Choice

It seems I must still practice making choices.  I know... I do it all the time.  Still, just like every single client I see as a priest, as a therapist, as a spiritual director, as a consultant, just like everyone else in the whole human family, I must practice making choices.  Even me.  Just like everyone else.

He wants to make sure

I know

This is all my choice,

My option to sit

Even dizzy

In the therapy chair.

My choice to sit.

My option

To close my eyes

Imagine what I need

To give words to,

Think of what I want

To keep to myself.

When I leave

It is even my option to see

The great blue heron

Or not

The great blue heron

Streaming just overhead

An exclamation point

In flight.

My option to receive the sign

Or not

My choice

To write

Even this.

Fog

Foggy frame of mind.  And me... with it.

I am grateful

For fog.

Somehow it allows my own

Misty

Foggy

Frame of mind,

As if this is natural

Appropriate

Normal even,

This morning fog,

And me

With it.

I drive the daughter to school

We discuss morning things.

We discuss next year.

Headlights in the fog.

And then

She is out the door.

Sleeping in

I have friends who refer to God as "The Universe."  My beloved and I, whenever something fortuitous happens, like being given the gift of an extra morning of sleep, we say we are "fans of the Universe."  Somehow this feels less blasphemous.  Somehow.

The week spreads out

Before me.

It is a week

Of early mornings.

Already I think about

How I might pare it down,

Add extra morning sleep           

Somehow.

I prioritize.

My daughter’s doctor

Calls in sick

This means the appointment

I rescheduled to Wednesday morning 8 AM.

Can move back

To this afternoon.

It is clear the Universe

Wants me to sleep in

On Wednesday.

I am a big fan

Of the Universe.

Upper room

Meditation before church on Thomas Sunday.

Without closed doors
The miracle might never
Have been noted.

Hope

More Saturday morning dreams.  More church dreams for this girl who barely preaches anymore except from her counseling office under the altar.  I wish I could remember the words from the sermon.  But still... I woke up enfolded in hope.

I woke up enfolded

Like in a warm blanket

Like standing

In warm sun

With a spring breeze

Blowing

Fresh air.

I woke up

From church dreams,

A sermon on hope,

The best sermon

I have heard in years.

I wish I remembered

The words

Oh I wish I remembered

The words

But still I woke up enfolded

Like in a warm blanket

Like standing in the sun

A spring breeze blowing

Fresh air.

Hope.

All or nothing

I renewed my driver's license this year.  With my seizure history comes the medical form which asks the neurologist to check off a number of boxes, most of which he has no idea about.  He forgot to check yes or no next to mental illness.  If I'd seen it ahead of time, I would have done it for him.  Alas.  With the State of Illinois, all boxes must be definitively checked, whether the checker knows... or not.

The mental illness box

Was not checked

Yes or no

So the form

Was not complete.

How would the neurologist know

If I am sane?

Sometimes I doubt it

Myself.

It seems this is not

A yes or no,

Rather a perhaps,

Maybe a probably.

The State does not have a box

For perhaps or probably.

With the State

It is all

Or nothing.

High jump

Life has a way of placing hurdles, high jumps, long jumps, sometimes an endless series of stairs in our path.  I am grateful to have trainers (physical, mental, spiritual trainers).  I am also grateful to have learned, albeit in later years, to know and ask for such help.

We navigated

The first post-Easter hurdle,

Await number two.

Contemplating Easter

Life does not always carry with it what we expect.  The trick is to recognize Easter here... wherever here is.   Oh yes, we say, oh yes, even here the sun shines through the window, makes a puddle of light on the floor.  Even here the tomb is empty.

The blue and sun enter

Even such sterile places.

We have been here before

And know the life;

It permeates even here,

Maybe especially here.

The tomb is empty.

We have been here before.

We may be here again.

We practice Easter

Four days in

Hear the laughter.

It rolls like so many stones

Large and small,

from the empty tomb,

Even here.

Brevity

On this second day of Easter I woke up thinking Hooray!  Once again, He is Risen!  This was the day, when my children were small, we would go out on a walk scouting signs of new life.  This is the day that life begins again, no matter how much life has gone over the dam, under the bridge. Now is the time to take a breath... and begin again.

I preach short.

I have always

Preached short.

Even thirty years in,

When I preach,

My sermons

Are short.

Years ago,

An associate,

I always thought

I was asked to preach

Christmas and Easter

Because I preached short.

Now I wonder if I was asked

To preach

Because I left room

For breathing.

Perhaps sometimes

There is more to brevity

Than mere brevity.

Perhaps.

The Vigil

Alleluia, Christ is Risen!!

I sang to the Light

Even as my eyes

Faded in and out

Even as I lost track

Once or twice

Lost the line then found it

Again

Made up an interval

Or two.

Still I sang

It was mostly Mozarabic.

Then I sat with the family

Listened again

To all of Creation

And then some.

And then some more.

The dreams were grateful

Holy Saturday.  One of my favorite days of the year.  Love covers a multitude of sins.  Peter reminds us of this in the liturgy this morning.  Jesus is out emptying hell, even my private hell, even your private hell, breaking open hearts.  Jesus is out covering a multitude of sins.

The dreams were grateful 

I slept in 

This morning.

They supplied interesting things

To keep me in bed,

Add an hour or two

To the usual eight or nine.

The morning is bright

With sun.

Jesus is out

Harrowing Hell

Opening hearts to possibilities

Unknown

Unforeseen

Up until now.

The dreams were grateful

To add more sleep

To the picture.

Now my heart considers

The possibilities

For the rest of the day

And beyond.

As we all do

I find Synoptic Jesus, the Jesus of Matthew, Mark and Luke, more human, more believable.

Sure there was protest

In the Garden

Take this cup from me

He said

Sure

He tried to bargain

As we all do

But then He went

Willingly

Finally willingly

Then He waited

To die.

Then

He waited

As we all do

For what came next.

Window dressing

I have long felt it unnecessary to preach after we have read the Passion.  Instead I offered a few words before the reading, and offered a period of silence afterwards.  But really, as my friend offers, the Whole Week speaks for itself.

My friend says

There are so many sermons

Already

In Holy Week:

The entire story

Of the donkey and palms,

The strewing of garments;

The Meal

The foot washing

The altar stripping;

The exchange in the Garden,

The Cross

Oh the Cross,

The tearing of the Veil

Between Heaven and Earth;

Then the Waiting

Oh the Waiting

For the Stone

Rolled away.

So many sermons

Already.

Anything more

Is window dressing.

Wednesday in Holy Week

Continuing in Holy Week mode.

Nothing is scheduled

For today.

Most of the snow

Has disappeared

Only a small patch

Here and there

Under a bush where the sun

Hasn’t reached

Quite yet.

Another inch of rhubarb

Has emerged

Red and odd

Somewhat reminiscent

Of another world

Underground

While the grass sings

Its usual green.

Nothing is scheduled today

Except my daughter

Needs the car for work

After school.

I am home thinking

Of melting snow

Crowning rhubarb

Usual grass

The Triduum

Soon to begin.

Holy Week

Every year I think Holy Week will be different.  And it is.  And it's not.

I like to think

This week will be different.

It began with a pony.

Today I sit

In a different place,

Tomorrow yet another

Different place.

And so it goes.

Holy Week is always different

Yet somehow still

The same.

Seven years out

Of running Holy Week

(as if anyone ever runs

Holy Week)

Seven years out

Again I slip into

Holy Week mode.

It began this year

With a pony.

I know the story,

How the story goes.

I know the ending.

Thank God I know

How it ends.

High wire walkers

The squirrels are back, wire-walking, a sure and certain sign of spring.

Finally spring.

The grass greens

Of course

The trees bud

Of course

The tulips

Are halfway up.

But today I know

It is finally spring

Not for the green and growing things,

But for the squirrels,

Now again

They traverse the telephone wires.

Again they know

Conditions are safe.

The high wire walkers

Are back.

Finally spring.

Pony

Palm Sunday and the donkey from the last couple years was rented to another church before we got to her.  So this year we had a pony named Duchess.  Our family consensus is that temperamentally Duchess had Molly the donkey beat, hands down. 

The week began

With a pony.

She was sold

As a donkey.

But

The donkey from last year

Made other arrangements.

So the week really began

With a pony,

Palms and a pony

Named Duchess;

Palms,

A lovely pony

By the name of Duchess

And a parade.

The donkey will never know

What she missed.

Infamous

Halfway through my internship I had seizure number two and was carted out on a stretcher.  Two weeks later I returned to finish the internship, a bit more slowly.  But I finished by Thanksgiving. I have a feeling they do not talk about my brilliant clinical skills.

Yesterday

I earned six units

Of continuing education

At the place I interned

Three years ago now.

The people with whom

I worked

Were all there.

We talk about you

A lot

Each one said.

Of course they did not say

What the talk

Was about.

I have my suspicions.

I am famous.

I am infamous.

I am probably

The only intern they had

Who seized,

Fell and hit my head,

Left by ambulance.

Exsultet

St. Mark's didn't reserve Molly the donkey in time, so we will have a pony (or some sort of cross-breed) this year for Palm Sunday.  No worries... we have already reserved Molly for 2015.  At staff meeting I found myself asking about who would sing the Exsultet at the Easter Vigil.  Would you like to do it? came the question.  So the Palm Sunday procession will be led by a pony, and I will sing in the Light of Christ at the Easter Vigil.  A new kind of Holy Week.  We will see where it goes from there.

Lent this year

Has meant the recalibration

Of my brain,

The welcome

Of a new kind of spring.

It has meant

The recognition

That Jesus will ride

A pony this year

Rather than

The requisite donkey

In the Palm Sunday procession.

Lent this year

Has meant the practice

Includes the descent

To dark places,

The ascent to the final light.

This year

At the end of Lent

I will exalt the Light

In the Mozarabic tone.

I may figure

What Resurrection might mean

Even to the tone

Of riding in

On a pony.

Practice needs to be noticed

As I wrote this, I realized it is an illustration of the subject.  In itself, it is practice.  I'm sure something could be written which says it better.  Not today.  Today I remind myself, I listen to others and tell them what I notice.  Today I listen to Jesus saying: Like the tree, like the vine, give yourself more time.  Meanwhile: Great leaves.  

Another week

To remind my clients

And therefore,

To remind myself:

Practice

Needs to be noticed.

Practice

Is in the effort,

Not in the result.

The fruits of practice

Are not perfection.

The fruits of practice

Are found

Hung on the vine.

Sometimes they are

The expected grapes.

Of course

Sometimes little grows

For now.

Sometimes grape leaves

Are all we get.

Jesus famously said

Give it more time.

Meanwhile

Practice.

Music

I have the best job in the world.  Sometimes, often, the people I encounter even speak in haiku which sets me into a reverie of possibilities for the rest of the day.

She says she will know

Life is back to normal

When the music returns.

Compact in the sun

It has been years since I have lived with a dog.  Still... I remember dogs asleep in the sun, sprawled to catch every ray.  The cat, at least my cat, does not sprawl.  Instead he sits... content, compact, a meditation in himself.

The cat

Compact in the sun

Eyes slit

Paws curled under

The picture of peace

In the one patch

Of living room sun

A meditation

In himself.

This is unlike

Sprawled

Dog meditation.

The cat

Compact in the sun

Shows a different

Sort of peace,

Intensely one

With himself.

Lazarus

I have often felt that Lazarus was used a bit like a shill.  I know this is not the most faithful response to Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life.  Still... I see all the illustrations of a bound Lazarus coming out of the tomb, the strips of cloth hanging off of him, and I am irritated that John's Jesus deliberately waited until Lazarus was good and dead before appearing on the scene.  I do wonder how many folk were convinced by this that Jesus was who he said he was.  

Lazarus lay four days

In the tomb. Waited to prove

Jesus’ point.

Forcing forsythia

We had some moments of spring this week.  The grass is already greener, the snow gone.  There is still snow to the north and east of us.  My poet friend lives in Connecticut.  She resorts to bringing the forsythia indoors.

A distant poet friend,

She lives

Where snow continues,

Clips forsythia today

To force its blooms

Bright gold

Indoors.

She stands out

In the snow,

Cuts branches,

Reminds herself

Somewhere it is spring.

Somewhere

Like here

It is almost spring.

Rhythm on the side

Last night

I was invited on stage

To play

With the Rolling Stones.

I provided extra rhythm

Off to the side.

The Stones were all

My age

But men

Of course.

Somehow I knew them all

In my dreams.

Awake now,

I have no idea.

I’ve never been good

With the names

Of supposed

Famous people.

Last night

I could name them all

And offered rhythm

On the side.

Trying on possibilities

Spring rain... finally.  April showers... hooray!  My daughter's prom dress came in yesterday.  It is lovely and requires someone to help zip it up the back.  Today I try on more possibilities.

I try on possibilities

Like my daughter

Tries on dresses

For the prom,

Asks me to help

Zip it

Up the back.

These things

Absolutely require

Assistance.

I try on possibilities

Ask others

To take pictures

From the front

From the back

From the side

Look at pictures of others

In the same possibility

In the same dress

Figure out

Whether this one

Suits me

Or not.

Questions

It is tough to pinpoint why I feel so much better.  Except I do.  I am on day 5 of an increased dose of an antidepressant... but then... there are the crocuses... and lunch yesterday with a friend... and the sun.

Is it the sun?

Is it my daughter

Claiming a college?

Is it the purple crocuses I saw

Yesterday?

Is it lunch with a friend and

Chicken curry soup?

Is it driving again?

Is it the right dosage

Of medication?

What are the independent,

The dependent

Variables?

I never did understand

Statistics

Only got an A

At community college

Because the teacher was thrilled

With me.

So be it.

So be it.

Here I am

It is finally

Sort of

Spring.

Is this the right dose?

Is it the sun?

Is it my daughter?

Is it ducks across the way?

Independent

Dependent

Interdependent

Here I am

Such as it all

May be.

Crocuses

Almost missed them.

Teeny tiny purple crocuses

Hide

Almost out of sight

But still

Not quite.

They require a detour

From the usual path

Into the building,

Whisper their purple presence

From six feet away

(Here we are)

(Here we are)