Overflow

Raindrops keep fallin on my head
and that doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be turnin’ red.
Cryin’s not for me cause I’m never gonna stop the rain by complanin’ because I’m free… Because in Christ I am free.

Free to accept getting wet from the rain
Free to accept life and walk through its pain
Free to remain in Him and attain in Him the hope
That abides the darkest night, the hope that looks for the light
When there’s none I can see.
I’m free to be me, just me
Free to feel misery and ecstasy with equanimity
And regard those imposters equally.

In Christ I find peace that increases and never ceases

Except when I forget, hedge a bet, or get in a hurry
When the slings and the arrows come at me in a flurry
Like a cold cold rain. And I sink into worry.
I distract and delude myself trying to scurry
Around doing it myself.
Not accepting His help
Completely blind to how I put Him on the shelf.

Not willing to play out the cards I’ve been dealt
I complain. Curse the rain. And feign a campaign of control
Until His Grace smacks me upside the broadside of my soul

Until I set aside my ego and see so it’s better that He go
And steer my ship for a while. Or better yet, forever.
Then I can smile in any kind of weather.
I can welcome the rain. Accept the wet. Accept the death
Required for true life. Accept His Cross.
Welcome the loss.

See, God’s Will will be done whether I want it or not
So Christ, help me want what I already got
Rather than jonesing to get what I want
Reveal to me the blessings I can’t seem to spot
Without a lot
of your Grace.

Please free me from noisy desires that still taunt me
Please free me from nagging temptations that haunt me
Please free me from the conceit that I’m too good
To suffer a little defeat when I know You would
Die for me and rise to be my shelter for eternity.

By walking thru the pain with Him, ultimately I gain with Him. And I can remain with Him.

Where I can be…Free. Nothing’s worrying. Me.

I was listening to my daily payer podcast, courtesy of the Jesuits at Pray As You Go, and I heard something familiar. The words of the meditation song were the same as the meditation sung by my best man at our wedding twenty years ago. But it was some other arrangement, not the Ralph Vaughan Williams melody I was familar with. This made me smile, and I started trying to sing the old tune I knew.

Later, Heidi called me on her way out to class. “Did you listen to the prayer podcast this morning? Anything sound familiar?” So we shared a quick moment.

It makes some great poetry. Better when sung. I wish my voice were in shape enough to do this justice. Anyway, here it is.

Come My Way, from The Call, by George Herbert

Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life:
Such a way as gives us breath;
Such a truth as ends all strife,
Such a life as killeth death.

Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength:
Such a light as shows a feast,
Such a feast as mends in length,
Such a strength as makes his guest.

Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart:
Such a joy as none can move,
Such a love as none can part,
Such a heart as joys in love.

It’s about that time of year. John Coltrane recorded “A Love Supreme” on December 9th, 1964 and left the world one of the greatest musical recordings ever in any genre, any decade.

I’ve been thinking about him for the last couple of weeks ever since we had this prayer session in adoration at Church. We had about 40 guys all in the chapel and the prayer leader had arranged to play some spiritual music for our reflection. Personally, I prefer silence in adoration, but I especially did not jibe with the schmaltzy orchestral religio-kitsch he chose for this 20 minute period.

I began to wonder, “Wouldn’t Jesus like to hear something updated for a change? Something good, something not churchy, something with a beat, perhaps?” There is quality music out there that gives glory to God regardless of whether it is “Christian.” And then I though of Coltrane. Jesus definitely does not get to hear enough of John Coltrane. And what would be a better selection for adoration than “A Love Supreme?”

I’m going to give it try one night. I have the midnight hour tonight by myself. Maybe I’ll bring my own tunes…

Meanwhile, here is the eponymous poem he wrote in his liner notes for “A Love Supreme.”

A Love Supreme

I will do all I can to be worthy of Thee O Lord.
It all has to do with it.
Thank you God.
Peace.
There is none other.
God is. It is so beautiful.
Thank you God. God is all.
Help us to resolve our fears and weaknesses.
Thank you God.
In You all things are possible.
We know. God made us so.
Keep your eye on God.
God is. He always was. He always will be.
No matter what…it is God.
He is gracious and merciful.
It is most important that I know Thee.
Words, sounds, speech, men, memory, thoughts,
fears and emotions — time all related…
all made from one…all made in one.
Blessed be His name.
Thought waves — heat waves-all vibrations –
all paths lead to God. Thank you God.
His way…it is so lovely…it is gracious.
It is merciful — thank you God.
One though can produce millions of vibrations
and they all go back to God…everything does.
Thank you God.
Have no fear…believe…thank you God.
The universe has many wonders. God is all.
His way…it is so wonderful.
Thoughts–deeds–vibrations, etc.
They all go back to God and He cleanses all.
He is gracious and merciful…thank you God.
Glory to God…God is so alive.
God is.
God loves.
May I be acceptable in Thy sight.
We are all one in His grace.
The fact that we do exist is acknowledgement
of Thee O Lord.
Thank you God.
God will wash away all our tears…
He always has…
He always will.
Seek Him everyday. In all ways seek God everyday.
Let us sing all songs to God.
To whoma all praise is due…praise God.
No road is an easy one, but they all
go back to God.
With all we share God.
It is all with God.
It is all with Thee.
Obey the Lord.
Blessed is He.
We are from one thing…the will of God…
thank you God.
I have seen Godd–I have seen ungodly–
none can be greater–none can compare to God.
Thank you God.
He will remake us…He always has and He
always will.
It is true–blessed be His name–thank you God.
God breathes through us so completely…
so gently we hardly feel it…yet,
it is our everything.
Thank you God.
ELATION–ELEGANCE–EXALTATION–
All from God.
Thank you God. Amen.

The kingdoms gonna come
in the Father thru the Son
by the water by the fire
in the heart by the desire

The kingdoms gonna come
thru the many, thru the One
by the deed and by the Word
through the seen and thru the heard

The kingdoms gonna come
in the Three and in the One
in the many in the each
by the yearn and by the reach

Lord, I yearn and reach.
I know I’m a sinner
I’m not getting any thinner.
my weakness for my dinner
is the smallest of my failings.
i’m sorely ailing, i’m bailing
on your simplest commands
But here I stand before you
with my hands reaching for you
a broken man, yet I adore you
i beg you and implore you to make my life anew
i don’t want to be a winner, so much as a beginner
who sees with your inner heart.
Give me a new start
a child like love for everyone
put kingdom work in my hands to be done
and in my mind a knowledge of your Son
bring us the kingdom His sacrifice has won

Yeah, the kingdom’s gonna come
in the Father Spirit Son
in the prophets, in the preach
in the heal and in the teach

The kingdom’s gonna come
in the Will and in the Done
in the home and in the street
by the hands and on the feet

The kingdom’s gonna come
by the kindness by the Love
by our humble supplication
by our grateful veneration
day by day our transformation
soul by soul the world’s salvation

That’s all for this joint
I hope I’ve made my point

May the Lord bless you and keep you
May he sow you and not reap you
May the Lord renew and rest you
May he only gently test you now and then
May His peace in you increase in you and never cease in you
Amen

I know a lot of fancy words.
I tear them from my heart and tongue.
Then I pray.

— Mary Oliver

I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.
Not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep,
but just enough to equal a cup of warm milk
or a snooze in the sunshine.
I don’t want enough of God to make me love a black man
or pick beets with a migrant.
I want ecstasy, not transformation.
I want warmth of the womb, not a new birth.
I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack.
I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.

— Wilbur Rees

Some souls are made of satin,
Some souls are made of silk,
Some souls are filled with buttonholes
And some with buttermilk.

Some souls are rough as burlap
And some are sleek as fish.
Some clang like old alarm clocks,
And some are born upon a kiss.

Your soul is such a mystery,
It hides behind your grin.
I hope it’s made of marmalade,
Hot mustard and some gin.

— Author Unknown

(Unknown to me anyway, I got it from the Iowa Underground BB from the post of a guy calling himself “profo”)

I have updated my collection of online poetry with new poems and old poems newly found. An old professor contacted me about some futuristic poems of mine and I went out there for the first time in months. I realized that the collection was not complete and I might as well have a complete collection somewhere.

Whether or not the poetry is good is beside the point. I would only be proud enough to read a few in front of a group, but most of it is sentimental, goofy love offerings. But I do need a record. Something to hand on to my daughters so they can remember what a sentimental goof their father was. It is the witness to our lives through love that makes us real.

One of these days I’ll spend a few bucks to get these printed and bound, but until then you can read them here.

My friend from asia has powers and magic,
he plucks a blue leaf from the young blue-gum
And gazing upon it, gathering quieting
The God in his mind, creates an ocean more real than the ocean,
the salt, the actual
Appalling presence, the power of the waters.
He believes that nothing is real except as we make it.

I humbler have found in my blood
Bred west of Caucasus a harder mysticism.
Multitude stands in my mind but
I think that the ocean in the bone vault is only
The bone vault’s ocean: out there is the ocean’s;
The water is the water, the cliff is the rock,
come shocks and flashes of reality. The mind
Passes, the eye closes, the spirit is a passage:
The beauty of things was born before eyes and sufficient to itself:
the heartbreaking beauty
Will remain when there is no heart to break for it.

Robinson Jeffers

Down near the bottom
of the crossed-out list
of things you have to do today,

between “green thread”
and “broccoli” you find
that you have penciled “sunlight.”

Resting on the page, the word
is as beautiful, it touches you
as if you had a friend

and sunlight were a present
he had sent you from some place distant
as this morning — to cheer you up,

and to remind you that,
among your duties, pleasure
is a thing,

that also needs accomplishing
Do you remember?
that time and light are kinds

of love, and love
is no less practical
than a coffee grinder

or a safe spare tire?
Tomorrow you may be utterly
without a clue

but today you get a telegram,
from the heart in exile
proclaiming that the kingdom

still exists,
the king and queen alive,
still speaking to their children,

- to any one among them
who can find the time,
to sit out in the sun and listen.

– Tony Hoagland

After you flew across the country we
got in bed, laid our bodies
delicately together, like maps laid
face to face, East to West, my
San Francisco against your New York, your
Fire Island against my Sonoma, my
New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho
bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas
burning against your Kansas your Kansas
burning against my Kansas, your Eastern
Standard Time pressing into my
Pacific Time, my Mountain Time
beating against your Central Time, your
sun rising swiftly from the right my
sun rising swiftly from the left your
moon rising slowly from the left my
moon rising slowly from the right until
all four bodies of the sky
burn above us, sealing us together,
all our cities twin cities,
all our states united, one
nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

— Sharon Olds
(published in “The Gold Cell”, Knopf, 1987)

Do not say that I’ll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his “debt of blood” to, my people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all walks of life.
My pain is like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

— Thich Nhat Hanh

‘Untitled’

When the heart
Is cut or cracked or broken
Do not clutch it
Let the wound lie open
Let the wind
From the good old sea blow in
To bathe the wound with salt

Let a stray dog lick it
Let a bird lean in the hole and sing
A simple song like a tiny bell
And let it ring
Let it go. Let it out.
Let it all unravel.
Let it free and it can be
A path on which to travel.

– Michael Leunig

I’d say at this moment, this is my favorite hymn. We sang it in church occasionally for years, and I let it just wash over me and never paid attention to it until I heard it at the funeral of Fr. Walter Sheffield, one of our parish’s most beloved priests. It was his favorite song. It was him to a tee.

Fr. Walter gave of himself right up to the end of his life. Toward the end, he would try to say mass and get confused. But he loved to say mass and loved to be there with people. You’d definitely go to other priests to discuss canon law or theology, but you’d go to Fr. Walter for a friendly chat or for a supportive ear. He was that kind of guy.

When I was younger, I wanted to be the type you’d go to to discuss philopsophy and theology and other heady topics. That’s how I wanted to be known (and still do on my weaker days.) But when I grow up, I think I’d like to be more like Fr. Walter, known for love and service that never gives up. Always a friendly and supportive shoulder to lean on.

So the Servant song was his his favorite song. And I guess I want it to be my favorite song too. I sing it for morning prayer often. As a reminder.

Brother let me be your servant.
Let me be as Christ to you.
Pray that I may have the grace
To let you be my servant to.

We are pilgrims on a journey
We are brothers on the road.
We are here to help each other
Walk the mile and share the load.

I will hold the Christ light for you.
In the nighttime of your fear.
I will hold my hand out to you,
Speak the peace you long to hear.

I will weep when you are weeping.
When you laugh, I’ll laugh with you.
I will share your joy and sorrow
‘Til we’ve seen this journey through.

When we sing to God in heaven
We will find such harmony
Born of all we’ve known together
Of Christ’s love and agony.

— Richard Gillard

In this small box, my love,
you’ll not find a ring,
but instead, a brave, little bee.
He’ll be dead by morn, having given his life
defending his flowers against me.
I felt his sting
while picking the small, purple pansies
growing wild along the roadside,
in hopes of an afternoon bouquet for you.
And I grieved the sting,
more for him than me,
knowing full well the price he paid
for my small pain.
And I allowed him his victory,
leaving his flowers as a memory,
and brought you instead
this brave, little bee,
who proves there is love
even in the smallest
of things.

– Lowell Parker