On Graves

Think not that these cold graves shall disappear.
I conquer death but people have their ways.
Indeed, I said, Let dead bury the dead.
But living-color funerals still hold sway.

What is a mansion with a thousand rooms?
You have it now, if you have eyes to see.
What is, You kill the least and you kill me?
The least are killed on schedule week by week.

Each of my sayings has been twisted well.
Or, when too plain, forgotten or ignored.
So death and graves are doing quite well now.
Few see the light of Abba's laugh within.
Few grasp the freedom to transcend the mix.
Few seem to see beyond this mortal pale.

To make of life a journey beyond life,
You must sieze life as Abba wills it siezed --
As gift, as school, as sunlit path, as trove
Of deep discoveries and lessons learned at last.

Why else would Abba choose this life as home?
And each of us as habitation dear?

Why death you say? I tried to answer once.
And you turned it to superstitious cant.
Reality was made a miracle.
Authority replaced all common sense.
Mystery was made dominion's tool.

Is Abba in us? Yes. Do we go on?
If we are one with Abba, could we not?

Ex nihilo, from nothing, something comes.
But what a mess of life religion makes,
When it crafts heaven to make slaves of us,
And makes the act of reasoning a sin.

Venality persists in places high
And principalities live past their time.
Our vanquished devils become power's muse.
These turn death from a natural event,
Even a thankful ending, peaceful rest,
To centerpiece and twin of violence,
To high commerce and monumental moves.

Make all days holy and they shall not end.
Sit light to graves for they are not the end.
Perceive the miracle as natural.
And life with Abba as transcending death.

Think not that these cold graves shall disappear.
Think one with Abba when the "end" appears.

The Dance

Our Abba is the true lord of the dance;
It rises from the deepest wells of joy,
To dance with Abba's spirit, Abba's grace
Is to know beauty in the inner core.
And overcome pale caution and rank fear,
And openly embrace the future fair.
Whatever threat there is, the dance can dare.

Dance is the rhyme and reason we all need
To move with chance and change and merriment;
Beyond the tangled webs our living weaves,
With power to rise above the madding fray.

Your dance requires no physical event
It is a state of mind before it moves
It is the prompt of Abba moving you
To own the grace that's Abba's gift to you.

On Night

Some sounds are louder when they're heard at night;
Some things are more alive in our night dreams.
Imagination bends to scary frights or trembles,
Longing for the warmth of arms.

Why dark and light, why birth and death, why these?
Night ties us to unfathomed mysteries;
Night is a testimonial to truth,
The truth that life itself is meaningful,
Beyond what we, when wide awake, can see.

The truth of Abba's night time gifts to us,
The gifts of dreaming power and deepest sleep.

The night awakens craving for sweet love,
The night accentuates our loneliness.
The night casts light upon the needs within.

Night stops our time and yet the time proceeds;
When we awake the hours are simply past.
The need for re-creation, palpable,
Is met during hours that simply pass us by.

Attend, attend, to sleep and dream-borne thoughts;
Your body calls. Your body is yourself.
It is the habitation of your life;
When it is gone, then you are gone as well.

Night thus becomes a symbol and a sign;
Night says yes to this premise, and then no.
Night thoughts and dreams are made of Abba's stuff;
They are the stuff of Abba's holy realm.

This realm has habitation in each self,
And calls each self to to become Abba's home.
This is the power of the light unseen;
Night makes this unseen realm more visible.

Lay your head down and close your eyes in faith;
Open your inner eye to love's embrace.
Allow this love to lift you, wash you clean,
And in this dark, supernal privacy,
Be open to the presence of Abba.

Be open to the arms of lifting love.
And if the day finds you beyond all sorts,
Adrift upon some unexplored, new sea,
Then ponder night and meditate on it,
And stride more faithfully beneath the sun.

On Wisdom

Wisdom and superstition, hand in hand,
Have made a mockery of wisdom in the past.
Free spirits rose and fell before their truths;
Their truths were creeds for which there was no proof;
Their truths were rules which were enforced by power;
Even today, the creedal seek control.

But where lies wisdom? In authority?
To raise the question thus betrays the truth.
For once authority is given place,
It is the ruling kingdom over all.
And wisdom cannot thrive, no it is crushed,
Beneath the boot heels of its certainty.

Wisdom is given to the little child,
Then lost to those who who lose their open eyes,
And cannot hear the winds of Abba's moves,
Within the soft synapses of the brain,
Around the nervous beating of the heart.

Wisdom turns into nostrums and to noise.
Then, skittering this way and that,
Minds rush through mazes of miasmal mist,
And end up making houses built on sand,
Or scattering good seed on sun-scorched paths.

Wisdom is not suppression of the mind,
It is the mind that centers on Abba,
The very spirit of wisdom within,
The reason that prevails when Abba rules.

When I first came, I spoke of great good news:
Abba is near! Turn and receive life now.

But we like drama, conflict, wars and death.
We feed on these like lions in a cage.
We do not see a wiser choice exists:
To use our wisdom to create our art.
To use our hearing to make melodies.
To let the flame of seeking come alive.
To cherish knowing as we cherish life.

There is no wisdom in this group or that,
Or in this nation or this piece of earth.
There is no magic in this spot or that,
There's only what the mind and heart create.

The truly wise observe and thus they make,
New worlds and new realities always.

The best wisdom is won in solitude
And then becomes a journey's golden rule:

Truth beauty, beauty truth, truth love.
And in this pale is wisdom's hard way won.

Wisdom does not enslave, it frees.
Wisdom may not be where it claims to be.
Wisdom is known not by its self preening,
Nor intellect, nor number of degrees.

Wisdom is ultimate security,
Not a parade for all the world to see.

Wisdom is neither blind nor cruel,
It's neither cold nor hot, nor maxim brief.

It is the sense of oneness with Abba,
Not from some prescribed act of faith or rote,
But from experience of light within.

It is not wild, it is not edgy show;
It is the silence that arises when you know.

On Equality

Equality is inches to a T;
Equality is even on the scales.
Equality is rights given to all;
Did I sideblind you with my third pentam?

How do we speak so of equality,
When rights appear to be all privilege?
One century it is our right to live;
Another it's our right to dominate.
Do all possess the solemn rights we claim?
To eat? To sleep in peace? To live unblamed?

Quite clearly, rights are triaged and the weak,
Are given over to the powerful.
No less clear are false "trumpets of the Lord",
Proclaiming rights of those in vaunted power.

And thus we lose sight of our vantage point:
The vantage point of Abba deep within.
This vantage point calls all to live within,
The equal pale of Abba's brimming love,
With equal chance to say a Yes today.

Once take this sacred dignity away,
And you have murdered with more certainty,
Than blade or bullet or the unseen bomb.

And so, without revenge or pity, say:
We make our murders by common consent.
Then to the priests of war say this forthwith,
With courage, standing tall, with open eyes:

We are not equal under anything.
We're equal only when we can say Yes.
Yes to the presence of Abba within.
Yes to the presence of Abba in all.
Yes to our world where Abba asks, seeks, knocks,
Imploring us to let our judging go
And cede to all the same equality.

And thus lay bare the sad logic of war:
It is the cycle of the god revenge.
False justice, hidden greed and mindless need.
No one who seeks revenge will overcome,
Within or on the bloody battlefield.

We claim that we are fighting tyranny,
And yet we wish to be high tyrants too.
Our envy is a frenzy of revenge;
We dress our righteousness in fell conceit.

My friends, mistrust impulsive punishers;
The executioner is not our friend.
Mistrust all justice-seekers bearing arms.
Mistrust the masters of our images.
Mistrust religions touting gods of war.

Some preach as I do but are false besides.
They say they favor life but wish to hurt.
To overcome is to reject this way.
Equality in rights, not in revenge!

On Crowds

Life is a well of joy, but what of crowds?
Building for crowds has leeched life from all souls;
The spirit recoils from such rank control;
We see crowds shepherded by nameless drones.

Small wonder we would turn away from life
With only one thought, to escape the crowd.

No wonder we would seek the wilderness;
But even there we don't escape the blight.
Dig inches there and you will surely find,
Stark evidence of crowds past and to come.
Then dig within and simply realize,
I am the crowd as sure as I am born.

Annihilate the hordes and kill yourself.
Thus crowds are spectrum, just like consciousness.
From low to high, from mad to the sublime.

Sometimes I feel a hateful nausea,
But then concede the crowd its high esprit.
And then I watch the politicians dance,
And their transparent haggling for power;
They play the crowd like parlous puppet fools.
Then too the frantic media pursuit;
I think I hear the decibels of doom.

How do I overcome this nausea?
I learn to live with Abba everywhere;
I celebrate the gift of mindfulness.
There is an all-embracing Abba core,
It's armor is what I most love to wear.
Do I receive wings and divining powers?
No, but I sense I overcome.

From inner silence I give you this word:
Transcend the crowd if you would overcome.
Take it or leave it but do not place blame;
You are the crowd to all who move apace.

The violent cacophony we hear,
Cannot be blamed, if we close Abba out.
There is no secret sanctum we must seek,
Though there are places of profoundest peace.

I would the way of Abba spread to all,
So inner guidance cities might create,
With public spaces keyed to private needs.

I would the way of Abba spread to all,
So crowds might celebrate and not destroy,
And world be made a place all can enjoy.

On Virtue

True virtue does not ever seek reward.
I say love virtue as you love a child;
When does a parent ever seek reward?

Your virtue is a treasure beyond price;
Each virtuous work is like a passing star;
It wanders by, its light always moves on;
When will it ever cease its wandering?

Your virtue is your self, not something else;
It comes from the foundation of your soul.
I speak to those who would be virtuous.

Some virtue is but reaction to vice,
A chance to rest hatred and jealousy.
Your 'justice' rises up and rubs its eyes;

Still others push carts filled with stones downhill,
And give the name of virtue to their brakes!

Then come the authors of "just" outrages,
Who drown the world in its injustices.
How ill the word virtue sits on their lips;
Their 'I am just' means 'I am just revenged'.
Scratch out the eyes of all our enemies!

Oh friends, in deeds be mother to your child;
Don't barter your virtue to win a stone.
Your virtue is a gift that Abba shares;
Hold it as precious as you would your life,
And thank Abba when true virtue is shown.

On Priests

Why have the priests and I been enemies?
Some priests are heroes who have suffered much,
And some have shown the worst hostilities.

A mantle of divinity is worn;
I stand against this outer show and cant.
I stand against implied authority.

There is a part of me that is a priest,
For I would lay my hand upon the sick,
And even hear confessions and soft prayers;
But still it pains me how the people come,
Believing priestliness is what's required.

It is not priestliness or priestly garb,
But knowing Abba rules each life within.
This is the only priestliness we need.

But surely as this world bows down to power,
Then power demands the incense of the gods,
To reinforce its principalities.
Priests become elevated missioners,
And some become this world's compliant pawns.
Some stray from Abba's presence in themselves,
And others stray until the world just yawns.

You know I have compassion for these priests;
They may repel me but that matters least.
For I have suffered with them and still do,
And they seem prisoners now, indeed enchained.

The creed they serve has left them sad captives,
Committed to false values and deceit.
Someone should come and save them from these creeds;
False values sent out in delusive words.
Divisive, superstitious and removed,
From earth, from truth, from Abba, and from me.

In them, calamity ever awakes.
They offer no safe haven in the storm.
They cannot comfort, spark or overcome.

Only the flame, the flame alone prevails.
Turn flame to creed and all must start again.
Come, close your eyes until you see the flame.

Creeds cannot carry souls to their full height.
Both priest and creed were given this command:
Seek far off heaven, sinner, on your knees.

Truly, I'd rather hear a shame-free laugh,
Than see the shame-drenched eyes of sinners saved.

How then did "God" become our enemy?
How did our "God" become the source of pain?
How does disaster come to be adored?
How could we still enshrine the crucified!

Redemption lies where it has always been;
Redemption lies in Abba who's within.
No priestly mediation is required;
It only takes the sight of Abba's fire.

No halls of worship, altars set on high;
No droning hymns triumphal in their tones.
No Sabbath times and customs, no bishops;
No calling forth of devils and of ghosts.
No dramas fraught with priestly stratagems,
Just Abba, eye to eye, and one to one.

Oh, I would have a true community,
Beyond all custom and formality.
But let none speak in creedal certainties,
Or claim devotion as a talisman.
Or seek pay for what Abba gives for free,
Or play power games in sad hierarchies.

Let none appear in ghostly robes of black;
The knowledge priests possess will not suffice.
They've filled the gaps with suppositions false
And called the sad result theology.

Their spirit sank and drowned in pity deep;
Their folly surfaced, swimming to the top.
Then eagerly they forced a growing herd,
To tread a single path to the beyond.

These shepherds were no different than the sheep;
Small spirits, spacious souls, these spirits had.
But spacious souls created small domains,
And wrote their signs in blood along the way,
Believing only blood produces truth.

But blood is the worst witness to the truth;
The purest teaching is poisoned by blood.
Blood breeds delusion and a hating heart,
And if a doctrine makes one walk through fire,
Pray tell me what does fire-walking prove?

Let overcoming rise from Abba's fire,
Close, close your eyes until it's seen within.
All times are holy and the time is now.

On Pity

Our vaunted pity is a two edged sword;
One edge is the worst arrogance of all;
Another is the worst hypocrisy;
I need but cite the world's sad history.

The truly noble sees this double bind,
And leaves self-righteous cavil far behind.
No more is pity placed upon parade,
And made the subject of mawkish headlines.

If you feel pity, hold it deep within;
Shroud your face and flee before you're seen.
That's what I do. I bid you do the same.

Is pitiless the quality we need?
No, hardly that, We need a better way.
Share hope and meal and honey, head held high.
Better than hopeless rounds of "charity".

I would not fail to help the suffering,
But it is best when done from deepest joy.
Our joylessness is our most grievous sin;
If we can learn to feel a joy inside,
Then we can also learn to love, not hurt.

But only overcomers feel such joy,
For only overcomers know Abba.
The suffering of sufferers shames us,
Our charity will merely hurt their pride.
Or earn their bitter laughter to our shame.

Do you believe debt creates gratitude?
No, all our pity is a gnawing worm.
That's why forgiving debts makes such good sense!
Forgive, have done, move on, lend not, just give.

All gifts are wrong when they engender shame;
They're worse if they engender helplessness.
A gift is wrong when it trumpets your name;
And turns society into charade.

Much charity is pity recognized;
So give when no one looks and feel no shame!
Let your love be a mile above pity;
Let your love see the light that is within.
Not just in you, but in the ones you help.

Be warned, be warned. From pity comes a cloud,
A cloud that can envelop all the world.
In truth, I understand these weather signs;
The greatest love is far above pity;
The greatest love is subtle and direct;
It rises not from fear but confidence.
It's given to the one who overcomes.

And how might overcoming come to be?
Stop! Call on Abba inside. You will see!

On The Task At Hand

Just like ripe figs, my teachings fall on you.
My friends, come drink their juice, eat their sweet meat.
Now we would be the ones who overcome,
We would give birth to those who overcome.

To overcome, you re-create yourselves.
For everything is thinkable to you,
Visible and feelable to you.
We shall create what we have called the world,
Reason, love, and purpose realized.

Let me reveal my heart to you alone:
There's no escaping to some god out there.
I come to call you to the one who spoke,
From burning bushes: I'll be who I'll be.
This very One with No Name lives in us.
I call him Abba. Call him who you will.

But do not see him as someone out there,
For nothing out there will make you anew.
Only your grasping of the light within.

Sometimes you will not see, but still will know.
If you've seen love in others, then its glow
Is kin to the sweet light that is within.

Time and becoming are my parables.
I sing changed values and changed ways I praise.
Let's be the strong co-bearers of the light.
Yes light that shone when earth and sky were made.
When seas' and mountains' foundations were laid.

Beget then and become, lead life with joy.
Be not afraid to be creative will.
Come chime the bell within and overcome.

Our will to create turns us toward this world;
It is a hammer angled to the stone.
And in the stone, a lovely image sleeps.
Yea, in the hardest. ugliest stone of all.

A shadow came to me, all still and light,
The beauty of the overcoming One.
It came as shadow, past the gods of old.

The one who makes this earth to be as heaven,
And every value thus to be reclaimed,
Until the despised rise as mustard trees,
And pearls are plucked from places deep and dank.

It is our task to build from deep within
Until a divine momentum begins.
Unrecognized at first, because so new,
Instead of churches, temples, me and you.

The commentators will say we play god;
I say there is no language we can use,
That will not be be distorted or abused.
The light within is Abba and is real
And faith was always Abba energy,
Not items of belief or hoary creeds.
Blah, blah, blah, blah,blah, blah ad nauseam.
Seek Abba's light within and try again.

Remember when I healed and fed a crowd?
Quite minor in the scheme of what could be,
But when it was clear there was energy,
The very hint of that was blasphemy.
Indeed you might say miracles killed me!

The task at hand is to know Abba true,
Abba is not some new age point of light,
Nor is he set on pitting side and side.
Abba is who I came to represent,
The one whose light is truly heaven-sent.