In the public domain

Be prepared for reflections on the prolific author Anon and the equally prolific Ibid.  My beloved was sure for years, having encountered Ibid in the footnotes of a book on pirates, that Ibid knew more than anyone else about pirates. This morning he reminds me of Op Cit, the equally prolific partner of Ibid.  At least those things In the public domain roam free.

It seems to mean

No one will rise from the dead,

Haunt the perpetrator,

The one who dares to print

Reprint

Post

These words,

This poem.

This written thing

Could be scrawled in the sand

On the beach

Of a desert island

For planes flying overhead.

This could be spoken

In a speech to thousands.

There will be no one

To claim the words,

Only people

To listen,

Only people

To read.

These words in the public domain

Have found their freedom

To appear

Wherever they wish.

The way home

Ostensibly this is about leaving the creche on the front table for now. It's tempting to think that if the wise folk stay there, worshiping, nothing will change. Well, it doesn't work that way. Even when they take the same way home...even home is different.

The wise folk

Still gather at the manger.

Maybe they will never go home

By another way.

I contemplate leaving them

By the manger.

Still

Everyone must grow up.

Everyone must grow out.

Everyone must grow in.

Everyone must consider

Other ways home.

The walk home

By a different path

Means home

Won’t be the same

Either.

Heck

Even taking the same way home

Won’t be the same

Anyway.

Wednesday afternoon

Still working with limits. The office holds nap space for me as well, which in turn allows space for more to happen here. I never really know what's next.

The children are gone.

My head has cleared

For the next client.

The bent pine out my window,

Framed by glass,

Holds the snow.

My office holds the echo

Of children

Gone home.

Today holds someone new

She will arrive through the snow

To add to the mosaic

The office is building.

More limits

I thought I could work out today. I tried. No. I am learning to listen to the noes, no matter when they come. Sometimes I hear it in the middle of something. It takes more gumption to admit the no in the middle. I am learning.

Sometimes they are found

In the midst of trying

To stay on schedule

Then saying

I guess not

Here I am

Watching the world pass by

Maybe tomorrow

It will be different;

Then again

Maybe not.

Limits...

This is kind of, sort of, a haiku. It contains the idea of one anyway. Limits are meant to be paid attention to, but maybe not religiously followed. Yesterday I moderated the adult forum on forgiveness, then considered the 10:30 service. I heard it from a distance, talking with a friend in the library. Then I considered the annual meeting. This weekend was not a time for large groups of people. I drove home in the snow, happy I had done what I needed to do, happy I had considered the rest, happy to be home.

We all have them.
The question is
How do we live
Within them?

Labels in Ecuador

Delightful company for lunch.  New things to think about.  I like new things.

Today at lunch

I learned new labels.

Apparently in Ecuador

People are divided into three groups.

While US citizens

Are red or blue

Las personas de Ecuador

Are

Coast people

Mountain people

And

Jungle people.

So many divisions.

I imagine living in Ecuador,

Wonder if I might prefer

The ocean

The high places

Or even

The jungles.

I understand

It makes a difference.

So much more

Rich day yesterday... all around.

So much more of the world

Comes more clear

When I sit

In that small room

With its window to the outside world,

Its door

To the inside.

I hear the voices

On all sides,

Even from above.

I wonder

What I could possibly hear

Next.

Mr. Rogers

Today it seems I am channeling Mr. Rogers. My beloved tells me his sweater was yellow. Mine is red. Never mind, I say. We all do things our own way.

Sometimes sleeping in

And a warm shower

Make interesting things combine

As the day begins.

The bathroom mirror

Reflects back a woman

Dressed for her professional day

The red cotton cardigan sweater,

A favorite,

Reminds her of Mr. Rogers.

She starts the song

Walking down the stairs

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood,

A beautiful day for a neighbor.

Would you be mine?

Could you be mine?

Yes

This will be an interesting day.

She knows some of those

She will encounter

But perhaps

Just perhaps

Almost certainly

There will be others.

For a friend

I am thinking here of more than one friend. Somehow as the reflection moved on, more faces came to mind. I like it when this happens. Time to add coffee dates to the calendar. Time for an abundance of reconnection and perhaps, astonishment.

I like to think

Of you here,

Whichever here is here:

Hearing,

Reading

The exact same words

In the morning

Over coffee;

You watching your birds,

I watching mine;

You perhaps

Sitting In the pew

On Sunday

With your family,

I perhaps

With mine.

I like to think

We are having coffee

We are sitting together

We read

We hear

The exact same words.

Sometimes we meet

And are simply

Astonished.

Safe stop

Watching the birds this morning. The juncos. The sparrows. The pair of cardinals. I also consider a growing practice of clients. Sometimes they know where the seed is spread. Sometimes it takes a lot of pecking. They flock like birds. Sometimes one at a time. Sometimes in pairs. Sometimes more.

They flock

Like juncos

Like sparrows

Even like the pair of cardinals

(can a pair flock?)

Sometimes they know

Where the seed is spread

Sometimes it takes a lot of pecking.

They flock like birds.

I spread the seed,

Pay attention in every way

I can,

Move oh so carefully

So they don’t take flight.

Over time

With care

They become accustomed

To me.

They know I have seeds.

They know this

Is a safe stop

Along the way.

Anointing

I open the bulletin and remember this is healing prayer Sunday.  The first time my hands were anointed was when I was ordained a priest.  Today was number two.  I remember again I am a priest and hold, oh so many, in my hands.

He reminded me

Of who I am.  Anointed

My head… and my hands.

Question

Sitting with an answer I asked for. Trying to figure out what to do with it.

Sometimes I ask questions

That I’d rather not really

Know the answer for.

Jerky

I learned new language when I spent time with evangelical friends and colleagues.  A Word was spoken in capital letters.  It is way more important than mere advice.  A Word is something which comes from deeper places and simply begs to be chewed upon.

May I have a Word?

She asked

At the end of the session.

I knew advice

Was not what she asked for

Rather

Like the beef jerky

My daughter and I got

Our beloved for Christmas:

Six months of jerky

One shipment at a time.

May I have a Word?

She asked.

She meant for it

To be chewed upon

Prayed with

Thought through

Perhaps placed

On the refrigerator

For contemplation every time

The door was opened.

Reflected back

I never know what will come back.  I just know something will.  Even from Thailand.

I write,

Then discover things

Reflected back.

I write.

It begins a conversation

Ongoing

Ongoing

More than I could ever

Imagine

At the beginning.

I write.

It begins something

Somewhere in Thailand

(yesterday)

I know not how

Or what

I just know it has begun

Again.

Like me.

Today.

Winter gold

Waiting for the next glimpse of gold.

The trees transform to winter gold

When sunrise strikes them

Just so.

Ten minutes later

Stripped of royalty,

They go back to their disguise

Of black and white and gray.

I wait for gold again

Less momentary

More lasting.

I caught a glimpse of gold

This morning.

Trees transformed once

May surely encounter that change

Again.

snowflakes

Light fluffy occasional flakes against cracks of blue sky.  I could appreciate a winter like this.

These were windshield wiper

Snowflakes. A joy to engage

Inside and out.

Snow hats

This morning it seems everything got the same memo:  Wear your snow hat.  I am reminded of high school:  What are you wearing?  I am even reminded of clergy gatherings: Are you going to wear your collar?  This morning the memo was:  Wear your snow hat.

Before venturing out

I note everything this morning

Wears a snow hat:

The bushes

The sidewalk

The umbrella fountain

Turned planter

In the back yard,

Even the purple dog

Next to the elderberry.

Everything has at least one thing

In common.

This morning

Everything wears

A snow hat.

Bird perspective

We often have disagreements on whether to let nature take its course.  I think the question is like asking Where to step in the flowing stream?  Where is it proper to intervene?  Where to watch?  Where do we let the hawk roost? 

The lady in red

Is back feeding the ducks.

It snowed.

The ducks know

She is faithful.

We have a flock of sparrows

A few juncos

A pair of cardinals

Two squirrels.

They find the seed scattered

In our backyard,

In spots reasonably safe

From the hawk.

The hawk has taken

To sitting quietly on the fence.

My beloved shoos him away

Regularly.

He is just being a hawk

I say.

These are our birds

He says.

Diagnosis

She says she would not want to diagnose people.  I tell her people are not their diagnosis, anyway. She is not convinced.  

I tell her

A diagnosis

Is only the beginning of things,

A place to start,

Certainly not

The place to end.

There is so much road to travel

So much to find and appreciate.

A diagnosis

Identifies a bump in that road

So we can then

Plow through it

Leap over it

Sidle around it.

A diagnosis

Is not the place

To stop.

A diagnosis

Is the place                                            

To begin again.

How do you pray?

It was my turn to lead prayer group this week, so I asked the question I'd like to ask every person of faith I encounter:  How do you pray?  The answers came back even more varied than the group assembled.  The answers still echo.

The simple question

How do you pray?

Brought so many answers

In a small group

Even more answers, it seems,

Than the number of people present.

I hear the echoes even now:

Prayers knit with yarn;

Prayers held

While distractions are carefully noted,

Placed in a boat,

Sent away down the river;

Prayers numbered like the psalms.

Oh so many prayers

Oh so many ways to pray

The answers echo even now

They multiply

Some prayers even

Without words.

My finger runs the rim

Of my favorite mug.

It is momentarily

A singing bowl.

Wise men

The daughter put the wise men in the family room.  They finally arrived at the mangers in the living room two days late.  I understand they were really late anyway.  We are just going with the story here.  I figure they will need more time to contemplate the mystery with us.

The wise men have arrived

At our three nativities.

They will stay for now.

Mirror ball

Sometimes watching the light and the cat interact makes the morning.

I get up early enough

To watch the miniature mirror ball

On the Christmas tree

Catch the morning sunlight,

Launch it onto the ceiling

And walls

Dancing spots of light

Better than a flashlight

For the cat.

So many points of light

Keep him occupied

Until the sun moves out of range

And the inevitable nap

Beckons.

Predictability

We try to find consistency and inevitability in the most interesting places.

Yesterday the internet was out

All day

As if to say

I know the Comcast person

Arrives on Monday

To change our provider.

No one likes change.

No thing likes change.

Still change comes

Irregularly,

Inevitably.

Yesterday we think we caught

The last mouse,

Released him in the same place

As the other two,

Watched as he climbed a tree

To our face level,

Then scrambled down

To find the other two.

Today all four traps

Were empty.

Perhaps we caught the last mouse.

Perhaps not.

Today the internet works consistently.

The Comcast person is due to arrive

Any minute.

Home in the blue chair

After more than twenty years of the same post-Christmas trip to Florida, it was easier this year.  I got credit for loading the dishwasher when I didn't even load it.  I sat out on particular conversations so I could be truly present in others.  Hmm.  Maybe I'm actually getting the hang of this.

Home in the blue chair

I wonder why Florida

Felt easier

This year.

I got credit

For things

I didn’t even do.

Somehow it was fine

To add this credit

To the family

Bank account.

I sat out the end of meal

Conversations,

Listened to them all

From a distance

And smiled

Under the fan in the bedroom.

Home in the blue chair

I wonder.

I am also content

To add the credit

To the universal human

Bank account

Sit in where I can

Sit out when I must.

Therapy is

So many things count as therapy (I think).  I woke up this morning remembering those "Love is..." cartoons.  Therapy is many things.  It depends upon the one asking and the one giving. It means learning to ask the right questions... like "Do I want help?" instead of only "Do I need help?"  Jesus was good at such questions: "Do you want to be healed?"  Me?  Need healing?  You can't be asking me this, really! How could I possibly need anything?  Me.  Do I want to be healed? I think so. Sometimes I even pay.

Therapy is for

The times we want help (really)

Sometimes we even pay.

Below zero

The Feast of the Holy Name has always been one my favorite Holy Days.  Having it coincide with New Year's Day is a Happy Happenstance or something that Is as it Should Be.

Last night I had to mime

Below zero

In charades.

I failed dramatically.

Today

I wonder how I would mime

The Name above all Names

He who is named

And yet

Still nameless

For no name can claim

The Entirety

Or even his Infinitesimal

Smallness.

Today I wonder

How I would mime

All of who Jesus is.