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The world moves fast.
The world tries to do much. And so the world must do most things for itself. Heaven, and the heirs thereof, move slower. They do not try to do too much. They wait upon God. And so, most things are done for them, before they even ask.
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Often, when I have said,
“I don’t know where to go from here,” I was lying to myself. I knew where to go. I knew what to do. But I was hesitating, Halting between two opinions. And so, I renounce hesitation. I will act. I will move unhaltingly Into the thing I know Trusting that the thing that’s right Will lead to the knowing Of the next right thing. I kicked a quarter on my way into the Walmart.
I stopped and picked it up and said, “Thank you, God, for this Unsought sign of your abundance. Thank you for providing for me in just this way.” Simplicity is coming for us all.
But most will see it as ruin Until they realize That it has freed them From the twin tyrants Of complexity and control. He puts around on his little bike,
Little wheels, a tiny trike For a great big man. And he sports some shorts and baseball cap. From his shoulder hangs a fanny pack. And from his mouth a cigarette Hangs down from the straight line Of a mouth set in the sternest of faces. Round and round the parking lot, he rides. And I laugh, but he doesn’t see me. “I choose not to believe that.”
It’s something that I say to thoughts That arise with accompanying anxiety, ingratitude, or distrust, No matter the familiarity, plausibility, or apparent wisdom they seek to convey. And then I turn my mind toward the loving peaceful void of not knowing what is good, And wait for new and better thoughts to arise, Revelations out of the unseen place. For how else will we be led out Of damaging paradigms Without renunciation Of all that comes not bearing light. There was a man with a tat-tat-tat-t-te-tat in his heart,
That made him weak and frailer Than the next bloke. And he was plagued by a grief that was stuck in his lungs That now and then made him cough. But he traveled on, Traveled on, Believing that to spite all that, he’d carry on. And he did carry on, carry on, carry on, While the host of men gave up the… Well, I hate to say it out loud, But you know how it ends For most. But not this bloke. Eventually, of course, He carried on to the great beyond But it was different for him. I won’t relate the strange particulars, But I will say that he was around far longer than other blokes, Because, somewhere along the way, He chose to carry on. Disclaimer: If the anxiety that you experience is not your own,
This is for you. In other words, If it visits but does not reside. In other words, If you don’t believe That there is a reason to be anxious And find that it presses in but does not arise Or generate from deeply held beliefs That you nurture inside your mind. So, if it’s not your own, here’s some advice, Or rather, something that I’ve tried And found effective now and then. When anxiety comes for a visit, I don’t just welcome it in, I wrap it up in my embrace. I pull it in, pull it in, pull it in. Not the worry but the feeling of discomfort As I would a laughing child who tries To wiggle its way out Of my embrace. And upon encountering such love, desire, and acceptance, It seems to flee. I don’t know If that’s what really happens, But that’s how it seems. Take what time it takes,
This is the work of the soul. Trust that what you have is what you need
And that the needs of tomorrow Will come tomorrow. When the journey ahead requires faith,
And when you are afraid of what’s next, Don’t spend much time thinking about it. Simply take a step, and then another step. Step into the thing you fear Imagining all the while The deliverance That you know is coming. And if you are led by providence Comfort will come in the movement. But don’t imagine worst-case scenarios. Picture best-case scenarios as you step, step, step Into the thing that requires faith. I know that shelter is needed,
And every want must be supplied. But my life is an experiment To see the unseen hand provide. I can see a new life on the horizon.
And all I own fits on my back, A little backpack at that, All on my back. What a relief! Somewhere, always, hell has raged.
And when anyone has found a piece of heaven It is because they chose to ignore the hell that raged And that choice, the choice of love and peace To spite the hell that rages, I think, perhaps, Is the stuff of which heaven's made. I'm digging down to the center of the earth,
And on my way, I pick up diamonds And bring ‘em back up To the surface. But nobody wants ‘em Except the occasional crazy loon. But I'm not crazy. I dig for diamonds On my way to the center of the earth. I remember the day when they walked away,
They stepped out into the storm, And some into the forest, Some to the desert. And we haven't seen them since Except in dreams and in our imagination. They haunt us there. And everywhere we turn, We find their absence calling us into the unknown. And the world is worse off without them, It grows darker and darker every day. How we hate Him for taking the best, Almost as much as we hate ourselves For not having faith enough to follow. Rather than go to war, we withdraw.
We retreat, retreat, retreat, Until, if we eat, It is because we are fed by angels. And then, there, we find the sacred place, A world apart. It is a land of miracles. And it now dawns upon the world by faith. I long to leave in silence,
To be around, then disappear. It is in keeping with my nature, To pack my things by moonlight And be gone before breakfast. And I swear that when the heavens Rolled forth into existence that I knew That this would be my calling, To witness with my presence, And let Him witness When I'm gone. I cannot make heads or tails of hell.
My face is toward the light-filled place And I will not turn back anymore forever. How often I have longed for a hand upon my back,
A reasurring gesture, a friendly touch. There is so much That we don’t understand. And demons wait in the wings To seperate us from the ones we love. But I have not forgotten how the world began. It rises in my sacred imagination. And I see you there, The sacred one, The friend that I’ve forgotten. And from that place, I reach out To put a hand upon your back, A reassuring gesture, A friendly touch. Dear God, please wrap us up In the love of friends that we’ve forgotten. And the hope of a world that one day Will return to how it was In the beginning. I’ve taken on with some Tongans
Laying down cement. And I like it. Long hours and Heavy work in the wet Missouri heat. And when we’re done, we eat and eat. There is a kind-heartedness about them, A purity and generosity that the world is missing. And it’s all about the family, the family. The ties of Father Abraham. And the branches have reached over the wall to me, As if, for this little stint of my life, I am one of them, Adopted in the very center of the love Of the Old Patriarch himself. We can only do a little,
But if we do it faithfully, And consistently, Over time, It adds up to a lot. My life has started over at nearly fifty.
That’s how it seems. And I wonder How much work I can accomplish In the service of the Great Unseen Before it’s time to go. It is a comfort to realize
That life will soon be over. Think of it. All that we think we are Is temporary. And yet I suppose If you believe that you’re “all that”, Then the thought that it will soon end Is not so comforting. The coming world is slower
And as we slow down, We will rise To meet the angels Who have time to spare. But you knew that. You knew That all the rushing, toiling, pressing, and grinding, Was blocking your other ears, your other eyes. So slow down. Take time to listen. The new world can only come One hearer at a time. |
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