The Great Confusion

The Great Confusion

So many confused.

Christ is not a man who lived long ago,

Nor a woman.

The Christ is not of this world.

 

Men and women, even a child,

Can realize the Light.

It will not come through the body’s eyes,

Glory supplants our binary earthly existence.

 

Wish to become fully the Light?

Be not fooled. Pain will be involved.

How are dense gray rocks transformed into transparent crystals?

How is gold purified?

 

The Christ is Quietness.

A snowstorm scribbled a solid excuse to stay home,

Relief washes over you,

Your daily burdens miraculously lifted.

 

Peace envelops the forest, or city street,

Blanketed in pure heavenly white.

Sunlight transfigures the brilliant wonder,

into a unexpected in-breath of long-awaited awe.

 

This same Love reaches through a young woman’s

Fatigue to comfort her cranky infant,

Or sensed as a man opens his heart

To his woman’s upset directed at him.

 

It is felt as skillful compassion is extended to a distressed addict,

Understanding the incessant attempts to keep the inner demons at bay.

It shines through a neighbor’s soaking of a small dog’s infected wounds,

As day after day, she coaxes the little creature from death’s claws.

 

Christ is the Eternal Remembered,

Not a religion.

Christ is those who embody the Deep Stillness,

Those transmuted by the Joyous Emanation of Immortal

Radiant Light.

 

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A Dead Deer

A Dead Deer

A Dead Deer

 

I came upon her body,

Lying on the asphalt,

Irregularly shaped pools of crimson liquid under her neck.

 

A sunny day, not too hot,

Already beginning to bloat

Or might there be a fawn inside?

 

Clearly the doe was dead.

I didn’t like her exposed like that.

I wanted her on the grassy side.

 

As I contemplated touching her

An image of her leaping up and

Attacking me jolted my mind.

 

Timidly I approached her hind legs,

Wrapping my hands around delicate tawny ankles

Above her now useless hoofs.

 

She lie now in the shallow ditch and I felt relief.

Aligning her with the earth’s curves

Dried grass and weeds were her last bed.

 

Three tiny dandelion flowers placed on her neck,

Three where the front legs met her chest

In that indentation, as in our bodies.

 

Three more carefully arranged on her hindquarters.

I thought I was done,

but the blood on the road disturbed me.

 

A tiny bouquet of yellow flowers now graced her blood,

please forgive our fast-paced lives.

 

My work was done.

The Sadness Never Leaves

I guess that is not true,

Sadness vanishes at times,

Happy in the market amongst the colorful array,

As organic fruit and veggie piles abundant transmit their joy.

Talking to that acquaintance deeply disturbed by the news,

His turn looming nearby,

I imagine he thought my bouncy smiles absurd.

 

I have been happy since he died.

That morose morning

An angelic friend visited,

Attending closely to the overpowering suffering,

Massaging the heaviness away,

‘Til I calmly saw,

All is as it should be.

 

I remember smiling

As I drove down this mountain

Early one vibrantly emerald spring morning,

Famous brothers bantering on the radio.

One of them had also passed from this realm.

 

Sadness is there now,

That is the simple fact on close inspection.

Arising while I drive through these rolling hills

Towards her idyllic home,

Sensing it would be graciously received.

 

Grief lurked most of the evening.

Finally I succumbed as I lie on my side,

Comforted by white down in our luxurious bed,

Weeping,

You not there to hold me.

 

If I stay busy enough,

The gloomy mood can be held at a tenuous bay.

Not keen to feel into myself these days.

He says sadness means we need more rest.

 

I am told more “primitive” societies

Relieved you of all your responsibilities.

For one whole year grieving was your sacred work

As they watched over you and cared for you,

Ensuring you didn’t do anything rash.

They knew these were dangerous times

And grief, done well, would one day bring her gifts.

 

Can I be with the sadness?

Can I listen to her?

What does she need from me?

What is she whispering or screaming at me?

“Please don’t leave me alone,

I need you here with me”.

 

There is so much to do.

The endless business of afterdeath is more in order now,

Something larger moves the tedious details along,

Piles of black and white paper are more organized,

The taxes, his and mine, can wait.