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The lawn is overgrown
And there's nothing I can do about it Because I can't afford a lawn mower right now, Not even a $40 used lawn mower. As at other times in my life, I find myself waiting, Wanting to do the socially acceptable thing But unable to do so because of finances. And so the grass and weeds grow up around me With the flowers, flowers everywhere, In and amongst the weeds, A gift from one who years ago Cared enough to plant them here. And until last night, I fretted about it. I concerned myself with neighbors And chiggers and ticks And dogs. But last night, as the sun went down, I thought I heard another voice say, “Perhaps it's supposed to be this way for now. Perhaps this is closer to reality. And perhaps it might soothe your Indian soul to let it be, And even to embrace it for a while. After all, you are half-wild. Only a part of you Wants the white man's ways. The rest, and perhaps the deeper part Longs to let things fare according to their nature.” I know that one day soon, Probably not too far into the future, I will be able to afford a lawn mower. And I will mow the lawn Or let somebody mow it for me. But when I do, I wonder if it would be wisdom in me To find another way to let things be, To grow my hair metaphorically, To wander through the woods, And to be plain, and open, and wild, and free, For despite my genealogy, My soul is only half civilized At least half of me stands naked before the sun Loincloth hanging down from my hips, My skin brown, my arrow raised, At one with things as they are, Not longing for anything Except to live And be.
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Lazy days,
Putzing around the house Doing this and that but with intention, Letting the oil of relaxation, repose, and recreation Seep in-between and lubricate The little movements That I might otherwise call work, As if there is enough time, enough money, enough love To nurture, ease, persuade, this frail body Into another year of living. Lessons from Raymond, the homeless man
Who helped prepare me for the road. To view previous lessons, find my playlist entitled: Raymond Lessons. Lesson 9 - Do It for Yourself I have always struggled with this idea Since it seemed self-centered. But I have to admit that when Raymond said it, There was a ring of truth. “I had a woman,” he said, “Down in Springfield. She was gorgeous And she wanted me to stay. But I found myself saying ‘I’ve got to go.’ I’ve got to do this thing! Though I hated to leave.” And I think he meant that he had to find a home. “You’ve got to do it for yourself,” he said, “Before you can do it for another.” And I think that he was right. Deep, deep, into the light there is a city,
A country, forest, mountain, plain, Where nobody owns a single thing. And the residents dwell there alone, Alone and with their neighbor. And yet, they don’t protect. They don’t defend. They don't pretend that it is theirs. They renounce and renounce, And renounce again With every breath their sacred claim Upon even themselves, And by so doing Claim The right to the world, the sky, the stars, And all that’s in them. And this is the paradox of true ownership. All else is usurpation. It appears that we don’t make opportunity happen.
It seems to come to those who wait for it But who don’t waste time While they are waiting. As I walked the dog this morning, I thought to myself, what if the metaphorical brings about the literal? And what if failure to see and adapt to an implication in the here and now, prevents the explicit fact from becoming a reality?
My most religious friends are always counting down the days and hours. They want to know when IT will happen, when HE will come, when the BEAST will fall, and when the prophecies will come to fruition. They dig deep into Daniel, Isaiah, and Revelation, and they watch the red moons and constellations for signs that we are close to the foretold hour. But I am not convinced that it comes that way since every glory that's foretold appears to be the result of a change in the hearts of the people, and the culmination of a walk of faith. On the other hand, the fall of the Great Whore appears to be the result of a failure on the part of people to walk by faith and to have their hearts be changed. In short, what if the thing that everyone dreads and anticipates comes to fruition exactly because they wait for it to happen instead of believing that it is already here? A few examples (and think of people): What if the metaphorical lions in the world stopped eating lambs? Might that not make the lambs less afraid? Or what if the metaphorical lambs took the lead and stopped being afraid of lions? It might be a bloody road, but sooner or later, an unseen hand would save them or they’d change the hearts of lions. I am not even beyond believing that literal lambs and lions might lie down together, but not while Adam, the Lord of the Garden, is warring with himself. Only Man can see the metaphorical implications of prophecy and start the ball rolling for the rest of creation. And what if the way that literal swords will be beaten into plowshares is by people beating their metaphorical swords into plowshares, by putting away their grudges and sacrificing their political agendas and opinions? What if they were even willing to lose the war, as Christ did, and lay down their lives, their homes, their families, for the sake of peace? Unthinkable! But how in the world will Christ ever reign on earth for a thousand years without people being willing to lay down their all upon the altar that he established by his own sacrifice of life, home, and family? And what if, instead of looking to the literal sky for Jesus coming in the cloud, we saw him already, in the misty (cloudy) place of our imagination, calling us from behind the veil to step out into a road of faith that leads to the Holy City of God. Might people who could do such things one day see with their eyes the very thing they saw with the eye of faith? And this makes me wonder if this is the way it comes about. What if all of these end-time glories are reserved for those who can see them early? And what if waiting for the literal fulfillment of end-time prophecies makes us blind to their fulfillment when they come, or worse, agents of the end-time doom and destruction foretold? After all, remember that when Christ came the first time, he didn’t come in the way that people expected. They missed the literal Man Himself when He was right before their eyes, and some even sought to destroy the one they saw because they were waiting for another. Might not we also bring about great destruction if we don’t see Christ, already, coming in the cloud? You know, I am struck by how much I change my mind. More than most people. It’s as if I am looking at things from a thousand different angles, constantly evaluating, reconsidering, and reassessing. And yet I am the same person I always was.
But when I watch myself from the outside, it makes me wonder if perhaps I’m crazy. I don’t think so. But it can feel that way at times. If I am, I think I’ve come to peace with it. A few years back, I took the Meyers-Briggs test and discovered that I am an INFP personality type and that INFPs do what I’m describing. Finding that out was a comfort. So that at least I am not alone in my particular craziness. And maybe we’re all a little crazy in our own way. If so, heaven help us since that means that we must be getting life wrong part of the time. And heaven help us to be kind to others who are getting it wrong in their own way. It’s a long road for all of us and a little love goes a long way, especially when you are getting things wrong. ...or is it right...that we're all so wrong... You see what I mean. Opportunity comes to those who don't waste time.
But that's not the same thing as being busy. You know when you're wasting time. Just stop doing that And opportunity will come to you. It turns out that relative morality
Is actually founded in a moral absolute. Some things are easy. Rape is always wrong. But it is the grey areas that make us wonder If there is no firm moral law. But when we look closer, We discover that circumstance decides. There is still a right and a wrong answer. We just may not be wise enough to see it. And there are even times When the right answer Is that any choice will do. But in those circumstances, Choosing to not worry about it Is still the right thing to do. And those who keep that law Are blessed with sanity. Those who violate it Fraught with mental instability. And it all depends upon the circumstance, Upon the person, the place, the situation. So, when our world presents us With a thousand shades of grey, Where do we turn for the right answer? To God, and to that Spirit which is Holy Which will tell us all things that we should do. Lessons from Raymond, the homeless man
Who helped prepare me for the road. To view previous lessons, find my playlist entitled: Raymond Lessons. Lesson 8 - Keep Asking “Make a trade,” Raymond said. “Ok,” I said. And off we went. We tried a dealership But they were closed. And then we tried a guy Who just sold cars but he said no. “Do you know of anyone who might be interested?” Raymond asked. “Yeah, so and so.” “Ok,” we said. And we tried them, and they said maybe. “Ok,” we said. “Do you know of anyone else who might be interested?” Raymond asked. “Sure,” they said. And just like that, we kept on going.” And Raymond drank Vodka. “I want to be authentic,” he said. He was. And more and more merry. Till finally, we were done. We both knew it. We had enough leads. And one of them turned out. Melancholy and reflection are the poet’s friends.
They leave and come again. They are the fertile soil That works its way Between the toes of his imagination And prod and shift the kindling fires Of his unknown, unseen, deeply buried passion. And, in time, with much wrestling, They bring forth the most delicate of flowers, Perfect curves and colors For the reader’s pastime hours. But little does the reader know what strivings, And what great waves heave within the soul. At times, the poet wonders if he’s been swallowed, Buried whole. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. For so are flowers made That sprout and bloom Then fade away. They seek for their lost culture in the language,
In the fishing, the ricing, and the dance. But they will not find it there. It was always found In the need That they had for one other. That was what gave meaning to it all. Lose the need and you lose the culture. The gifts of God are multitudinous,
But the witness of God is the same To the heart and soul of man. And he who has experienced it Knows it. Lessons from Raymond, the homeless man
Who helped prepare me for the road. To view previous lessons, find my playlist entitled: Raymond Lessons. Lesson 7: Tell them If you are to receive the things you need, You will need to let people know What you are about So be authentic. It is how every needful thing will come. Lessons from Raymond, the homeless man
Who helped prepare me for the road. To view previous lessons, find my playlist entitled: Raymond Lessons. Lesson 6: Only Ask for What You Need “Only ask for what you need. Calculate how much gas you’ll need To get to the next town of any size. And then ask for that amount. If they give you more, Give it away. “This is how it comes to me,” he said. And as if to punctuate this point, A little later, he came out of the grocery store. “Someone just gave me $35,” he said. “Come in and I will buy you lunch.” “Did you ask?” I said. “No,” he said. “Something like this happens every day,” he said. And when we had eaten, He gave me seven dollars And spent the rest on Cigarettes and alcohol So that the $35 was spent. And I don’t need cigarettes or alcohol, But there are those who can use what I don’t need. And I thought this sounds familiar - a life of daily faith. Constantly letting go of all I do not need, Trusting that more will come. Lessons from Raymond, the homeless man
Who helped prepare me for the road. To view previous lessons, find my playlist entitled: Raymond Lessons. Lesson 5 - Count on Miracles “Let go of what you do not need,” he said. “And go to the place you feel. I have take my shoes off on one side of the bridge Because they were falling off my feet, Walked across the bridge And found another pair waiting for me. I have felt like going beneath a bridge To find a woman there, drunk, And delivering a baby. Several times, I have gone to a place, not knowing why To discover a person dying. I told them it was time to go And they were gone within the hour. It has happened enough times That I have begun to think of myself As a kind of angel of death. Trust the voice that leads you from within And you will be provided for, You will be used By the unseen hand. The truth is that I'm a leather tramp
Because I'm broken to the grind. I can't go back forever. But by the grace of God And the help of friends, there is some rubber Turning down beneath my wheels As I move down the highway, And gas within my tank. And I trust that it will be so For as long as He sees fit, perhaps forever. Wouldn't that be a miracle?! But if it ever changes And I am seen for what I am, I won't complain. Did you know That once He said that he wants the world To see me how He sees me. Perhaps that is why, For I Have found rich and unseen treasures. My mind has seen things I struggle to describe. But I will try. I will give the world The riches in my mind If I am able. Lessons from Raymond, the homeless man
Who helped prepare me for the road. To view previous lessons, find my playlist entitled: Raymond Lessons. Lesson 4: Have lots of homes Raymond says, “The guy at the thrift store says I can sleep under his awning. And many people in this town have said That I can sleep on their porch. I am the homeless guy Who everybody knows.” And I think, what a mercy in the rain To have a porch that you can sleep on. But Raymond spreads it around. He doesn’t stay too long. And that seems right. My home, too, is on the road. And because I forsake a home I will find many friends, many homes. But none too much, too long. A day here, Two days there, maybe a week, And then move on. And what do I offer as payment, Except myself, a word, a conversation, And a prayer for those who help me along the road. These are lessons from Raymond, the homeless man I met
Who helped me prepare to live on the road. To view previous lessons, find my playlist entitled: Raymond Lessons. Lesson 3: Sleep Out in the Open “Don’t sleep in some hole,” he said. And he warned of tweakers. And yet, he also said That after thirty years, He had never had any trouble. I decided to try “out in the open” On my first night back on the road Mostly because of the discomfort Of trying to sleep in the car. It was a pavilion in a park. And the next night I tented, And tented once again. And then last night, back in the open. “You want to be able to see people coming,” he said, And you want to be able to be seen.” That seems right, somehow. But we’ll see. Rolling hills with a tank full of gas
And no need to be anywhere Anytime soon. These are lessons from Raymond, the homeless man
Who I met in Missouri, and who helped me When I was preparing to make my journey by foot. If you are tuning in late and want to see previous lessons, Find the playlist on my channel entitled: Raymond Lessons. Lesson 2: Travel light Raymond had no more than a backpack. A hybrid kind, not a back-packers pack Just slightly larger than a normal backpack, But with straps. And for that, it was half empty. What was inside I am unsure, except he said He had a bunch of empty little bottles Cause he drank 100 proof all day. And he slept on a thin baby blue blanket Which he bunched up and sinched with a strap. “If you have too much, they won’t give you a ride,” he said. “Well, what about my dog,” I asked. “Oh, that will help,” he said. “They love that dog far more than they love you,” he said. “But make sure you have water!” he said, “For the dog,” that is, “Lest they worry, And believe that you’re abusing him.” “Ok. I will,” I said. And I thought, “you know, that’s right!” “That’s just what I had in mind.” And yet, now that I am on the road, I have more than that. Not a whole lot more, But I don’t think that’s the point. The little pack represents what I really need. It is a good image to keep in my mind all the time.” It allows me to shed when I need to. And why can I let go of all the rest? Not because I am a survivalist, But because I know That if I need to go through a narrow place With nothing more than me and my little pack, That on the other side, there is an unseen providence Awaiting my arrival to the next phase of God’s abundance. My heart longs for open spaces,
No man’s lands - you cannot hear. And they are coming in the winter They fall silent on your ear. The peace of a land forsaken Because nobody can hold it. Do you hear the land a coming, In the empty, longing, open. It is coming, It's a coming, Though it pass through all you fear. It's the open sacred spaces That nobody can hear. But I hear the open places Falling softly on my ear. I find the open places In everything you fear. Lessons from Raymond, the homeless man
Who I met in Missouri, and who helped me When I was preparing to make my journey by foot. Lesson 1: Don’t do it. This actually wasn’t the first thing he told me, But I am putting it first so that well-meaning friends won’t worry. It’s a hard life, he said. And when you fall to the road, It can be hard to get back up again. And even then, You can take the man off the street, But it is harder to take the street out of the man. I wasn’t necessarily set on hitchhiking. It was simply the only option I saw. But Raymond convinced me to make a trade That made it possible. And so, a little car was the result, And I see, I saw, that it is the fulfillment of a prophecy of sorts. Nonetheless, much of what he said about the road, still applies Since the car is not my home. My home’s along the road, This place and that. And the car is just a way to get there. You find my books here
Written upon the whisper Of an electrical thread, Nay less, A whisper on a wave That passes through your head On its way to your device. But I tell you that what I write Is written in heavy volumes Upon indestructible paper Bound with adorned leather And illustrated with vibrant colors, And that those books are guarded In the unseen library above Where they will not perish. I write, not for the day, But for the age. I write not to the few, But for each and every soul Throughout the width and breadth of eternity Who might be benefited thereby, And I trust the unseen hand To dispense my work Through unseen carriers of light To each and every soul who longs for what I am, Or rather, what he has made of me And may just as easily destroy. But know this, each word, If it is His, if it reflects The library on high, Has always been And will remain When the libraries of men Decay and crumble away to dust. And I think, why write, if not unto this end? This is the beginning of a series called
What I learned from Raymond, A homeless man I met In Missouri. When I met Raymond, I had decided That I would continue my journey on foot And was pondering how I would survive out in the open. Raymond was lying under the awning of the thrift shop And I almost went over to talk to him But decided against it. But then to my surprise, he sat up and saw me And began waving his arms to flag me down. What ensued was a bit spectacular, One of those rare encounters That leaves you wondering If you’ve spoken with an angel. If so, then Raymond was a salty angel, And the wisdom he imparted was wisdom for those Who believe that one day they may be called To step out of all they know and rely on God alone. If that sounds interesting, stay tuned. |
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