Non-slip socks

 Home again, home again.  Jiggety jig.  We all have things that are our own particular challenges.  It is tempting to want to trade mine for someone else's.  Now I know, however, that I have a seizure cat.  I knew about dogs, but it never occurred to me that the large gray furry cat had it in him.  I am grateful for him and grateful I am home again.

I knew yesterday

Was not good for going anywhere

So I ended up in Emergency

With the nurse my daughter had

Months ago

And hated.

On the neurology unit

 They gave me

Non-slip socks

Safety first they said

Saftety first.

I am home now with the cat

He is glad for my return.

He could market himself

As a seizure pet

Waiting for the next shoe or sock

To drop.

He could market himself

That way

Unless he goes sound asleep in the sun

Like now.

Uncaged (for Maya)(and for me)

For Maya Angelou.  May she rest in peace and rise in glory.

Against the odds

You made them into

Evens.

Rewrote

Then rewrote

The rules again

Then rose

And rose again

Singing

Always singing

And now,

Whatever cage held you

(we all have cages)

Whatever cages held you

Those cage doors

Have been flung open

And you

You are completely free

To sing

To fly

To rise and rise again.

Therapist dream

It's amazing who shows up in dreams.  What's perhaps even more amazing is how the anti-depressant works, even when three unscheduled clients show up at once, and the Bishop walks through.

Last night

Three clients appeared

At once.

Oh, my bad

I said

Even though I had only one client

In my appointment book

And that one

Was none of the three

Who showed.

My bad

I said

Even though

I never use that expression.

Let’s reschedule

I said

With all three grouped

In my office

But not the one I knew

Might arrive

Any minute.

Then the Bishop arrived

To make himself a cup of coffee.

I could tell

He wanted me to introduce him

To the three assembled.

I didn’t.

There are,

After all,

Rules of confidentiality.

Availability

My beloved and I are hanging out in the Dells in order to be available, just in case.  We drove around the area last night and discovered a lot of land for sale, beautiful land for sale.  We also discovered that we are staying relatively close to the International Crane Foundation, a place we will revisit this trip.  Maybe Baraboo will even have a fruit plate for me to eat.

We are in the Dells

For Memorial Day

Available

Amidst the winding overgrowth

Of accommodations

Waterparks

Carnival food

Even an outlet mall.

We are In the Dells

Available.

We scan the maps

For things to do

Until tomorrow morning.

I seek a fruit plate.

Three hundred acres,

A mile of river front

Is available for sale

Just outside town.

We will visit the cranes

This afternoon.

We are in the Dells

Available

Just in case.

We are surrounded

By carnival food

And waterparks.

I seek a fruit plate.

Recovery

This got me thinking.  We are all recovering from something, or some things.

He described himself

As a Recovering Quaker,

An amazing thing,

It seems to me,

From which

To recover.

I guess it depends

On perspective.

I guess anything

Can be named

Dictator,

Even the Spirit.

Upfront and personal

Today is a splendid day, sunny and the exact perfect temperature.  I awaken knowing the job I interviewed for yesterday is not for me.  The temptation is to wait until either I have to turn them down, or they turn me down.  Upfront and personal, I am a chickadee, plain and simple.  Today I write the letter.

I rejoice in this day.

The chickadees pretend

To be phoebes

In distant trees.

When they show

Up front and personal

Their act dissolves

Back Into reality.

I rejoice in this day.

This is the day

Of my daughter’s prom.

She does not pretend to be

Anything different

Than herself.

I wish I had learned this

Earlier.

I rejoice in this day.

At fifty-nine

I am who I am

Upfront and personal.

Today

I rejoice.

True North

Job interview this afternoon for a position which means I do not have to translate or offer apologetics for being a priest, first and foremost.  I am looking forward to the interview to find out if it is a possible match to who I am and what I have to offer.

Sometime in the last month

Maybe two

I reoriented

Like a compass

Pointed west northwest

Back to more true

North.

This feels

More right

More true.

I am excited to see

What true north

Brings.

Longer beginning

Some days require a longer beginning.  I skipped the workout this morning because it would have meant too many morning transitions.  God willing I will work out later, after my morning meetings.  Now I write, drink coffee, contemplate the cat.

I stayed home to write,

Claimed a longer beginning

To the day.

Later this morning

I have three meetings scheduled

In a row.

All need me

Focused

So I am here at home.

I do one thing at a time

From my chair.

Now it involves

Coffee and writing.

This is my longer beginning

No sudden transitions.

We consider the day

The cat and I.

I write.

He slits his eyes,

The morning nap.

I slowly move on

To cereal with fruit.

White fragrance

I was the Wednesday celebrant this noon.  I rarely do this.  Today was John Eliot, a provisional bracketed saint.  We're trying him out.  I believe his final vote for inclusion in the calendar is at the upcoming General Convention.  We'll see.   Then... home to find a clematis I'd given up for dead with at least six blossoms, fragrant as all get out.  A scan around the yard finds three more clematis I'd given up on, leafing out to beat the band.  It must be the year of the clematis.  Who knew?

I come home

From celebrating a bracketed saint

He has one more vote to go

Before he makes

The semi-official list.

I come home

Find the fragrant white clematis

Clings to the burning bush.

I gave it up for dead

Last year.

Two leaves

Then nothing.

Now

It is finally time

For garden twine,

Time to trim back

The burning bush,

Give white fragrance

Free reign.

La Brea Tar Pits

I have long been fascinated by the La Brea Tar Pits, all the animals preserved in the asphalt, long ago dead, but perfectly preserved.  I think we all carry some version of a tar pit, memories, things unsaid, things which can't be considered until they rise to the surface.

I probably

Have many things to say.

They have gone unsaid.

They allow me to think

If you only knew

This

This one thing

You could not possibly

Care for me

The way you do.

These things

Now

They rise to the surface

One at a time

Beg to be said out loud.

I never really quite know

What is down there

Until they rise

Like centuries-old animals

Intact

Preserved in asphalt

From my own

La Brea Tar Pits.

I have many things encased

Intact

Preserved

Down there

Centuries-old creatures.

They rise from the goo.

Juxtaposition

I continue to wonder at the way God works to place the exact right people in my path.  I would never have been able to plan it this way.  In fact, I had no idea these were the people I needed to see.

Another day

Experience aligns

To place the exact right people

In my path

Oh good

Says one

I wondered where you were

Says another

Oh there you are

Says yet one more.

A new client appears

At the wrong door,

Is retrieved by the person

Running an errand

Downstairs.

I often wonder

How these things work.

This is yet another day

Experience aligns,

Places the exact right people

In my path.

Oh there you are

I say

There you are.

Trinity (sort of)

A friend read me his Trinity sermon.  It got me thinking in new directions.  Good sermons... do that.

Yesterday

We began the weekend

Of the daughter’s 18^th birthday

The age of majority

Rates at least three days

If not an octave

Perhaps a novena.

A friend wrote his Trinity sermon

It named the importance

Of naming at least three options

For everything.

Yesterday was the birthday

With friends

Today is the birthday

With family

Tomorrow has yet

To be named.

For what it's worth

I have gradually figured out that I was trying to change vocations, when the vocation as priest has been central all along.  The letters after my name do not matter.  I will keep the CADC because it allows me to maintain liability insurance and signals my interest in assisting those struggling with a range of addictions.  Even though the addictions field has more letters than any other.  I mean: IAODAPCA  (really).  I even know what each letter stands for :).  For what it's worth.  And this is worth a lot. 

For what it’s worth

And it seems worth

A lot

I find myself

Subtracting

And subtracting

Letters after my name

So the letter politicians

Cannot claim me,

Decide my place

In the system of mental health.

I have reclaimed the Church

As my primary home

Its letters and substrates

Its seeming silly ways

To rename basements

And vestibules

Its way of determining

Every single person

A Child of God

No matter what diagnosis

The letter politicians claim,

No matter what.

For what it’s worth

And it is worth more

Than I could ever ask

Or imagine.

The woman on my wall

I have written about her before... the Inuit print of the Woman Who Went to the Moon.  I often see her when I meet with clients, there on the wall above the gray sofa.  She stands on the moon with her arms outstretched.  She looks like she is celebrating Eucharist.   Today I think she is.

The woman on my wall

Holds her arms in wait

For the world.

She stands there

In the silence of outer space

Stands on the moon

Waits to see

If anything changes

Holds her arms outstretched

As if to embrace the world

She sees.

From the world I see the moon.

Sometimes it seems

I can hold it

In the palm of my hand

Sometimes I think I see

The woman pictured on my wall

Waiting.

Released

I began writing this for my friend, Matt Gunter, now bishop of Fond du Lac.  I was saddened when he left St. Barnabas because he was one of a very few colleagues who understood my call to be a mediator in this beloved Church of ours.  Now he has been released to be a bishop to the North and beyond.  And me?  I have been released to stay here.  

My friend has been released

To a wider audience.

It seems I have been released

As well,

Released to hear more

One thing at a time

An almost cloistered life

Hidden

In this blooming burgeoning world

Still

Not hidden quite.

I am a goldfinch

Among the dandelions

I pay attention to each

Yellow bloom

Move on to the next

I am released into life

Almost

A cloistered life

But still not hidden

Rather released

As much as my friend.

Assessment

Assessment always seems to include extra variables.  This time it's allergy season.

In the midst

Of profound allergies

How can I tell

Whether this particular dose

Of antidepressant

Is the right one?

In between sneezes

I assess my mood

Try on difficult conversations.

I watch the birds

In the backyard,

Take in

The pink of the crab apple,

The purple of the redbud,

The trees full leaf already,

Changed from spring

To summer green.

I watch the dandelions,

Remember the surprise goldfinch

Hiding there.

I consider ordering

A floral dress

From the J. Peterman catalog.

Is this dose enough or perhaps

Too much?

Full

My beloved got me a card with a picture of a deserted atoll in the South Pacific.   My daughter got a card which said we looked alike (except of course we don't, she said).  Life in this family is full in ways I can't quite describe.  I don't believe it could be more full than this.  I am content.

Today is full of

Just right things

Perfect crepes for brunch

With my daughter

And beloved,

After a worship service

With bigs and smalls,

Young and old.

No Mother's Day speeches

And now naps

All the way around.

Goldfinch

Wonderful surprise among the dandelions.

Making morning coffee

I slide open the back doors

See the dandelions move

Bright yellow

No breeze.

A bird emerges

Goldfinch the exact same color

Of dandelion.

Does he know he matches

The flowers?

Does he know dandelions

Are his ideal camouflage?

Does he know he is the first goldfinch

Of my spring?

Oh so fine

Lunch this week with friends.  They asked questions I could not answer.  I am aware that I am in the midst of reclamation of things I had put aside for some time, and subtraction of things somehow extraneous.  Perhaps I have always been doing this.  Perhaps this is a piece of what it means to be human.  I rather like that thought.  Perhaps I have been doing what I was called to do all along.

Doors and windows wide open

The world intrudes

Cardinals

Dogs

Trains

The occasional airplane

Overhead

Distant cars from the Elgin-O’Hare:

It originates

In neither place.

Doors and windows open

The breeze blows through

Slightly chilly but oh

So fine.

I claim back

What I must,

Continue subtraction of all

With no internal sense

Or sensibility

Until what remains is clear

Then

Clearer still.

It blows through

Slightly chilly, yes,

But oh

So fine.

Blooming greening world

Rather amazing. It feels as though this happened overnight.

The blooming greening world

Decided yesterday

To believe the temperature

The humidity

The rain wandering through

The blooming greening world

Appeared today

In almost full leaf

It was waiting

For exactly the right time.

This seems to be it.

Visitation

I love the spring migrations.  TruGreen shows up at our door every year offering to kill off all the things which we love about our yard... the dandelions and clover, the patch of some purple weed in back.  We are the neighborhood haven for bees and butterflies and migrating birds.  We are a safe spot for the migrating birds to rest.

The back yard is full

Of white crowned sparrows,

A visitation

Of sparrows.

My beloved says

They winter here

But these must be

From the South,

Migrating through.

We listen for accents

To help us know

Where they are from.

Maybe they have a song

They learned in the South.

We admire this visitation,

Wait and hope

To see the next one.

Different and the same

Conversation with a close friend.  She says she is always three steps ahead of any therapist she has seen.  She says of course I am different.  I don't think so.  I really don't think so.

She says

No therapist

Has ever been able

To outthink her.

What’s the point of that?

I say

Why would you pay

For a therapist

To practice

Skirting around

Him or her?

She says of course

I’m different.

Of course

I’m different.

I have heard this before.

I will hear it again.

Of course

Really

Every therapist is different

And the same,

Just like every client

Is different

And the same.

Awakened at six

Truth be told... we were waiting for a reason to sleep in.  Our daughter was called to rescue friends in Indiana at six AM.  So of course we needed to sleep in and wait for her to get home.  So we did.

Awakened at six

It seemed the better part of

Valor to sleep in.

Planting

I am almost ready to plant annuals.  Almost, but not quite.  First I pay attention to what the perennials are doing.

  

The clematis

Returns.

It begins

To vine its way

Up the porch pillars.

The rhubarb accomplishes

Its first spring growth.

The elderberry is leggy

With leaf buds.

Perhaps it’s time to fill

The planters in front,

The planter in back.

Still

I will give them

A few more days.

The weather carries hope

For planting.

I have had such hope

Before.

A few more days

Of clematis and rhubarb

I may be ready for pansies

In front

In back

I may be ready

For pansies.

Thaw

As I ponder the fact that I am thawing, the news story of the nine blue whales who died when they were trapped in the ice off of Newfoundland hits.  I wonder what is under my ice.  I hope for smaller things than blue whales.

TROUT RIVER, Newfoundland (AP) — The 60-ton carcass of a blue whale is rotting on the shore on Canada's east coast, stinking up a town and triggering fears that it could burst.

I am thawing.

I suspect

I hope

It will be gradual.

I suspect

I hope

No one will die

In the process.

God willing

There are no blue whales

Trapped in my ice.

No dead blue whales

To land on the shore

Of tourist towns,

Spoil the season

With methane bloat.

I am thawing.

No whales please

I pray.

No dead whales.