Take this tale to heart.
Behind generosity
May lie a shadow.
With each word and line
The slow, painful unfolding
Of power and dreams.
A dream or a tale--
Does not the interpreter
Frame how it all ends?
Every name matters
And holds a story within.
Whether told or not.
Always seeking more.
The bustle of human life.
Days turn into years.
So much abundance
Squandered in bitter quarrels.
Turn our hearts to love.
Each name like a thread.
Tug gently. Another tale.
Lost in memory.
At every turn
Grace clashing with desire
On this barren plain.
Once you have been there
You can speak of returning.
Though the path may change.
How old this deep need
To trace from whom and from where-
Tribal origins.
See how a story
Can shape our sense of wonder.
What tale will you tell?
How the meanings change
Depending on the season--
Or, is it just me?
Words of poetry.
As the year draws to its close.
Then. Climb the mountain.
Once they are written
The words of the poem are sealed.
But not who reads them.
Always this promise:
You will be received in love.
When you do return.
Threats and Promises.
A deeply disturbing text.
So human. And flawed.
To be human means
We will push beyond the rules.
Who guides? Who follows?
Rereading this text
The words bring forth memories
My own. And those shared.
You will not find it
Marked on any human map.
Yet, hearts know the place.
Come close. And listen.
This is your, our story.
Full of promises.
Take this instruction.
Treasure it. Live it. Teach it.
Trust in the children.
Finding one's way home.
To each, a place to settle.
Who lives beside whom?
Recall a place name--
And memories tumble out.
Freed from the map's edge.
Who? What? Where? and When?
Real life meets rules and structures--
Where to find guidance?
All the words we say
Kind, gentle, hurtful or mean---
Who is listening?
Mark your map with both.
The momentous encounters
And from there to here.
We must be cautious
When invoking the if-then.
Predicting is fraught.
When one knows the tale
Memory and guidance rest
In that corner fringe.
Struggling to define
Frameworks of authority
We stumble again.
When each is counted
What matters most is giving
Not what one offers.
Structure and Order.
A desert necessity?
Or path to freedom?
Must there be such wrath
Following the promises?
Seeking seeds of love.
Counting by harvests
The fields of our lives are full
Reap from each moment.
The times and seasons
Remain set and unchanging.
Our lives? Choices.
Could these rules and guides
Really be a fervent plea?
Just be good. And kind.
Death. Blood. And Water.
Bring us to the Source of Life.
Primitive. And Real.
Celebrate Freedom.
In both comings and goings
Hands full and open.
When that long night passed
The sun rose on first freedom.
I recall that warmth.
From unclean to clean--
It is not enough to wash.
Time must also pass.
What appears blemished
May or may not really be.
Observe. Assess. Choose.
When all is so new
One may hear the instruction
And still get it wrong.
Mark off holy space.
Perform these sacred actions.
A rule for all time.
The hidden promise:
What was done remains unchanged.
Find a pathway home.
Who among us now
Seeks the fire or the cloud?
Still we journey on.
To give of your heart
All that has been requested--
I wonder: then what?
Idols. Old story.
I read the remaining text.
A first encounter.
Fine linens and threads.
Sacred clothes for sacred acts.
I touch knotted fringe.
Bring beautiful things.
Craft them into sacred space.
Each gift. Essential.
Every act we do
Leads us to consequences.
Known. And. Unforeseen.
We were together.
Beside that burning mountain.
Wrapped in sound and awe.
With freedom comes choice.
Tell me. Who has not wandered
In some wilderness?
Heart of compassion
Longs to embrace the first-born--
Alongside the text.
What is this strange dance?
The people reel and suffer
While one man decides.
