Calm before storm, softly lit trees in dim living rooms
Like tombs of years gone before but passed, too fast to grab hold,
Scraping off the mold, like flakes of gold left behind by memories stored longterm
Knocking back the worm you’ve finished the glass waiting to be poured,
Ignored by others, your sisters and brothers but left behind for you to wait, to contemplate,
To exist in a state of mind promising not to bind you to what was, and less thrilled by what is
But this – moment that points to what will be. As still framed artwork from empty hotel tells you
This is the same in every room, every womb that carries expectant moments of hope
For those facing end of rope, for those with unpaid bills, unclimbed hills, or scars from falling down
Look around and find you’re not alone, not abandoned to roam as sea foam washed up on
Empty beaches, previously filled, children laughing at will, sun spilling through the shade of clouds
Too weak to intervene – and somewhere in this scene, you recognize the obscene thing
Is not to have hope, to try to cope, nor is it offensive to be burdened or feel uncertain,
behind the curtain, to to be hurting or elated, you are not fated to endure these moments solo,
To know there are plenty just outside, waiting for curtains thrown wide in invitation
Just waiting for relation’s sails to unfold, ship catching old winds
and launching into waters, departed to places uncharted but together, weathering whatever.
If only all would sever the binds toward such endeavors, instead of cleverly arranging
mortar and brick, in order to trick others into staying just outside their reach, impeaching friendship as a sail not worthy of raising, tasing those who try with shock waves of pride and cold shoulders, boulders way too heavy to entertain, strained to points of breaking simply by taking the chance on the uncertain, and trying to know the you behind the curtain.
So rise up from your position, wishing to be known but sitting on a throne surrounded by carefully crafted kingdom of silence and control, take a stroll through the eyes of someone who wants to know The ways you grow, so show the extro-version, the side you’ve tried to hide,
slide back the door, or at least trade brick for fabric,
A trick which allows you privacy but still parts the way
When seasons sway you toward a day where all seems lost, and cost seems too high
Hope embossed on invitations sent to everyone but you, to do that thing that seems with ease,
Locking your knees, pretending all is fine on center stage,
but with age those dog-eared pages of behavior lose their truth
The proof discovered on the shoulders of others you’ve allowed behind the curtain
I knowing thou, world seeing just how there might be hope for them as well
As swells of hope the waves crashing on shores around, surrounding and flooding
Where you live, the best gifts to give come unwrapped and ready, a steady flow
Of willingness to know and be known, your light shone and self shown
Pulling back covers, recognizing sisters and brothers where previously called “others”,
Remember that knowing a name is not the same as knowing person,
Clicking like is not making a connection, on deeper inspection we find souls thirsty
To interact, to shed the laugh tracks of hundreds to hear one genuine response,
And you – can be a first responder, the first to ponder,
On the scene, showing just what it means to be less obscene in our culture of obscenity,
To not accept the serenity of status quo, simply adding to the flow of what it means to know.
Pull back the curtain, but first your own, letting it be known, we are all wizards on tender thrones
Groaning beneath the weight of creating an image we know can easily shatter
So do something that matters, unfolding sails meant for winds of change,
No matter how strange it may seem, engines filled with steam gleam with polished potential
Powers elemental to our being, much more freeing than scrolling down with feigned elation,
Soften your heart, and set sail your ship to true relation.
Category: Different Thoughts
Enough.
I remember working at Youth Haven Ranch as a teenager. Waking early to shower, and walking on my own to the giant red barn, a new addition to the campground since I’d attended as a camper. The dew on the grass competing with the beauty of the steam rising out over the field in the distance. The birds calling out to welcome anyone willing to rise early enough to wish them good morning. Coffee was not yet in the vocabulary of my palette.
With difficulties at home, it meant the world to have the confidence of Kyle, Mike, Bob, Dave, Joe, Scott and the others. These men who were leaders of the camp, placed me in oversight of the “Petting Farm” for the entire summer of 1998. Each morning I’d rise early to great the midwestern Michigan beauty that exists as an island between streams of somewhere in the sprawling farmland, otherwise known as a “campground”. I, neither “city kid” nor “country boy”, but rather a conglomerate of “raised by church-going single mother” and “growing up on a highway”, would open up the barn every morning.
Thomas Merton echoed the Psalmists who spoke of all creation having special knowledge of God, and an awareness of the divine. The personified versions of these animals knew not only God, but could have significant discourse with me on passages of scripture, drama from home, or the latest girl counselor I might be crushing on that summer. Norma, the cow, was particularly wise and would share her insight with me – providing I allowed her to escape to the grassy fields before Jack – the lone donkey. As you might expect, he was little help anyways, always laughing when I’d ask his opinion.
The exuberance each animal met the dawn with, running out of their stalls to stretch, run, and snack, was equaled each week by new sets of young people – each eager to pretend for a week – that life was simple. It was a campground for economically and socially disenfranchised kids. Shedding the fear, the instability, and the harsh climates of home – by the 3rd day most kids understood they were safe and loved here. The animals knew the same as I entered the barn each morning, to care for their stall and feed them.
I attempted to begin most mornings, once the animals had been let out and immediate needs cared for, soaking in the silence of the big red barn. Breathing slow at the start of the day, I would go over the schedule of what groups would visit, and read some of the scripture from a recent message at the chapel times. I was experiencing for an entire summer, what many of the children there tasted for only a week – the desirable simplicity of life. To understand sabbath was less a day of the week, and more an invitation to rest and be content.
I want my kids to know that contentedness. Shoot, I want the world to know that contentedness. In my best moments today – I have it. The contentment Mary and Joseph felt when they laid their firstborn son in an animal food-trough, surrounded by the sights and smells of the barn. The breathing slow. Not knowing what tomorrow might look like, but holding enough in this moment to outweigh any anxiety that may threaten to surface.
There is so much to hold in this moment. You are beloved. You are enough. You are capable. You are able to contribute to the lives of others. Your smile can be a candle-light in the dark day of another.
There may be weeds growing – but there is so much wheat.
May you discover how it grows even today.
Political Climate
As we walk forward, toward the unknown we begin to roam in new altitudes,
and attitudes mixed with platitudes have begun to make it hard to breathe
the hot air just a little too thin, sunlight begins to dim and I realize
I’m in flip flops stopped at the bottom rock looking at the top of a mountain I’m unprepared to climb.
And I’m here today to say, I think that’s okay.
Because this is Mount Political Climate.
You may have noticed a slight decrease in temperature because it’s cold
A system way too old for anyone to question, we’ve steam-rolled the bold ways of discovery
And fell deep into the well of “this is how it’s been done”, and the sun continued to rise
so our decision must be wise. We disguise the misguided attempts at others to deconstruct
Those who might call it corrupt, because “they’re simply outsiders, under-performers, Unprepared misfits who couldn’t handle the climb.”
But it’s time those of us not clinging to the ledges to look up
And realize what we seek, might just not be the peak
Of Mount Political Climate. Refuse to Climb it. Walk Around. Walk Around.
The sounds should astound us at first, like a thirst that’s unquenchable
Things unmentionable aired out for public consumption, because that shows gumption
Whatever that is.
And the fad is growing to start showing your opponents weaknesses before they get a chance
To show you with your pants down. The town meeting ignores the fact that you’re running to be a leader,
Because deep down, they’d rather be amused.
A in the negative, Muse meaning to think, we are a people not thinking
While our patterns go on stinking and bringing about change in ways
we never would’ve chosen On purpose
Getting nervous as we’ve only scratched the surface
The fact is, we deserve this type of leadership, because it’s only a megacosm
Of the micro we live every day
As we live to get paid, and sway situations to shine the sun on our day
I wanna get mine and protect it, and keep others out so they can’t infect it, but don’t try to inspect it,
because – like I told you, it’s mine.
My Mountain of Political Climate. Refuse to Climb it. Walk Around. Walk Around.
And so we’ve found that sounding an alarm might just do some good
And it could shake you and I away from what would, toward what should happen, as we’re mapping new routes
As we refuse to climb the footholds set before us, though others may ignore us, or abhor us,
Our voices join in one chorus,
That healing won’t come by name calling, health is not built by a wall, and one sure way for us all to fall is to try and stand so tall everyone else seems small.
The ball is in our courts, to call our courts to once again view the human in their being.
To start seeing names instead of numbers, to welcome new comers to the table, and perhaps rising above all political noise, is the silent necessity of, Love.
The hidden wealth of nations is not found in vaults, or in banks.
That Power is not found in muscles, missiles and tanks.
That Happiness not found in tickets to Disney and apple pie.
We must go beyond a simple cry for change, and embody what we hope
Facing the ends of our rope, we come together, tethered to something greater than ourselves
Dusting off the shelves of a room we knew well when we were young
Before we became so high strung, and the songs we sung were a lot more inspiring
Not conspiring for one to rise, but to ignore such lies and seek the good of all.
Because, humanity, united we stand, and divided we will fall.
But it’s a Mountain, this Political Climate. Refuse to Climb It. Walk Around.
words from wick 