Friendship is Groovy

Friendship is groovy
kind of like an Oreo cookie
held together with something sweet.
No top, no bottom,
just depends on how you
twist it, dunk it, lick it, eat it.
Friendship is groovy
kind of like purple bubble gum
snap! Snap! Snap! It goes
all over your face;
you pick it off and chew it again
with an eyelash and a grin.
Friendship is groovy
Kind of like your favorite song
played over and over in your mind.
You think you’re singing in tune
even though you’re not
but it doesn’t matter—
Because you’re singing in sync.
And you know the words,
The tune, the feeling—
You’ve built memories on it.
Friendship is groovy
Kind of like this poem
It’s simple and easy to get
It will never win any contests
because it doesn’t do what it should do
but that’s probably why you like it.
And it will stay with you forever
if you let it.
Friendship is groovy
kind of like an inanimate object.
You can look at it
toss it, bite it, hug it, love it, throw it
and then pick it up again
when you want to
and it’s like you never left it.
That’s groovy friendship.

Wait for Nature

There’s something beautiful
in the silence
that exists between man and animal.

And when that silence occurs in the wild,
with man and animal
face to face,
there’s something sacred
that passes between them.

The animal has allowed
the man
to peer into his eyes
--and in essence,
for a moment anyway,
the wild thing has
permitted the man to look at his spirit.

The animal does man a favor, really.

For in that moment,
there is a certain
reflective phenomenon
that happens.
Man sees his ancient past,
hears more clearly the voice of his human spirit,
and springs forward into his memory on behalf of his future.

That is why it is so important to sit in nature.
And to wait for it.

Note to God

So I see you have taken me
beyond a place of doubt.
I no longer have that luxury,
for I find it
true
that there is not a place I can go
and you are not there.

I can not deny your presence.
No, not even in the midst
of my wayward heart can I find
solitude
from you.

You say you want the secret place
--I find that my secret place
is no longer my own.
For you are there.

What kind of God
would sit on a throne not fit for a man?
But there, I find you,
seated on the throne of my high place.

What kind of God
Would unseat himself
at my request? Would take himself down
only with saddened heart
(I see the saddened heart)?

What kind of God
would place himself
second to the motives of my heart
(and do so with love)?

There was a time
I thought you would
entirely remove yourself from me.
I thought (only now I see it)
that your love was conditional--
I wanted it to be.

But now I see
it is I who removes myself from you.

Now I see
it is I who condemns me.

Now I see
you never did condemn.
I was mistaken.

And this is the luxury I no longer have
--to doubt your love, your heart, your kind intention
toward me.
This is solid--no matter what I do.

peace for an electron

i learned today
that an electron
spins
as it circles the atom,

that if all atoms contain a certain characteristic
then we can rightly say
that all materials do too,

and that all material is magnetic
--of a certain sort.

and i see god
in the explanation of scientists.
i see jesus speaking a parable,
drawing lines in the sand

while we stand unaware of what we can't see
unaware of what we can't touch,
what we can't feel,

spinning our circles
around something else we can.

spinning our circles
around a characteristic of an illusion
these senses have created,

spinning our circles endlessly,
forgetting the material
we are made of.

but i see jesus
speaking a parable
as the electron
spins with glee
around its atom.

and all is right with its world.

Confession: At a Leadership Conference, Columbus, Ohio, January 18, 2008

it was bound to happen sometime--my first exposure to life as a possible pacifist--to one day become the minority in a crowd of patriots cheering for soldiers who fight for freedom (so says our speaker, victoriously, at a leadership conference).

but my minority status is not pure, is not yet whole--for my flesh still clings to what I knew--or believed I knew; my flesh still longs for the crowd, still longs to cheer for soldiers who fight for freedom--my flesh still wants to believe, as it once did, that my men die for purpose, kill for purpose, suffer for purpose--that there exists no innocent enemy-child--that Jesus must not have died for these.

but I can no longer align myself with this, can not believe what this crowd believes, can no longer accept blindness as a means to acceptance. I can not turn my conscience back, can not escape the truth I dared to face. It holds me fiercely.

So instead, I'll stand, hands down.