RICH VISION
POETRY BY BLAKE STEELE
FILE 2
A...
ADAM, WHERE ARE YOU?
ANOTHER POEM ABOUT LIFE AND DEATH
ANOTHER SHORT EXHORTATION
TO THE INVISIBLE WILD HOST
WITHIN THE VISIBLE PLACID HOST
ARRIVING
INSIDE YOURSELF
A SIMPLE, MUTUAL DEAL
AT MIDNIGHT
(From Pierre Reverdy)
C...
CONCENTRATION
CONTRIBUTIONS
F....
FORGIVENESS MEANS RELEASE
G....
GOD IS A FREE SPIRIT
H...
HEAR O ISRAEL, THE LORD IS ONE
HOLDING TO DIALECTICAL ESSENCES
FOR REALITY'S SAKE
I...
I AM:
I AM A CHILD FULL OF PROMISES
I
FED THE KING AND WOUNDED HIM
IF GOD BE FOR US...
IN THE TIME OF SUNLIGHT
IT MAKES US FEEL GOOD TO CONTROL GOD
THROUGH OUR KNOWLEDGE OF GOD
I WANT TO FIND THE SOUL OF DOSTOEVSKI
L...
LETS GET THIS INCARNATION THING RIGHT!
LET US BECOME WALKING SABBATHS
LIFE IN THE WOMB
M...
MARY ONE AND MARY TWO
P...
POEM ON THE HEBREW WORDS
TRANSLATED JOY AND SALVATION
PURLING
S...
SAVORING CAKE
SINGING LIKE LEAVES AND FLYING THINGS
T...
THE GIFTS OF STRANGE TINY CREATURES
THE HUGE
HOT SPILL
THE SMALLEST PROVISION ELUDES ME
THE STUDENT'S QUESTION - THE OLD RABBI'S ANSWER
THIS IS THE PEARL OUR SAVIOUR BOUGHT
TREES OF GOD
TRINITY
U...
UNDERNEATH THE HUMAN FRAILTIES
SOMETHING TRUE COMES SHINING
UPON A DAY OF RELIGIOUS INQUIERY (FOUR POEMS)
UPON
THE GOOD AND BROKEN KING
UPON THE PRAYER OF FAITH
W...
WE SEEK GOD BECAUSE GOD SEEKS US
WHEN THE OURTER WEDS THE INNER WORLD
WHERE
ARE THE WARRIORS WHO PROTECT THE PRINCE?
WISDOM IS A SPONTANIOUS LADY
WRITING INTO A TOUCH OF REMEMBRANCE
WHY SHOULD MY LILLY CARE
34 POEMS: LAST ONE - HEAR O ISRAEL
THE POEMS
--------------------------------------------------------
THE HUGE HOT SPILL
They say that God is distant,
well ordered, reserved,
like a nun's tentative breathing
in the presence of a beautiful man.
But I say that God is hot and huge,
rolling in the lightning blue depths
of His own being!
Mostly, God moves cloud-like
through inner,
spacious places of the human soul
at a rate too slow for mortal sense:
but sometimes, when the world
weighs too heavily upon Him,
He trembles
and is felt as a passionate dream,
too full of fire and song to be contained
even in His own infinite expanses.
It is then that He spills over the brim of His being
into our being
to seize us
with His song.
I AM:
I am the object of another's hopes,
of
another's dreams,
of another's purposes.
I am the object of another's love,
of another's concern,
of another's care.
I have been created by another's power.
I am the fruit of another's husbandry,
the art of another's genius.
I am an object becoming
an offspring.
I share in a life I do not own.
HOLDING TO DIALECTICAL ESSENCES FOR REALITY'S SAKE
The poets are drawn into the dance of the many,
the holy luminous mosaic,
the diverse, the color rich bouquet,
the feast of Elohim.
Oh Lord of the flying, flaming hosts,
receive our praise!
And concurrently they are drawn
into the one essence of the essence.
Hear O Israel, the Lord our God,
the sovereign--our strength among us,
our ruling, all powerful towards us--
is One Lord. Unique!
And the holy poet's cry,
"The meaning of our lives
is at the source of our being!"
and, "We must dance diversities
into that luscious harmony
which is the sweet juice and fruit
of He/She/They who dwell in holy, compassionate,
ecstatic
and freely creative unity.
UPON A DAY OF RELIGIOUS INQUIERY (FOUR POEMS)
RELIGIOUS INQUIERY I.
On the first morning
the young student, his face framed with spinning curls,
caught up with the old rabbi who hobbled down the road
"Venerable one, what is piety?" he asked.
The old man laughed, shook his beard
and spit in the dust.
"Ask the birds sonny," he replied
rocked back and forth on his toes a few times,
then
scowled and walked away.
RELIGIOUS INQUIERY II.
Undaunted the young man
approached the old rabbi
who sat on a bench at noon time,
slurping his soup.
"Venerable one, how can we know God?"
the student asked with the intensity
of his youthful passion.
The old man laughed, wiped his beard
on his sleeve and
spit on the floor.
"Think like a window and open it, Sonny,"
he replied, then hovered back over his bowl.
RELIGIOUS INQUIERY III.
The young man knocked on the rabbi's door
in the evening shadows.
Hearing no reply, he peeked through the slats
and saw the old man hunched over a holy book
which lay before him on a wooden table.
The student nervously pushed open
the door and stood, hat in hand,
shuffling from one foot to the other.
The rabbi briskly flipped the pages
with his thick fingers and took no note of him.
The student, coughed and stuttered out,
"Honorable Rabbi,
I've come a long way to speak with you.
Before I go, could you tell me one more thing?
The old man peered up at him
through his wiry eyebrows, waiting.
The young man took heart.
"Venerable Father," he continued,
"How should I live to be holy?"
The old man's eyes brightened and he suddenly laughed,
pulling on his beard with one leathery hand
and pounding the other one on the boards.
"By Solomon's beard," the old man said,
"Audacious, precocious..." he paused,
looked hard at the young man,
then blew air suddenly out his nostrils.
"Sonny, listen now," he said, lifting
one
hand in the air. If you want to
live
you must be alive!
Go where you are going and open windows
for all holy creatures to swarm into your soul.
Start with the birds...
Let birds fly into you, singing.
Then, if you figure out both worlds
where you and the birds are
--be a child now!--throw open a space
in the center of every bird
and pour out through them
their own song in human words."
He paused, bent over and spit on the
floor then looked up with his eyes burning.
"Hear
now! Are you listening, Sonny?" he asked.
The student dumbly nodded.
"You sing and sing," the rabbi said,
"'Til your song more precious to you than your life.
Then you'll have begun to know just a
thing or two
more than the wind..."
With that said, the old man bent over,
kissed the holy book,
and without a further word blew out his candle,
and crawled into bed with his boots on.
RELIGIOUS INQUIERY IV.
The young man shook his head,
put his hat on in the dark
and stumbled outside into the
night.
He felt like cursing with exasperation.
The stars were shimmering in the cold sky.
He gazed at a bright one for a long while
and began pondering the rabbi's words.
Slowly, he started to hum
trying to imagined what a starÕs song might be.
Suddenly it was as if all questions were being asked
in three notes.
Then some words came to him, so he sang them
towards the sky,
"Star which shines with your back to me,
I'll sing through you towards eternity."
Just like that, he felt like he was being
thought of.
UPON THE PRAYER OF FAITH
A movement of longing in man
becoming an action in God.
WHERE ARE THE WARRIORS WHO PROTECT THE PRINCE?
Where are the warriors who stand up
and protect the prince?
We need a wild passion
for moral order
which births truth
to
obey the Holy.
I FED THE KING AND WOUNDED HIM
I fed the King and wounded him
in one action.
He lies amidst his warriors.
Unless I grieve his state until I sing
my lamentations
how shall he arise?
The King in the third Heaven
grieves for me
even as I grieve.
But, if I choose
to harden my soul in death,
his anger shall burn
and smite--to deliver me.
His scepter shall fall mightily
upon
my helmet of brass
until it splits open and
my naked soul flows out
like dark blood
upon His hands.
ADAM, WHERE ARE YOU?
The
world is composed
of the congealed echoes
of God's voice.
It sings out,
"Sons of creation,
rejoice!"
And
asks the essential
question, "Why
would you conceal yourselves
from Me and die?"
SAVORING CAKE
As delightful as a little cake may be,
(covered with raspberries and cream)
the essence of the little cake in thought
lives deep in the great God's dream.
And so, to savor both the little cake
upon my tongue and past my thought
is to find all that man has ever sought.
TREES OF GOD
Lord, I see trees all around me this spring
which bear an intolerable profusion of glory.
Branches bow beneath the weight of their blossoms.
If I wanted to glue one more petal onto a tree
I could find no space to fasten it.
So let the holy, flowing sap of your life
press up through my being
that I might be such a tree,
displaying the luxurious feast of You.
You are the vine. We the branches,
dependent on the fat of the vine,
the amber surge of sap,
the dark health of the driving root.
Lord, you are the blackness beneath us;
the root
springing up its light from the dark;
the succulence of life flowing from the root
to the branch. And, who can say that you are not
the branch as well?
Yet we are we, and you are you...
and beyond this we cannot rightly conceive.
Only, let us so yield and open unto you
that the wealth and holy pressure of your life
might swell the branch, burst the bud, inflame the flower.
Then be the wind Lord, which carries the blossoms away...
And when the fruit has grown fully rip and sweet,
be the eater through every soul
that cries
out blindly in the dark for the life of you
and reaches rough, empty hands
up into our fruit laden, trembling branches.
LET'S GET THIS
INCARNATIONAL THING RIGHT!
God himself was born of a woman;
sailed her salt seas naked and blind;
listened to her heart beat
in fluid suspension;
enlarged by the mercies of her body
while swaddled in dark heat.
God himself slipped into the silky tract
when her body said, Yes!
oozed
down through warm mucus;
felt the silver cord tangle through his feet.
And when the head broke free--
God felt two wet rose petals
tight around his neck.
I WANT TO FIND THE SOUL OF DOSTOEVSKI
I want to find the soul of Dostoevski,
and absorb the ancestral home
of Tolstoy;
I want to deepen my soul
with words which weave through the remembrances
of those old women who felt the essences
of master men;
I want to wander into thick,
black stands of trees
with rough peasants
who still cut logs with axes.
I would listen to each strike of steel
echo into cold silence...
I want to feel the bells
upon their horse's bridles
ring within my spirit!
--it would be a subtle ecstasy;
it would inflame me
until I was driven
to bury my face into snow drifts
upon the Caucus plains.
Oh, that Mother Russia
might let me suckle her leathery breasts!
Perhaps
she would let me sit for long hours
within her ancient churches
until frankincense
slowly soaked into my soul
as it has infused the wood of icons
over
centuries.
I would sit for years
in the fragrant silence of her churches
until I heard what a soul should hear.
Then I would sing an unknown tongue
into the blue smoke
which drifts amongst the rafters
of village taverns
until white doves came down
from high metal roof tops
unto the heads and hands
of the people.
ARRIVING INSIDE YOURSELF
Kindle a light in your words--
let them live!
as words should live!
For words may hold the spirit
as the form of a flower
holds dew.
Strike the poetical spark
and words will flame alive!
Then shall you see
the luminous beauty
of spiritual essences
which stream into the deep mind
through
words.
When such words enter you
you arrive inside yourself
and the world
within words.
WISDOM IS A SPONTANEOUS LADY
(From Proverbs Chapter 8)
She played, the wild, free woman
laughed and spun, skipped and ran
before the shimmering face of Alaha.
In His innocent light she was innocent,
and in His pleasure she exalted.
Frisky, lithe, more beautiful than deer or birds at dawn,
she relished the moist earth of God
upon which she lavished kisses and breathed
until sons and daughters
blossomed in her fingers
like little silky wild flowers
made of earth and opening.
WE SEEK GOD BECAUSE GOD SEEKS US
We seek God because God seeks us.
We must
grow to enter God's concern.
The roots give rise to the rose
not the rose to the roots.
We learn to release, because God has released us.
We learn to love, because we are cherished.
Freedom is a choice God is waiting for us to make.
In truth, only God is free.
When we enter God... Ahhhh.
Through the process of the tree
blows the breeze.
IF GOD BE FOR US...
If God has limited his working for humanity
that it might
come through humanity,
then we are the partners of God.
If we are God's partners, and God
waits for us to fulfill His will in the earth,
then God must be much more for us then we know:
Why would God work against His partner?
We are a team, the Holy One and us.
Elohim. God the team. The Lord of Hosts.
With the angels, we are also the hosts of the Lord.
Throw back your wild hair, woman of Christ.
Pick up your sling and your harp, man of God.
The free powers of the God who is a fuming fire
await your choice to enter the fuller freedom
of His will.
Blake
Steele
P.O.
Box 201
Bend,
OR 97709
503-382-2864
CONCENTRATION
Lord,
draw out of my soul
a fine, thin line
of concentrated desire,
a filament of dreams
which fixes my heart to your face.
I would hang in the air
(like a beloved spider),
upon the silk thread of ardor
in a reverie of devotion.
Blake
Steele
P.O.
Box 201
Bend,
OR 97709
503-382-2864
FORGIVENESS MEANS RELEASE
As a tree draws up water from the dark,
so let us draw up from our roots
all agony, all our subterranean pain.
Let us learn the lesson of the lilac bush
and like a haunting perfume
release our dark agony to the sky.
Can you feel the angels of blue
sky take it?
They catch it up upon white wings unto God.
Let us be very sure that God will dissolve
every foul shadow of us
in the goodness and mercy of His light.
God is for us. God is for us!
The stars in their courses are fighting for us!
Let the birds of the sky and branches sing
until they come to sing within our souls
as we join in the great song of adoration
and arise to grow beautiful in Christ.
THE SMALLEST PROVISION ELUDES ME
Lord,
the little things I need:
a bit of bread, a hoe,
a plot of ground,
a one room house
with a view of the stars,
an open roof to the sky--
a
rivulet of provision
which makes the mind free
to feed holy dreams,
to manifest the visions--
these things elude me.
And so my dreams
often
fly far away
to where I cannot find them,
hiding like fireflies
behind a peasant woman's skirts
in a distant country--
dimming there like an old man's eyes.
SINGING LIKE LEAVES AND FLYING THINGS
The fiercest warriors
sing the mad world
back into
innocence again
and see in the mirror of their new hearts
a new world.
And walking awake
amongst the sleepers on every side,
such singers join the company of birds
(and other forms of angels
who hold the patterns of flowers
and meticulous leaves in place),
and thus celebrate the close,
yet invisible countenance
in which they bathe themselves pure
under a great bath of light.
WHY SHOULD MY LILLY CARE
Why should my Lilly care
if shadows chain me down?
She sits upon her satin chair
above the ground.
She laughs up at the stars
which seek to send me light;
then dances by my prison bars
within my sight.
I hate, and wish her dead,
and rattle my thick chains;
she wildly shakes her golden head
and me disdains.
Yet when I beg our King
to grant His loving care,
it's She who comes to sing...
and wrap me in her hair.
UPON THE GOOD AND BROKEN KING
My Father is a man of great blessing.
Gentleness streams from his hands.
Intelligence dances and weaves,
links and disassembles
within his ample brain.
He is simple of heart
for all his scope of mind.
He is compassionate
and loves the
earth,
reading of divine mysteries
in the book of his garden.
And my Father is wounded.
He cannot embrace me.
His affections are
in chains.
He is not wise enough
to enter the world of my soul
and work wild works
to free the infant me.
He is not honest enough
to bring his deeper truth out into the light
and wrap the wounded child of his son
in a clarity that cuts and heals.
He is not courageous enough to be fully real
and
present to me so I may pass on
his greater truth to my children
and to theirs.
This is the normal thus...
I also forgive him.
UNDERNEATH THE HUMAN FRAILTIES
SOMETHING TRUE COMES SHINING
Certain souls sparkle with it:
a quirky kind of thing to some,
more like waterfalls
and
free flowing waves of wind to others.
Leaping out into an event
beyond the boarders of self--
an unique moment of full life is born.
I believe that when you stir your tea,
whirlpools suck old ships down into the sea,
and that when you crinkle your eyes and smile,
lions who where sleeping under trees
in another world
bound up to dance with gazelles
in yellow grasses.
*
You know who you are.
You've worn a cross around your neck
--though you haven't known the meaning.
Will you come to realize
what your priceless things are
and how you must grow to guard them?
*
Why is it that you feel like my own sister,
like my laughing soul,
like myself with breasts?
*
I write to you what you will never know,
that I love you from a great distance
because I have seen
in your eyes
the eyes of a free people.
PURLING
When she moves
she ripples the heavens
which surround her--
so substantial is her peace.
Her eyes hold a primal
power
which clears the muddle of my heart.
There is a forum in her deeper mind.
God and the devil debate
and God most often wins.
Through her, grace is palpable;
her forte is beauty.
CONTRIBUTIONS
Outside my window lies a vast vista of the land
which my heart has often viewed through my eyes.
Pigeons, which every morning stroke the skies,
glide down to eat cracked corn from my hand;
then coo above my head through the day's full heat,
telling stories from their hearts unto my heart.
I listen to them tell their earnest lies,
trying to sympathize and understand
why this small, soft, feathered gypsy band
always seems to take me by surprise
by the way they weave perspective through their stories
which colors all the world with subtle glories.
AT MIDNIGHT
(From
Pierre Reverdy)
All life has ended.
The spinning earth
has no eyes to see it,
no mind to reflect its devoured beauty.
Only the wind utters a sound.
It seems to be a sigh.
The innocent animals are dead.
All the birds have fallen from the heavens.
The sun is black, the moon is blood.
As
the prophets said
stars have fallen from the sky.
A face peers over the horizon of the world.
A hand stops the earth.
Golden hair sweeps away clouds.
Like
seeds in the wind
luminous souls are scattered everywhere.
ANOTHER POEM ABOUT LIFE AND DEATH
Now my hand can stir a flower,
pick up a pebble,
hold a woman,
feel the heat of a flame.
Now my body parts the waters,
holds up clothes,
encloses ecstasy in the midst of its pain.
But when I die...
I shall touch the fairy of the flower
with my hand of pure power,
enter the heart of a gnome in the stone,
pass through a woman's milk, wild hair and bones,
adore with the
seraphim of flame.
My body shall fall in a rain drop
and rise with the mists of the seas.
Wind shall be my robes
and I shall live in radiant ecstasies.
No
anguish will be within me--other than this:
I can no longer bend a flower with my hand,
pick up a pebble and skip it on the waters,
rub my skin against a woman's skin,
feel
the pain of a flame.
LIFE IN THE WOMB
The incipient child
--before lips, before mouth,
without voice--
is
a mere intent and longing,
a vestal impulse of life
longing for life's becoming...
which is a Holy thing!
WHEN THE OUTER WEDS THE INNER WORLD
When images from the senses
parade into those secret chambers
made with walls of glass,
whose windows open into infinite inner space,
there a wedding takes place
amidst the light of passionate torches
of love.
Wind moves without movement
through windows,
awakening insight's imagery
as imagination
throws lights and forms
over the wind of light.
These images correspond
to images of the senses.
Recognizing each other they embrace
and birth a poem
of such power
as to make sing
the hearts
of men and birds.
POEM ON THE HEBREW WORDS TRANSLATED
JOY AND SALVATION
(Isaiah
Chapter 12)
Brightly the waters are dipped by the hands.
The well opens
and shines its silver reflections into the eyes.
A face appears above. It is the Lord's salvation.
It is He who is open like the sky,
free like mist in a windÑas safe as old stone.
The thirsty soul places its face into the pool,
drinking up bright salvation.
*
(Yeshuah means Yah is Salvation:
Opened wide, free and safe.)
WRITING INTO A TOUCH OF REMEMBRANCE
Can a man write himself into remembrance?
Remember, my mind, last bastion of shadow
in a field of light,
remember elemental things,
root things, things rough
like knuckles, like wood bark.
Delve down deep!
There is a holy dark
beyond the dark
of misconceptions
and the anguish about anguish.
*
I once knew a woman
whose movement made trees dance
and flowers opened with ecstasy
in the sunlight of her smile.
*
Can I write myself into such poignant remembrance
as shall make luminous waterfalls
spill into the dark?
Is
there is a holy, creative way to weep
about a love of such proportions
that never accomplished
permanent connections?
*
Some
people smell like
the north wind
blowing off that cold north sea.
Some people hold fragrances
of poppy fields and the new mown grasses
of Italy in their bones.
I'll write of these rare, rooted people
in a odorless new world.
I AM A CHILD FULL OF PROMISES
I am a child full of promises,
having received them
and holding them in my heart;
having received them--in trust--
from the mouth of God.
*
Do you consider me a fool?
*
O, that I may be as foolish as Abraham!
who wandered into dangerous wastelands
blind with trust.
TRINITY
Turn the heart of stone
back to flesh;
take away ragsÑ
bring the bridal dress.
The wounded warrior,
the weeping maid
caught up in glory
start to fade.
Open the bedroom
in a tree
out springs that hawk
of eternity.
MARY ONE AND MARY TWO
Mary one said to Jesus
"You are just a gardener";
Mary two saw a glory
streaming from His sepulcher.
Mary one tried to touch him,
would have clung, would contain;
Mary two bowed--and freed Him!
drank the fire of His name.
LET US BECOME WALKING SABBATHS
Let us become walking Sabbaths,
a song of redemption, a dance of the holy.
Within God's Sabbath a common man
is
a prince of Alaha again;
a woman becomes royal and mysterious,
a sacred keeper of ancient ways.
Within God's Sabbath children
are jewels set in an ivory temple of the day.
Can you hear strains of music
issuing from under the hills;
from within stones?
Sabbath music moves across the seas
and into these forests.
Our load is lifted, eyes open in delight:
for Christ's sake, all the world is forgiven!
Let rich people dance a wedding dance
with the oppressed and poor;
let judges visit prisoners and sing with them
songs of hope and freedom!;
let the dying be attended by sacred musicians.
*
There is a fragrance that must be shared,
an infectious plague that must be spread:
It is called Life; it is called Joy!;
it is called release of the Spirit;
it is called Mercy.
It is the hidden holy, the fragrant flame
which makes every secret soul
radiant again.
Let us become walking Sabbaths,
holiness within time,
drinking God's imagination
from
this inexplicable gift
of existence.
IN THE TIME OF SUNLIGHT
In the time of sunlight
when the miracle gleams
upon a bright Mexican serape,
or upon yellow and coral colored jugs,
or in a flower's sheer throat;
when light makes bird's feathers
shimmer with incandescent color,
or goes wild,
bouncing off white blouses
to glow in the chocolate brown eyes of women
--it is time to taste color and give thanks,
catching your breath
and listening with your eyes
to the silence of light.
Then, if your eyes hear
and a bird suddenly sings,
or a woman laughs,
like the voice of light's music...
something falls down inside and adores.
THE GIFTS OF STRANGE TINY CREATURES
The stars shine in vast unending reaches.
Here, on a distant, obscure planet
(hidden amidst the spangled glories
of the milky way),
there are strange, tiny creatures
who can think of stars,
who may reflect them in words
and sounds and paint,
who
can read their mythologies
from ancient books:
creatures who can dream of such a being
whose full breadth
dwarfs even the infinite spaciousness
of stars.
THE STUDENT'S QUESTION
How can a sweet raindrop
falling into the salt sea
regain its sweetness?
THE OLD RABBI'S ANSWER
Only by the sun's heat.
IT MAKES US FEEL GOOD TO CONTROL GOD
THROUGH OUR KNOWLEDGE OF GOD
"We are sure God approves of our defense of Him!"
said Job's
friends to each other,
after much prayer,
after they had counseled for a long time
with their God-stricken friend.
When Mariah came down, the mountains melted;
when Alaha came down to reprove
the righteous and show His glory,
then Job's accusations of the Lord
seemed more true
than the wise men's affirmation of God's
sterling character.
It seems most religious folk
never quite understand the Holy One's wildness!
"I made the crocodile!" said El.
"I made the fat hippo in the mud!" said the Maker.
"Come before my face
and tell me I have no right to be who I am
and do what I choose."
A fiery whirlwind came down;
a million voices spoke like thunder!
Job thrusted his boil-swollen face down into the dust.
God answered no questions,
solved no riddles.
He came. He revealed Himself!
Then Job saw
God's sovereign freedom
to be
God!
A SIMPLE, MUTUAL DEAL
I owe God nothing;
God owes me nothing.
Let's start right there.
What God has to give
is the free gift
of Himself
to a free people.
What we have to give
is the free gift of our lives,
to be loved and to love.
Only through such a liberal exchange
shall the miracle of God and ourselves
be
finally known in the world.
THIS IS THE PEARL OUR SAVIOUR BOUGHT
There is a hidden dignity in mankind,
a precious pearl that can't be priced,
when our lives with it are at last aligned
spiritual veils are cleanly sliced,
opening souls over a stream
which flows with the love of a divine dream.
This is the pearl our savior bought
which His life and death and rising taught.
ANOTHER SHORT EXHORTATION
TO THE INVISIBLE WILD HOST
WITHIN THE VISIBLE PLACID HOST
Brothers and Sisters,
let's renounce ourselves!
until the word of Christ whirls us around
to see the world turned upside down.
Then the kingdom of God
shall be birthed amongst us as hot laud,
while praise moves through us like a breeze
unto a freer glory, and purer peace.
GOD IS A FREE SPIRIT
God is a free power
and a pure working.
What little boxes
we have put Him in...
This is our religious sin!
He who flies on the wings of the wind,
we have brought to a dreadful end:
confining on a sterile altar
He
who is a raging fire!
Charting Him within a ledger,
tracking Him upon our graphs;
the real God (I would safely wager),
with His angels, weeps and laughs
and longs to crack us open wide,
to pour His swirling flame inside!
HEAR O ISRAEL, THE LORD IS ONE
When the warrior
with
his silver sword,
and the lady
with her rose
become One,
each driving back the dark
--with
fierceness and with fragrance--
each severing, piercing,
yielding,
opening...
protecting silver waters,
the ancient golden fountain
of Holy Love,
then the High King's throne
is established and revealed
and His fiery river
flows
forth;
then the elders
come forth singing,
casting their crowns upon
the glassy sea;
then the lightning bolts of
YHWH
flash!
out of a child's innocent eyes
and
His emerald rainbow
is revealed
in every green leaf.
And the
innocent Spirit
of
God
becomes the ecstasy
of blue sky
and the wind...
the rustling bush,
the
rushing stream,
the white flame
falling away
in the belly
and leaping in the loins;
the
clean flush
of a
realized eucharist.