is a beautiful flute.

I cannot play a note.

Still

It is a beautiful flute.

Still

I cannot play a note.

The upstairs bathroom

There are things to do over the next two or three or four years.  Our daughter will go to college in two years.  We are older than many for the oncoming empty nest.  The next step is re-doing the upstairs bathroom.  I remind myself that everything happens one thing at a time, even while I am impatient to get on with everything at once.  One thing at a time.  I filled the sink with hot water and added dish soap this morning, put last night*s dishes in to soak.   I planned to do them after eating breakfast.  My husband got to them as the coffee was brewing.  Who knew?

The upstairs bathroom

Is on the agenda

For next Wednesday.

The new parts wait

In the family room:

Boxes of tile,

A toilet,

A sink.

We watch television

With upstairs possibility

In the foreground.

Next week we begin

With the bathroom.

We fix the house

For the next people,

Two or three or four years

Hence.

Someplace smaller awaits us

Somewhere,

Two or three,

Perhaps four years out.

But first

The bathroom.

Woman at the well

This is one of those Bible stories that trips people up.  Questions around the number of husbands the woman really had and particularly the character of the woman in question, circle around.  They are as meaningful as how many angels dance on the head of a pin.  The woman did as Jesus asked.  Jesus offered her living water, fully knowing everything she had ever done.  Still... the living water was available to her.... and to us. 

The woman at the well

Drew water for Jesus.

He gave her

Living water.

Hear the proclamation

Of the woman at the well:

He told me everything

I have ever done

Said

With wonder;

Said

In relief;

Said

In full knowledge

There is nothing

To hide,

Because

Nothing is ever really hidden

Anyway.

Living water

Living flowing water

A river

A flood.

Hear the words

Of the woman

Who heard the words

Of Jesus:

He told me everything

I have ever done.

Recovery

As I was doing my internship at the halfway house, I thought regularly about this.  It seems to me all of us are in recovery from something.  We are all trying to find our way home again.  Hopefully we will be recognizable... when we get there.

We are all recovering

From something,

Slips and gaffes,

A long time wayward

Walk or slide.

All of us are recovering

From something.

We leave broken pieces

Along the way,

Gather in the bits and shards,

Figure which ones fit

Into our own personal recovery sculpture.

It will probably seem familiar

But still not

What it was before;

Maybe closer,

We hope closer,

We pray closer

To the original piece,

Kin to

The gleam in our Father*s eye.

The pulse of our Mother*s heart.

I*d recognize you anywhere

They*ll say

You have your father*s eyes.

You have the heart

Of your mother.

The gym was closed

Today we got all ready to work out, then the call came that the gym was without power.  We decided to walk the neighborhood instead, despite the coffee and newspaper allure.  I spent yesterday convincing clients to exercise.  Right.  So we took a walk to Turner Pond, past the corner house with the pear trees, past the house of the woman-who-would-be-mayor.  We put in two miles, then returned home at about the time our workout would have ended.  A morning walk.  Definitely different from the evening variety.

Today was a full survey

Of the neighborhood.

The gym had no power

So we stayed home

And walked

Instead,

Realized the trees on the corner lot

Are pear,

Not apple,

A fact not noted in our usual

Evening walks.

The morning light illuminated

The yellow fruit.

We passed the not-so-green lawn

of the woman

Who aims to run the village.

She finally dumped the black jockey

From her porch.

Now her house

Is politically neutral.

When she runs for mayor

We will probably still

Not vote for her.

The gym was closed

So we walked instead,

Took a morning survey

Of the neighborhood.

Now we wonder about the pears,

Not apples,

On the corner lot.

Now we wonder

Whether the woman will ever

Run for mayor.

Dealing

It*s one of those mornings, and to top it off, it*s Monday.  My 10 o*clock client cancelled, which means my next client is at 2.  My driver does not mind a slow morning, so we are both sitting and staring at the week ahead.  It is spread before us.  I wait for the tufted titmouse (yes, it*s a bird) to return so I can show my bird-loving husband.  I am waking up...  slowly.

I spread the week before me:

A hand of cards

Laid on the table.

My client this morning cancelled

With deep apology.

I have the gift

Of more time available,

Another cup of leisurely coffee.

I watch the dust bath

Next to the front steps,

Hope the tufted titmouse returns

As I watch.

I lay the week down,

Wonder whether it will be a winning hand

Or simply one

Where the cards line up

Just so,

The game changed

So a handful of twos and threes,

Perhaps a joker thrown in,

Is really

All aces.

Quitting

Two more conversations this morning helping people sift things and encouraging the bold step to quit.  It is not something that fits on a resume.   This is probably why I may never be hired, most anywhere.  Yes, it is most likely suited to a position on the edge of things.  

I am good at helping people

Quit.

There is no such slot

On a resume.

I suppose it is a kind

Of discernment.

Still

Discernment is so often named

In the positive direction.

No.

I help people quit things,

Hold hands

Give a shove

Create spaces

So God can work

In a more positive direction:

Find new space

For the woman

who coordinated coffee hour

For twenty five years;

The treasurer who could*t balance

Her own checkbook

To save her life;

I am good at seeing

Negative spin.

I know somehow

When things

Need to change.

I hold hands,

Give a shove,

Create space so God can work

However God

Will work.

This is often not

What employers

Want to see.

Focus

Part of the reason to try acupuncture was to get more of a handle on the blurry vision thing.  It is more than noting when I would feel safe to drive, and when not.  Some of the pieces are more obvious than others.  Heat and bright light bring it on.  Of course, like everything else, good sleep and hydration help.  And of course, less stress.  This morning, watching the birds along with the cat, I am focused and clear.  I am also grateful I never got the pot planted in front.  It makes the perfect dust bath.

On mornings like this,

Slightly cool,

I open

Every open-able door,

Listen to what speaks

At 10:03.

The cat slowly moves

To the door.

He listens to the sparrows

In the front,

Barely moves,

Slight twitch

To his tail.

It occurs to me

I can see

Perfectly well

At 10:05

As I watch the cat.

The sparrows take turns.

They use the planter

As a dust bath.

Now the cat notices.

He is focused

At 10:11

Ready to leap.

He can see

Perfectly well.

The sparrows bathe in dust

Only for him.

Acupuncture reflection number two

It*s funny.  There is some alternative medicine I will try, and some I probably won*t.  I grew up with a strong bias against chiropractors, for example.  I will probably not try seeing a chiropractor, even though I am 57 and it*s been a long time since I was a child.  Acupuncture, on the other hand, seems different, more open to possible change.  It also occurs to me we never know when we experience the placebo effect.  Probably a good thing.

A younger person I know

Told me yesterday

In a helpful voice,

With a virtual veritable pat

On my head,

I might gain a lot

From the placebo effect

Of acupuncture.

Perhaps.

Perhaps.

Perhaps.

I still wonder

About the woman at the well

And Jesus.

He told her everything

She had ever done

Or at least

She remembered it

That way.

I am aware I remember

Two particular things:

The attention paid to everything

I said

The attention paid to everything

I did not say.

Acupuncture: Learnings: a beginning

It occurs to me as I reflect on yesterday*s experience... this may be part of what I do in preparation for the pilgrimage to Iona next month.  Acupuncture is a completely new experience for me, though there is resonance to what I do as a priest and as a therapist.   And... I will probably get a white noise machine for my office next to the nursery school.

First off:

Attention is paid

To different things.

There is more space here

In this tiny office

At the back of a hair salon.

The chairs we sit in

Are exactly the same.

The white noise machine

Covers over the sounds

Of the aesthetician next door.

Now I know

What an aesthetician does.

The needles don*t really hurt.

The whole time I am flat on my back,

Knees raised,

The acupuncturist pays attention

To my body,

To what she hears

Or sees.

She tells me

At the end.

As I walk back to my office,

I remember the woman at the well,

Jesus telling her

Everything she had ever done.

I am suddenly

The woman at the well.

My vision is clearer.

New instructions

Today I have my first acupuncture appointment.  Why?  It seemed right.  It seemed there might be something I may learn about the blurred vision and dizziness with acupuncture.  I understand the loose clothing and eating lunch and filling out paperwork.  Not brushing my tongue???  Not so familiar.  I remember Naaman, a great man in high favor, who sent a messenger to Elisha so he might be cured of his leprosy.  His instructions to follow? Wash in the Jordan seven times.  I remember Naaman said: Aren*t my own rivers good enough?  (2 Kings, chapter 5).  Right. Me and Naaman, brother and sister under the skin.  I did not brush my tongue.

Today I try something new.

I will wear loose clothes.

I will eat lunch.

I will fill out the paperwork.

I will arrive on time.

So far, so good.

I will not brush my tongue.

This has never been an instruction

I needed to follow

Before.

It seems I may need

to hear

New instructions.
Then follow them.

Walk this way

I am grateful for family jokes, and thankful to Mel Brooks movies for this being a family joke.  It helps keep things lighter.

As I slipped and slid in the mud and drizzle

Along Roosevelt Road,

I thought about

One of our family jokes:

Walk this way.

We say it at home.

We say it

When we trip over the kneeler

In church.

We say it whenever we feel

Particularly klutzy.

Yesterday I said it

To no one in particular

As I could not figure out

Where the button was

On the automatic,

Easy-open,

Umbrella.

Then I said it

As I slipped and slid

In the wet grass

Where sidewalks

Should have been.

Walk this way

I said,

To the cars as they splashed by

Barely two feet away.

Walk this way.

No meteors

One of the gifts which comes with the seizures is an awareness of when the barometer is shifting.  Another is that my vision blurs when I am stressed.  I have a client diagnosed with conversion disorder.  I have to wonder, if we all paid attention to what our bodies are saying, whether we could all be diagnosed with some version of conversion disorder.  I believe God has some interesting ways of speaking to us, of helping us pay attention. 

The weather did not cooperate

Last night.

I*m sure there were meteors

everywhere

But here

They were hidden

By clouds.

The barometer shifted

All night.

I woke regularly hoping

For sky and stars,

The streak of meteors.

Instead I got dream after dream

On the hour,

Every hour,

All night.

Instead of the sky

Opening up,

I got dream after dream after dream.

They streaked through my brain.

Different lights

Entirely.

Darker place

What if there is a meteor shower and the cloud cover does not cooperate?  What if our darker place is not dark enough, with all the city lights?  I remember trying to drive out west the last time we had a comet to see, and we couldn*t get west enough of the city to see much at all.  This is when I*d love to live in a place where the Milky Way shows a full band across the sky.  I bet the meteors would streak abundant there.  Still... tonight I pray for the clouds to go where clouds go to sleep, and enough darkness to catch a meteor or two.

Tonight

We will seek a darker place,

Watch the sky

For streaks of light.

We will ooh and ah

Count them,

Then lose track,

There will be so many.

Tonight,

I think,

A darker place

Under the stars.

Still,

In the meantime,

I love the daytime clouds.

They offer a dimmer switch

For the sun.

But tonight,

I think,

A darker cloudless place

Under the stars.

I pray for the clouds

To find a new home

Where the sun sets

Splendid,

Stripes the sky

In preparation

For all

The nighttime streaks of light

Too many to count.

Don*t get me wrong

I think rescue fantasies are part and parcel of the human condition.

Don*t get me wrong:

I*d still like to be carried off

By a knight on a white horse

To a castle

With a real moat

And drawbridge:

It appeals.

Don*t get me wrong:

I*d still like to be swooped up

On eagle*s wings,

Rescued and somehow tethered

To a final resting place

Which gives me

Final definition:

It appeals.

Don*t get me wrong:

The rescue fantasy

Is always there:

It sparkles

It beckons

It looms.

Don*t get me wrong:

It still appeals.

Don*t get me wrong.

It appeals

And appeals

And appeals.

Still

It appeals.

And still I know

I*m not home yet.

Cooler

Finally... cooler weather.  My daughter starts school Monday.  It is way early (when I was growing up we started around Labor Day).  Maybe the cooler weather arrived for her.  It has been a very hot summer, and I know we*re most likely not done with the heat yet.  But still, I welcome coolness here and now.  I think and see and hear better in coolness.  

Today is cooler

With potential to walk

The small spit of the backyard,

Investigate the creek.

Today is to trim

The bushes.

Grown wild,

They have needed haircuts

For two months at least.

My daughter and I got our toenails done

Yesterday;

A small thing, yes,

But somehow large as well.

Mine are pale pink,

Hers more noticeably

Fuchsia.

Today,

Like yesterday,

Is cooler.

I see things more clearly

With doors open

To the outside.

A light breeze blows possibility

Through the house.

I hear things more finely,

The air conditioned muffle gone

Chip chip chip

A chipping sparrow is on the edge

Of the front walk

There is a background

Of cicadas.

In-between places

It is difficult to figure out where I fit, exactly.  Often I think the answer is no place, or no such place exists yet.  I find myself slicing off pieces to make the picture more viewable, somehow.  I understand this is not the right thing for me to do, or really, for anyone to do.  Really I*d like to offer the whole rainbow of who I am and what I have to offer in a language understandable to those who need to hear it.  I wonder what such a brochure would look like (and if it needs to be digital :-) )

I am not a fan

Of this in-between place:

The somehow-not -there -yet,

This place

Where I have gained

So much more experience than many.

I still try to give people I meet

Snapshots

For their particular

Photo album,

When photo albums don*t even exist

Anymore.

It*s all digital

After all.

It*s digital and

These pictures could never tell

Even the partial story,

Much less

Complete the picture.

It is a sliver of a slice

Of rainbow

Taken out of context.

Today I do not cheer

At this somehow-out-of-context-picture.

Today the picture contains something,

It looks like autumn light.

Today is marked

As in-between

Not-there-yet

The birds are massing early

It is only August

The light is autumn.

The birds know something

I have yet

To discover.

Poems drop

Different writings and poems arrive most mornings.  Some I subscribe to, and some are simply serendipitous, perhaps God-given.  Actually, when I think of it, of course it is all God-given.  The trick is to figure which ones are for now and which ones I might figure out later, when I*ve had a cup of coffee or two.  Sometimes I write pre-coffee, and sometimes something arrives mid-day.  

Poems drop

From the sky.

They shine through cracks

In the clouds.

I always thought

The rayed light

Must be God.

Poems drop.

They are in the pieces

Of rayed light.

They must be caught before

The clouds entirely disappear,

The light covers everything

Equally;

Then

The particular reflection

Is not particular

At all.

Witness to love

Having to arrive early to see my now-consultant allows me to witness other things... like this woman with four, then five children in the waiting room.  She holds them on loving loose tether, but still, tight enough.  She is amazing to watch.

The woman sits and waits

As I sit and wait.

She waits with two in a double stroller,

A bouncy four year old,

An eight year old.

As I overhear conversation,

Only one is her child.

As she waits

She holds a container

Of Cheerios,

Doles them out

One at a time.

She addresses each child

Individually

And specifically

And lovingly.

I imagine she waits

For the mother

Of the other three.

It turns out

I am wrong.

Her daughter comes out

With the therapist

Just before I am to go in.

The woman leaves,

All five children in tow.

I am amazed.

And I continue

Amazed.

The rest of the palm trees

I was afraid they had pitched the rest of the VBS palm trees in the dumpster.  No.  Now they are living in the church attic.  They await the next occasion.  I don*t know when the one in my office will be moved home.  It actually looks good next to my office window.  I can almost imagine living and practicing in the Tropics...

The palm tree

Hasn*t made it home yet.

It looks so nice in the corner

Of my small office

Next to the window;

Almost like it was made

To be there.

My office now has

A tropical air,

Aided by the tree:

Burlap bottom,

Scrunched paper bag trunk,

Kelly green felt

Palm fronds.

I understand

Its brother and sister trees

Now live in the church attic.

They wait for Palm Sunday

Next year,

Or perhaps

Another tropical occasions.

I am glad

They all

Were saved.

Palm tree

I missed the coffee hour when people made props for VBS (Vacation Bible School).  The palm trees were a sight to behold, not to mention the brown paper vines which hung on all the curtain rods.  I mentioned wanting a palm tree for the corner of the family room which we cleaned out when we got new carpet.  I thought they*d all been tossed or taken.  But no... I found a palm tree smack dab in the center of my therapy office this morning.  Now we just need to figure out how it fit in the car....

I found a palm tree

In my office this morning.

Now it sits next to my window.

It is left over from

Vacation Bible School last week.

VBS had a tropical theme.

The tree looks almost real:

Crumpled brown paper trunk,

Green felt palm fronds.

Sunday I looked all over

For palm tree remains.

There must have been

Twelve of them.

It was to no avail.

Today I found a palm tree

In my office.

It is six feet tall.

It will go home with me

To live in the family room.

I  do wonder

What the cat will do.

Change

My Monday volunteer placement is in the midst of change.  I am only here one day a week.  The change over a week*s time is noticeable.  I watch the various people and pieces make their way into the shift.  Client #1 today noted the change, even though I could not see anything externally.  Change, I think, is always in the air. Sometimes it feels good.

Change is in the air.

It eddies and whirls,

A new wind pattern

Every time the door opens

And shuts;

Every time someone new

Walks in

Or leaves.

Change is in the air.

Change is inevitable.

I sit at lunch and hear others say

Change is good.

I sit with clients

They would like everyone else

To change

So their personal script

Stays the same,

So everyone who comes

And goes

Eddies and whirls

Around them.

I admit this appeals.

Change is in the air.

It is constant.

Sometimes I even experience it

As good.

What is it?

Today was our turn to play coffee hour host following the 10:30 service.  It was also the Sunday those on the Mexico trip hosted a taco bar in the main hall.  Both at the same time.  I was sure no one would show for coffee hour, but they did.  And ate.  There were no cookies left, and a few grapes.  When we got to the taco bar, there was plenty of food left for us.  Not quite manna and quail, but certainly taco shells and chicken (and all the other taco fixings).  I*m sure this all means something, but I hesitate to name that something too quickly.

I stand in the kitchenette.

Again I wonder

Why I am here.

I cut small bunches of grapes

Heap them in a bowl,

Pour pitchers of ice water,

Lay chocolate chip cookies

On a platter.

Today I am coffee hour host.

Today the lessons are

Manna and quail.

Sweet resin covers the camp

Every morning.

Birds descend

Every night.

What is it?

They ask

What could it possibly be?

This is sermon number two

Of a series on John, chapter six.

I am the Bread of Life

He says

Unless you eat of me…

The disciples are confused,

Royally confused.

Here I am

In the kitchenette.

I make coffee,

Place goldfish crackers

In a bowl.

It is my turn to play

Coffee hour host,

Even though there are tacos

In the main hall.

I am confused

About all this food.

What is it?

I ask you

What could it possibly be?

Today again I wonder

Why I am here.

I am confused,

Royally confused.

I pour coffee and ice water.

Clean up the kitchenette.

I go to the main hall.

There are still tacos

Left over.

Impeded stream

This feels to be a time of waiting and noticing.  In addition to seeing all I have not done (in the backyard and elsewhere), I also see the lone rose and the catbird.  I almost hear the singing.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

                                                Wendell Berry, in The Real Work

As everyone else seems to do

End of summer things,

Last minute vacations,

I stare at the back yard.

It has gotten little attention from me

In the heat.

The fountain planter

Is filled with weeds.

They grow at the feet

Of the boy and girl.

They hold an umbrella

Between them.

The weeds are almost attractive

In their unplantedness

They grow at the feet

Of the young couple.

The hose lies

Anything but neat

On the cement patio.

One small magenta rose

Hides in the overgrown scraggle

Of what is still

A rose bush.

The drainage ditch beyond the back yard

Barely flows.

Sometimes it masquerades

As a creek

A stream.

It has many disguises.

Still

There is enough water there

For one lone catbird to find it

And delight.

In quiet times

Like today

I almost hear the singing.

Confines of freedom

I think it is easy to focus on what we don*t have, instead of what we do.  I cannot drive and find I am settled back into this.  Even though there is a car in the driveway, parked under the mulberry tree, its windshield coated in mulberry juice, I have come to think of it as a driveway prop.   It is blessedly quiet at home.  There is space here to think and write, and contemplate the boundaries of who and what and how I am to serve.  Here freedom is confined.  

Today I am home.

My daughter attends

A three day concert.

My husband is at work.

Tonight he attends

An evening

Men-only

Barbeque.

Today it is me and the cat

And the turtle.

Today the confines of freedom

Allow me to write

To think

To walk when it*s cooler.

There is a chipmunk in back.

He lives under the planter.

I do not have to share the house

With birds.

The boundaries,

The confines

 Of freedom

Are expansive enough.

Were I here a thousand days,

It seems

I could not

Exhaust them.

Letter police

Now I am listed on an official therapy website.  Ironic that it is the community college certificate which enables me to do this.  I use the LPC in my volunteer work, but not out of my office at church.  I have an official supervisor at the volunteer site, but the person who was my supervisor is now someone with whom I consult.  I am not marketing myself as a licensed anything.  I do counseling and spiritual direction and consultation.  For those who don*t understand the Sardines reference: it is a game in which the goal is for everyone to find the person hiding and cram into one location.  The game ends... when everyone is found.

Now I am safely listed.

The letter police cannot find me

Anywhere.

I have a supervisor

For my volunteer work

And

A consultant

For everything else.

Everything I do

Counts as something.

It always did anyway.

Now I use particular letters

In particular places.

I re-learn

The lay of the land,

The boundaries and borders,

The places the grass grows

And where it lies

Fallow.

This is a different game

Of trick or treat,

Or maybe

Hide and Seek.

I*d much rather play

Sardines.

(im)proper

Joseph of Arimathea is remembered today for one thing, really.  He took care that Jesus had a place to be buried.  He gave his own tomb.  No question about it.

Joseph took the body

I mean the Body

Jesus the Christ

Sarx and soma

Flesh and spirit.

The Arimathean

Used proper oils and spices,

Saw to the proper burial

Behind a proper stone.

No real question about it

For those who saw

For those who knew

So He could rise again

Improper.

Always and blessedly

Improper.

Find the right job

Even though I no longer believe in the right job, I still can*t quite bring myself to cancel this email that arrives in my box every morning.  I don*t even read it.


Find the right job!

The email arrives every morning.

It comes with a listing of jobs.

They are anything but right.

I do not open the emails anymore.

Still

I cannot find it in myself

To cancel

The every morning subscription.

It costs nothing

To subscribe,

Only a finger stroke

To delete.

One more email.

Months ago

It seemed good

To subscribe.

It*s not time yet

To cancel

Even though I do not open the emails

Anymore.

Maybe tomorrow.