Wild Love

Ah! You are not tame, my Beloved, nor do you play games,
But though you are wild, you can also be as mild as a child
And gentle as the Dove, though you’re the Lion from above,
So I do not approach you in fear when you are so very near;
With tears of joy in my eyes I lay my head upon your bosom
And sleep in peace and never cease to be thankful for you;
You hold me tight in the might of your nail-pierced arms,
Safe from all harms and alarms, and I am deeply enchanted
In your keep as I reap the blessings of the highest heavens
Leavened with love from above and compassion unending,
And you are always sending me gifts to lift my very spirit,
So how can I thank you, my Lion Lover, but to love you, too?

Note: First published in March of this year, now being republished due to some renewed interest as well as for the reading pleasure of new blog-followers (as well as others who may not have yet read this piece!) Blessings to one and all!


Yuletide Plea and Prayer

Now let there be Yuletide cheer for all near and dear
And those far away, too, without any reason for fear!
No tears or mocking jeers, let peace and joy appear
For sheer enjoyment; no sneers or smears, only love
In which each person is a compeer – small and great,
Short and tall – everyone is hailed at the grand ball!
Let war and violence cease and let goodwill increase
With mother, father, daughter, brother, sister, niece
And everyone without restraint or taint of misdeeds;
Yes, and let all needs be met – the hungry finely fed,
And beds for the homeless, and medicine for the sick
As a grand gesture from ole Saint Nick – with a prick
Of conscience to inspire those who can give to give
That others might truly live everyday along this way,
And let not be for just one day but all the year round;
Let the Yuletide spirit abound in sight and sound . . .
One born long ago was torn and died; and Mary cried;
Let us tear no more but dare to begin to repair now!
Give birth to mirth this Yuletide in cheer, my dearest,
And let love once again descend from up high above!

Note: Previously published on Pax et Dolor

Standing at the Crossroad

You told me that I would soon be standing at the crossroad
With workload, and you bestowed upon me but one choice:
Would I listen to your voice, even though I may not rejoice,
Or would I stay your guiding hand and go on my own way?
But here now I stand all alone, with no band of co-travelers,
And I am still and quiet, my tears my only diet,
And my very soul within me in despicable riot!
And withal do I hear your call or see you here standing tall?
Where is your arm to lead me down the path without harm?
Are you here, somewhere near but where I cannot see you?
Oh, too, do you see me churning inside like the restless sea?
Here I am now at the crossroad; shall I make this my abode?
But I cannot stay put here day upon day ‘n night after night;
You have to come and light the way as brightly as the sun,
For it has just begun to rain and I am in excruciating pain,
Which is plain to see, but will you deign to come now to me?
You told me that I would soon be standing at the crossroad
With workload, and you bestowed upon me but one choice,
And that I have made but I hear not your soft, tender voice,
And so I wait and satiate my soul
With sobs of my torn apart heart;
Yes you told me that I’d be standing here at the crossroad . . .

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing…

Hark, the herald angels sing the birth of Christ the king;
Bring gifts of adoration in realization Someone has come,
And the world lies silently, blindly begging kindly gift
From afar, beyond the stars, to break the bars of prison
And sickening poison: Who will feed us, clothe us? Who
Will need us, and give us better creed by which to live?

Is this the newborn babe, torn from heaven’s womb, born
To live, to die, to try sceptre of the world to capture
For my sake? To make better the earth with his own birth,
To shatter slumber and wake the heart of humanity long
Caught in slumber deadly, in medley of satanic cruelty
And its own desire burning like fire, making its pyre?

Across the field I yield to sweet, small voices in chorus
Choices of carols of the season for reason to be at peace
But not for wars to cease; hope born each year at the end
Of heaven’s pier, and so dear to think the One who bled
Fed the thousands, yet millions starve while the chorus
Continues this silent night, deadly night in world ne’er
Saved from plight; only afforded trite promises, quite right
In words but wrong in song sung so far from heavenly sight.

Hark, the herald angels sing the birth of Christ the king;
Bring gifts of adoration in realization Someone has come
In incarnation ~ let the drums beat ~ tis Twelvetide again! 

Journey to Meet Jésu, ʿĪsā ibn Maryām

Yeshua - middle eastern Jew - open and hidden eye[1]Jesus and his church, are they the same or is one to blame?
Christ and his church, did they lurch forward beyond his words
Of love and reconciliation, dove from above, fleece of peace?
Misunderstand cross to bear, and not to tear people asunder
In self-centered blunder; as he prayed sacrifice to be made
Arrayed in humility without religious charade of such decayed
Preacher-teachers, soul-leechers, modern pharisees with pedigrees
Of false spirituality in neutrality of all charity and equality
Of the very people Jesus came to save? Did someone cave in and
Begin to recreate or have I misunderstood the good that should
Be believed and lived?

Ah! This is why you threw away all I learned and knowledge burned;
Set me on new-old worn path with nothing but demeaning dreaming
To meet the man from Galilee as if for the first time by chime
Of life-clock, so I rounded the block and began to walk, no talk;
And it is the first time, isn’t it? Just a bit scary, somewhat hairy,
But what else but to go on without soul-rïcin, simply now to listen
To old men with glistening eyes tell their tales in simple fashion
And all the passion that goes along with belonging to the same story.
And sometimes they flip-flop and forget, repeat and sweat and fret
In trying to get it right with all their might while I’m still in sight;
And it’s okay today.

So I’m on this pilgrimage to find a little village and one clear image;
Am I wrong? But I can’t belong in the throng that sings the unspirit-song
Of some caricature spawned from oracular vision of hell-warped provision;
Ah! they may be wonderful ~ better that I ~ mindful, trustful and colorful;
But there is the voice that calls me to greet and meet this ʿĪsā ibn Maryām,
Outside the perch of church; without crutch of theology and silly tautology;
Just to find, or be found, unbound to know the Person, not the carnival show!
Is this wrong? Some say I’m damned; I’ve left the fold; I’m out in the cold;
I’ve sold out to hold out against the truth; I’m in the devil’s grip and sip
Intoxicating lies with flies of hell clouding my sight, sapping my might…
But I just want to meet Jesus…
Sit as his feet with sweet wine of life so fine … Is this dangerous?



İsa Dear, So Far, So Near

2157[1]İsa dear, so far and yet so near, you seemed so strained
As time wore on, and you bore so much more while
Looking to cross in store; your words became hard,
No longer song of the prophet-bard; did you know;
Did you believe you would leave in order to retrieve?
Paradise lost, ensconced in deep hell frost, and yet
At what price, as sun set thrice on gloom of tomb?
What did you mean about kingdom come to some
You told, to hold in faith till your return all dross
To burn, to clear earth for adored Garden restored
With heavenly sod to the children of God? But now…
Where are you now? In celestial palace above with
Holy dove and everlasting love? But can I understand
What you spoke so clearly and demand to believe,
When ages have slipped by and ne’er trumpet or cry
From angels on high?

Oh Jesú forgive me, and grant me cover to be lover
And I will follow; my heart is not hollow, nor in part
Is my soul committed; oh, but harika bir haham İsa,
What of your unanswered prayer, and unmet care
Of believers who share in church-kingdom affairs?
Twenty centuries have gone, faith treasuries pawned
By scholars, soul maulers, and preachers for dollars;
And do you witness ill-fitness of disciples blind,
Misled? You were coming again within one generation
For liberation of all creation in cessation of privation
And all temptation in cosmic reincarnation; you were
To make all new, and peace would ensue in bliss,
While şeytan spew through effervescent hue of hell
With well built cell frozen for the fiendish chosen.
Here are we now, though, and we bow to hateful fate,
With hope too late…

John-Hagee[1]Oh! Yesu m’busa! Do I blame you for those who name
In shame your name, and claim to believe, so naïve;
Who burden your back again with haversack of piety
Of religion from coffin of doctrine; another cross
To carry with dross of habitual ritual in sorrowful vigil,
When already long ago you cried, died, but never lied
About who you were, are and are to be in celestial sea
Of divine plan unfolding with spirits beholding truth
From deific soothsayer in gilded booth of principality
Above carnality… Ah! the pain with ne’er any gain
In my spirit, my mind as I reel to reveal my dedication
To you, my Yesu m’busa, in subjugation willingly made
To you, and really the true you, and only you in lieu
Of distorted icon from bygone era, grotesque chimera,
Worshipped in falsity with paucity of genuine charity.
Help me see what I am to be!

Did anyone care to listen as you spoke, to poke and prod
What you meant as you spent hours showing new ways
To brighter days, and happy concord with Creator Lord?
Did anyone understand your message of soul redemption
From condemnation in reconciliation with the heavenlies
And all that’s good and pure, gold and sure, right in sight
Of the pantheon of powers? What did you say those days,
And what not, and have so many forgot, new story bought,
When ancient lore beckons more to know with less to tell?
Yes, I will follow you, and I am sorry, dear İsa; weak I am,
And meek but bleak with streaks of faults and failings,
And vaults of mistakes, veilings herein my soul so empty,
Yet will I walk beside, but cannot abide those who hide,
Making pretense to be your bride; Isa, mercy! I’ve tried!
Oh, and I’ve lied to hide questions and fear; you were near
And ever held me dear.

No blame now, no sick spiritual game to play this day;
Only free inhalation in exhilaration of new anticipation
With joy, no religious ploy; no church, no sadist lurch
From pulpit perch; but watch! I know, my lover, you
Hover o’er me with kindness to cure my blindness,
For all is not bad, though sad; so many are genuine,
Benevolent in thought and deed, and meet the needs
Of poor and homeless, without grandeur or aloofness;
Of hungry and lonely, flunky and junkie, so humbly;
So who is this one to cast aspersion in rank perversion
Of what they perform in good with hearts so warm?
Yes, there are those saintly saints who paint with beauty
As their duty, but so many more who swarm and taint
In constraint of Holy Ghost shows and fitful throws
And blessed blows that lay them low in their exaltation
For emulation and wealth accumulation.

MoonGoddess[1]My God! My God! Holy Sélená, regal-majestic Helena,
Hear my earthen cry! In simplicity I would now travel,
In humility evade all cavil, in honesty unravel this web
Of distortion of my usta aşığı, abortion of monstrosity
Of salvation from damnation with no regard for creation;
But how? You’ve led me, dear Sélená, by hand so grand,
To climb the higher way, meet for the very first time
Underneath your moonlight bright the One called Son;
And you’ve known, so surely as all angels and dæmons,
And demi-gods and jinn, and wraiths and sprits again,
All the unseen world and all between earth and high sky,
With every whisper sound and sight found day and night;
Of reality behind our reality, what’s only base formality;
Most have forgotten, most have lost, now tempest-tossed
In vain pretense of life of pain, mind and soul insane,
But no one to blame…

İsa, dear İsa! Did you came to try, to teach and cry, to pry
Open hard-closed hearts to start new trek, to wreck deck
Of death, and beckon home all the lost children pilgrims
To grace of mother God; and so you trod the highways
And byways, looking and luring to life, light and love
And celestial prize above, while to here free simple folk
Of oppressive yoke of enslaving decree of the Pharisee?
Yes, I’ll trust as I must ~ ne’er ill word to leave my lips
Yet ships sail these waters as they did the Sea of Galilee
With you in one small, surrounded by all, standing tall,
Commanding waves and wind to bend to your voice,
And amend the course of nature, to transcend all terror
In such frightful hour, but did they understand? Do I
Or shall you reprimand? Yes, perhaps you are Mesih,
And shepherd sure with cure of souls, but whether or no,
Your company I would keep in joy, and say no more,
As I continue to look for heaven’s door.


Note: Why the foreign names and phrases? Simply to recast the primary character of Jesú as an universal person … perhaps the universal Person; i.e. to steer widely clear of any and all Westernization of Isa bin Mariamu (Jesus, son of Mary.)

Mesih — Messiah

Usta Aşığı — Master Lover

Yesu M’busa — Jesus Shepherd

Seytan — Satan, Devil

Harika bir Haham İsa — Great Rabbi Jesus

Isus, Are You Near? Do You Hear?

walkingAre you here? Are you near? And will you shed one tear?
The path is long, the road of dirt rugged, full of fear;
But do you hear my mournful cries, Isus, and what belies
My doubt as I shout at the iron obstacles I cannot mount?
What did you say so long ago in the dawn of kingdom day
To fix me now so I shall bow and again my faith avow?
Or is it time to sigh and cry, turn away from the lie,
Set eye upon another road to carry lesser heart-load?
To seek an abode, what will not corrode, but my soul fly
To higher heights, where angels dance and spirits prance,
Where freedom rings true, dreams are new, heavenly view?
Is this now to be my course, dear Isus, driven by force
To another source of sweet morning dew and words so true?
Have we journeyed this long only to find I don’t belong;
No redemption song because you were never with me along?
Shall I now find new bed, where to lay my head instead
Of your bosom strong and sure, and with whispers allure,
And promises to cure, only now to be buried full dead?
Oh Isus, do you hear? Are you near? Do you shed a tear?
Or shall I but part with an illusion, some grand delusion,
Or are you real enough to feel enough my heart to seal?
Or has the moment come now … has now the time come?


Silent Sunday Morning Musings

asta65_29[1]What has the Eternal One really asked of us?
Ah! To concern ourselves with loving justice,
To show mercy, filled with the Spirit of mercy,
And to walk in humility with our mothering God.

What has the Ever-Redeemer really asked of us?
To love God heart and soul, mind and strength;
To love the other as much as we love ourselves;
To love the other, filled by the Spirit of Love.

What has the Shepherdess of souls asked of us?
To live in meekness, deference and respect;
To stand for right with the might of heaven;
To fight the plight of the poor and wretched.

What has our Saving Isus really required of us?
To show compassion even to the most detestable;
To extend hospitality to even the most avaricious;
To … lay down our lives for friend, for beloved.

What would it mean, then, if we were so to live?
New world born, perhaps? Transformation of creation?

Ah! But these are only my silent Sunday morning musings…


Proof of the Resurrection in the Fruit of Faith

icon_resurrection_of_christ2Something new had appeared in the universe: as new as the first coming of organic life. This Man, after death, does not get divided into ‘ghost’ and ‘corpse.’ A new mode of being has arisen. That is the story. What are we going to make of it?

—  C. S. Lewis, “What Are We To Make Of Jesus Christ?”

“He is not here, for he has risen!”

Those words have echoed down through the centuries. Those words changed the entire course of the history of the world. Those words have transformed countless millions of lives. Those very words are celebrated by billions of individuals around the globe.

“I know that you seek Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen!” So declared the angel to the women at the empty tomb.

This event quite literally turned the world “upside down and inside out.” This one event shook the very foundations of the netherworld. This single, monumental event put death itself to death and gave birth to life everlasting for all who believe. As C. S. Lewis said, “that is the story,” the central narrative of Christian faith.

And this is what the Easter celebration is all about – that is, it is nothing less than the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ which we celebrate every day, really, but especially each year on Easter, or Pascha, Sunday. As the distinguished Yale professor, William Lyons Phelps, on one time said:

In the whole story of Jesus Christ, the most important event is the resurrection. Christian faith depends on this. It is encouraging to note that it is explicitly given by all four evangelists and told also by Paul. The names of those who saw him after his triumph over death are recorded; and it may be said that the historical evidence for the resurrection is stronger than for any other miracle anywhere narrated; for as Paul said, if Christ is not risen from the dead then our preaching is in vain, and our faith is also vain.

But, of course, as comforting as evidence may be to those who believe, faith is still faith and provides the only key to understanding the story, to embracing the truth of the resurrection and living in the light of this event and the steadfast hope it brings in the face of darkness and death.

This is central to everything we do, think, say and feel as Christians. After all, if Christ had not been raised, would there even be the Church? And if so, what would the Sacrament of Holy Communion really mean, if anything at all? For that matter, what would the blood of thousands upon thousands of martyrs be worth?

If Christ had not been raised, what comforting words would the priest or minister possibly speak to someone dying in the hospital? Or to some family facing tragic circumstances? What hope would there be beyond the grave? Would there be any assurance of life everlasting? Some other religion might provide answers of some sort … but not Christianity. In the Christian faith, the resurrection is  the answer, the only  answer.

No, the day of Easter, our Paschal feast, encapsulates everything – literally everything – we do and say and believe as followers of Jesus Christ. “He is not here,” the angel said. “I know that you seek Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen!” Triumphant over the tomb, defeating darkness and death, reconciling God and humanity in everlasting life.

And because he was not there in the grave so long ago, there is not only hope of everlasting life after temporal death, but resurrection to life in this time, in this world following so many deaths of many kinds. Resurrection life after the death of my marriage; life after the death of innocence and my own naivety; life after the death of youth. Life like the phoenix arising from the ashes of who and what once defined my life to live again, renewed and free and filled with hope.

I know all of this because I believe and have experienced the glorious truth of the resurrection in my life. The proof of the resurrection is found in the fruit of faith born and continually growing in my life, so that with the women returning from the empty tomb I, too, can say, “he has risen! Where once death reigned, life has now been crowned lord of all forevermore! And, indeed, light shines in the darkness, and the darkness is not powerful enough to overcome!”

And is there really any greater hope, any profounder truth than the powerful, terrifying, joyous message of that angel so long ago? “He is not here! He is risen!” And if he triumphed over death then he surely is the Lord of life. And as the Lord of life, he has the power and authority to give life … and hope, always hope.

This singular truth, really, is proof of everything he taught, every miracle he performed, every promise he made. This is the confirmation of purpose in creation, of meaning in our existence, of divine intention for our lives. No, Christ is not in the grave. He is not dead, cold and lifeless in the earth. He is not there… He has been and is the risen Lord and Savior, enthroned in my heart by faith. And despite what evidence there may be, however comforting, this fact is the unassailable fact of faith, not science … and for that reason, the more evident and rewarding.

In the simple words of Watchman Nee, “Our old history ends with the cross; our new history begins with the resurrection,” by grace through faith. And so it begins here and now, in this life in this world. “He is not here, for he has risen!” Alleluia!