Abba's Way

The Future of "Abba's Way"

2006-02-23T14:18:00.000-05:00

"Abba's Way" is now a book, a mode of living, and a series.

As a book, "Abba's Way" is simply out there. The initial seventy meditations are available in hardcover, paperback and e-book form

How goes it?

I cannot answer yet, but I will know more in a few weeks when the iUniverse statistics for January are made available.

I do not live for a huge audience for this.

It will be disturbing to those who are partisans of organizad religion. It will be more appealing to those who cotton to the lyrics of John Lennon's "Imagine".

For, at heart, "Abba's Way" is not merely a true and profound theological assertion, but also an assertion that the time of violence and the values of violence has ended. That is, violence must now be replaced by accommodation, negotiation, retreat from the manly virtues, affirmation of a higher human state, of an Abba-infused culture.

The future of "Abba's Way" is therefore the future of the world under the seal of imagination, creativity, change and hope.

So "Abba's Way" is a mode of living.

It is a series also. The second volume will be similar to the first, only written not as the words of Jesus to the world, but as the words of one on Abba's way IN the world.

Some of the entries are the most recent in this blog. Many are merely titles now, waiting for those most life-filled moments when the work of Abba's way is done.

Abba's Way 1 Is Now An E-Book

2006-02-15T09:58:00.000-05:00

The first volume of Abba's Way is available as an ebook for the modest price of $6. Since it is really a dip-in-an-out meditative book, it makes sense to have it as an ebook that will always deliver you to where you were last reading.

Click here to visit the Ebook Mall and Purchase Abba's Way

On Games

2006-02-06T16:11:00.000-05:00

Games are a conundrum that's so profound,
Sheer puzzlement abounds and overflows.
I speak of games whose echoes may resound
Deep in the depths where no one ever goes.

I disclude games with others on their face;
It's not too hard to see their large appeal.
I speak of games that open inner space,
Where competition with oneself seems real.

It is this competition I would plumb,
When games are played solo, one against ... who?
Is it myself? Or am I playing dumb?
Or is it self-division? Is that true?

And what of the computer I oppose?
Or virtual opponents? Is that strange?
The hours I have spent nobody knows,
I have a sense that I may never change

Is it like smoking was before I stopped?
A simple, time-consuming addiction?
Or an adventure that cannot be topped?
Is it my private place in my own sun?

Or just a testament to action's pull
One decision, a hundred, any, some!
Roll dice, turn cards, fall fate, time full!
And what emotion might we hope would come?

I do not know. We all are who we are.
I see games finally as mysteries
For some a waste of time, for others far
Far more. A vehicle for thinking as we please.

Whatever rings your bell, is that the way?
Is there a whole life somewhere else that's lost?
How free am I if games exert such sway?
Could I rise up? How much would freedom cost?

And there's an even deeper level too
For if I walked away, would the game end?
If it's with me, no matter what I do,
Then finally it's I I must defend.

Ah, conundrum, you see it written plain:
It all comes down to how you see it all.
I shy away from every bloody stain
And seek protection in my own downfall.

On Chance

2006-01-28T11:32:00.000-05:00

Listen to New Rain. This is a recording I wrote and made in the 1970s. It is over 50 minutes but worth a hearing, I believe. Just Click the play button. Adjust volume on your computer. Enjoy.

A chance is what occurs when destinies
Are viewed to be just random happenings.
We end up with a bunch of histories
As truthful as eye-witness offerings.

Only in games with rules does chance exist.
Most chancy things do not take place by chance.
Most chancy things are more a simple twist,
A twist of fate, a new step in life's dance.

If gambling was chance, you might prevail,
But all those great portentous turns and rolls
Are nothing but a preordained travail
By which the bell for every gambler tolls.

Ah yes, the dice, come seven, whoops it's craps.
And vaunted chance has played its deadly game.
But no, the game is plain, no hidden traps.
The odds are sure, the end always the same.

I wish to state the power of the will.
So much addiction is a fantasy.
The gambler knows, and yet he gambles still,
For this is how he wills his life to be.

He or she, for women gamble too,
Believe their life of failure knows no bounds.
They do not know what Abba's poised to do,
But if they listen, Abba's voice resounds.

Our accidents result from causes, right?
You'd not believe it. Chance drives everything,
In the beholder's eye, not Abba's sight.
There is a song of sparrows we still sing.

Can Abba within be omniscient?
Come, come, is not this something we all share!
Don't we take steps to be less prescient?
The better to avoid life's standing dare.

Seize all your power and reach for Abba's hand;
Come, overcome by grasping the good prize.
It is the prize chance-owners understand:
Make active choices, good futures devise.

Chance is the flip side of necessity,
A common coin, a trap, a lethal team.
They'd fling us all into passivity,
And blind our souls to Abba's saving beam.

Each day's a summons to creative act,
To navigate around the hidden shoals.
To overcome, to make an Abba pact
That your day will tend toward creative goals.

Let chance recede and willful doing advance.
Let Abba's presence light the way ahead.
Somewhere between, Take care, and, Take a chance,
There is a path on which we're freely led.

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New Rain

2006-01-22T07:05:00.000-05:00

Listen to New Rain. This is a recording I wrote and made in the 1970s. It is over 50 minutes but worth a hearing, I believe. Just Click the play button. Adjust volume on your computer. Enjoy.

On Anti-Semitism

2005-12-03T10:15:00.000-05:00

The lines were ended when I first spoke out,
There is no blood that specifies degree;
Let boot heels march and hateful voices shout,
The truth is there for all with eyes to see.

The scapegoat vanishes with binaries,
The yeses and the nos, the all opposed;
The scream of mobs disperses in the breeze,
More easily than might have been supposed.

Those in denial once were too naive,
Death knells of evil rang throughout the halls;
And few there were who could see Abba grieve,
In killer and in killed behind those walls.

And yet the seeing spoke apposite truth,
When they said we must move to a new stage;
Moving one by one from un to couth,
Accepting suffering with less than rage.

If suffering is needed to prevail,
Against the haters and the insecure;
Then we shall stand for truth or else we fail,
And live mid lies of races high and pure.

The human race is one, Abba's in all,
Abba went to the ovens in each one;
Abba's denied whenever hatreds fall,
As clouds so dismal they blot out the sun.

The human race is one, Abba's in all,
Kill one, you kill Abba each time you kill;
That Abba lives is so, life cannot fall,
Before the depredations of our will.

The lines were ended when I first spoke out,
There is no blood that specifies degree;
And more and more we learn what life's about,
And how we all can be all we can be.

On Jonestown

2005-11-14T00:10:00.000-05:00

False messiahs break down weaker selves,
The weak seek out the strong, then weaken more.
They hear the very dreams they know too well:
Salvation's near! It warms them to the core.

The next step: Isolation, break them down
Coerce them with group-think if they protest
Then smother them with false love till they're bound,
As powerless as newborns in their nest.

Above all, watch them. See how they conform;
For they have long since lost autonomy.
To follow your desires is their norm;
For they have lost all desire to be free.

Thus false religion's ultimate extreme:
This promise of redemption is all lies;
Controlling you is your cult leader's dream
He does not mourn if your frail freedom dies.

False messiahs feed on battered souls;
They practice hellish rituals of death.
You give your yes to their seductive goals,
And even pledge to them your final breath,

Jim Jones called out, All die with dignity!
His acolytes passed Kool-Aid to the crowd.
He did not drink with them apparently.
It took a shot to bring that reverend down.

Banality of evil? I suppose.
But I would rather call it Abba's loss.
For when all hearts and minds to Abba close,
False interlopers come, and at what cost?

The cost of battered selfhood, so abused,
The end can only be vain suicide
For Abba's freedom, totally refused,
Leave a destructive portal open wide.

A growing crop of gurus seeks weak souls;
Deadly incursions are their stock in trade.
Resist in Abba's name! Avoid their rolls!
Take Abba in, stand free. Your debts are paid.

The weight of guilt that made you weak inside
Is lifted and new freedom grows within.
The door to a free future opens wide.
You'll solve your own life freely. Now begin.

On Exaltation

2005-10-25T11:46:00.000-04:00

Exaltation needs not height nor depth,
It comes from conversation deep within,
And links to any sound or sight at all.

Walk down a crowded street, talk with Abba,
Then look for Abba in each passing face,
Talk with Abba, look for Abba, see,
Your joy and exaltation bubble up.
Exaltation is a mark of oneness,
Of knowing you and Abba can be one.

You know the simple prayer I gave to all,
You cannot fill the hours with one prayer;
But neither should you create formal tomes.

Seize exaltation where it lives and breathes --
Inside of you when you seek Abba there;
Outside of you as you go everywhere.

Exaltation interacts with life,
It is an eye for all that is alive;
Alive means Abba inside everyone,
And exaltation comes as this is known

Don't strain to be exalted, heavens no!
Don't make it into some dramatic show.

Out of your solitude, train senses to
Know more and more of Abba day by day,
And to live more and more in Abba's grace,
And to sense Abba's power in every place.

Exaltation leaves you laughing happily
It is a step, or skip, toward being free.

On Lonesomeness

2005-10-17T06:20:00.000-04:00

Today I wish to speak of lonesomeness:
Lonesomeness does not mean being alone;
Lonesomeness is more a lasting state,
That only ends when Abba is embraced.
.
Then lonely is a simple need for touch,
And lonesomeness a state that is no more.

Too simple? Yes, I do believe that's so.
For lonesomeness has layers broad and deep,
And its effects can be disastrous.
For lonesomeness arises from strong fears.
In broadest terms it is a loss of place,
A loss of feeling tied to everyone.
Once no man was an island, but no more.
Once there were shores and boundaries, but no more.

Even the bars of language start to fade,
And definition seeks some new context,
And no one really knows what happens next.

And yet we know the care we thought we had
Is hardly care at all -- it has no life.
We witness waves of accident and death,
In small or large, it makes no difference.
We live now side by side with genocide.

The fabric of community so frayed,
That we can hardly know a valid way.

The valid way I offer you have heard:
It is the only cure for lonesomeness.
Abba within is within everyone,
Beyond belief or will or promises;
Abba within is this -- it simply is.

Do not be judge of this in others' eyes,
Assuming it's not there if you can't see.
Do not walk back and forth and moralize,
This one is bourgeois, this one is OK.

Accept and wait until the truth is known,
Not with displays, mass shouts or festivals;
Let knowledge, hearing, actions be your guide,
And if connection languishes move on.
To dwell on misconnection makes no sense,
Accept, move on, beyond your lonesomeness
.
Here is one reason why my time is now:
To stave off waves of lonesomeness and angst;
Not with sweet doses of naivete,
But with these words of old stripped of their age --

The good news once is still the good news now,
Perhaps a better news for all our pains:

The realm of Abba's here. It is at hand.
Turn, turn, turn, turn, accept and all is well.

And yet I know you well enough to know
You seek a proof. You seek some form of show.

How long must you know Abba is within,
Before the light of this close tie is seen?
I tell you some days it will be high, bright,
And other days it will show, but low light.
Still I say Abba always is within;
Each day you fail see is one day lost.

But even that is wrong, for Abba holds
You in the deepest love when you see not.
.
We whirl like bits or flour in a bowl
Afraid that we'll all be submerged and lost
But here: The gift I give can save you now.

Your lonesomeness is ended. Take the prize!

Abba is deep within you. Take your stand.

Step out, reach out, go out, stretch out a hand.

Turn lonesomeness to lonely, then you're free.
Acknowledge lonely, see it cease to be.

On Prayer

2005-10-15T08:46:00.000-04:00

I offer but one single prayer to you;
It is the one I offered once, still said.
But somewhat changed, so I will change it too

Each person has a prayer or two inside;
Pray keep them there, for prayers are not for show.
How they became so, ask the priests, not me;
Tome upon tome of words, no privacy.

A prayer is your compact with Abba now,
Abba within, a single tie affirmed.

Here is a way that you can say it now:

Abba whose home in heaven is
Hallowed and holy is your name
Let your realm come your will be done
'Till earth and heaven are the same

Give us this day our daily bread
Forgive the wrongs that we have done
As we forgive those who do wrong
Lead us not into temptation

Deliver us from evil, Lord
And guide us safely to your shore
Yours is the power to heal and mend
Yours is the glory evermore

(In point of fact, I sing these lines out loud,
In elevators, on the street, in crowds.
Not so the world can hear my dulcet tones,
But out of joy or need or just because.)

Let me explain the ending, lest you ask,
Why would I call a friend inside you Lord?
A prayer need only be the slightest nod;
Still Abba may be called the the Lord of all
For as we do befriend our Abba now,
We open up the total scope of all;
And come, in time, to trust its tendencies,
Without claiming to know its mysteries.

Priests took upon their shoulders knowing's weight,
And spun for all their bland cosmologies;
And earth became the residence of fools,
Instead of what makes sense, the home of schools.

We come from accident or will somehow,
And our awareness rises as we grow;
And life for each is knowing Abba's ways,
Or being deaf and dumb to life itself.

If I say, Heaven is where Abba lives,
I speak of where you can live, if you will.
If I say, Hallowed, holy be a name,
Hallowed and holy is the state we seek.

If I say, Your realm come, your will be done,
I merely preface what the next line says;
To wit: Let earth and heaven be the same.

Our daily bread: the need is plain enough
Less plain, our simple power to share with all.
Whence comes the prayer, Forgive our foolish ways;
And then, exactly what forgiveness takes.

That evil is, is never once denied,
Though half the time it is in our own eyes.
Get through the day with life intact, will do;
Keep your eye out and act with reason, too.

Abba can heal and, yes, Abba can mend;
And Abba's glory triumphs now and then.
And, yes, we trust its triumph in the end.

This is the substance of the only prayer I teach;
It is enough to say it to yourself.
Abba will hear. You need not speak a word.

I brought the Temple down once. It survives.
I'd rather that this simple teaching thrive.

On Apostates

2005-10-14T06:20:00.000-04:00

The age of apostates is over now;
Religion's age was the apostate one.

Religion's age is over - all agree
Who rejects creeds rejects apostasy.

The struggle that now circles 'bout this globe
Is religion in its last death throes.
Those who practice simple tolerance,
I call their goodness non-idolatrous.

And what is non-idolatry but truth?
The highest of all values finally.
The name we give it: non-idolatry.
It was the highest at the very start.

"I am who I am," came from the flame.
And then came: "I will be who I will be."

Those who use religion murderously
Are the tag-end of idolatry.

Religion dies and Abba lives anew
Within each person, waiting for one prayer:
Seek, ask, knock and the way will open.

Still apostate seems real enough to some.
Apostate is a view the self absorbs
By turning teachings into formal creeds,
And buying into human absolutes.

Embrace a truth from which you fall away
And you're apostate, faithless, outcast, scorned
Writhe in the guilt of failure to live up.

That is not Abba's way, nor Abba's wish.

The opposite of apostate is free
Your deeds are your judge, not your beliefs

When masters of tradition claim the truth
Apostasy is built into their frame,
Along with institutions, laws and rules.

The master that you serve will rule your mind

Abba does not seek to rule your mind.
It is enough to use it! Use it well.

The opposite of apostate is free.
Your creativity is free to be.

The only proof the world needs is the light
That shines within when Abba answers prayer.
When one doffs all but Abba's graceful sway
The very word apostate fades away.

On Idols

2005-10-06T12:46:00.000-04:00

Idols are both subtle and too plain;
The shrieking adulation of a star,
Some secret, guiding passion well-disguised,
A lethal, communal hypocrisy.

Worshiping goes with idolatry;
It is the act which gives our idols place.
The only ones who demand worshipping
Are Satan and perhaps insistent priests;
Otherwise it is an inner urge.

Subordinate yourself to things that you hold high?
A team, a lesser value, an idea?
Does Abba seek your worship?

No indeed.

Do I?

Not in a thousand centuries.

The very worst of results can be seen
In creeds and churches made to worship me.
Crusades and inquisitions and small thoughts;
Partial truths become oppressive laws.

I came to represent Abba as truth,
The One above whom nothing should be placed.
An idol is a human artifact,
Whether a thing, a person or belief.

The way we build suggests idolatry;
What we place first becomes our golden calf.
Come. Come with me to where Moses once stood
And heard the voice of Abba in the flame.

But he was not content to move along.
Who shall I say sent me? was his demand.
And Abba's answer is value's last stand.
First anger. Think of that. And listen well:
"Say, I Am sent you. I am who I am.
Say, I Am sent you. I'll be who I'll be."

All worship henceforth was idolatry!

You might say I am just an underline
Come to confirm that Abba is I Am.
Need you know more? You will not find it here.

Truth lies within you as the spark of life
Of freedom and of Abba's will-be-done.

Do not press farther, leave the apple be.
Accept the terms of life. And life itself.
Embrace the truth. Abba has but one rage.
And that is giving your worship away.
To serve Abba, give worship to NO thing.

Are lesser values worthy of your Yes?
They flow from Abba's being your good friend.
They are the values that the prophets sketched
In opposition to idolatry.

The words may differ but they coalesce.
Love justice, mercy and humility.
Bring lion to lie down beside the lamb.
No graven images, how plain is plain?
No murder, how obscure is that command?
What is false witness but idolatry?
For idol worship bows down before lies.

Ideas are idols, so are creeds and laws
When they are made the litmus test of truth.
Truth is between Abba and everyone,
Each living being on earth is Abba's home.

How can we stand against idolatry?
Value the mind and heart of all creatures.
Accept the sheer diversity of life.
Judge not that you be clear of the judgment.
And never see your own thought as The Truth.
Give Abba room to be Abba to you.

Ask, seek and knock and live in confidence
According every right to each and all.
For doing less denies that Abba lives.
Extend a helping hand to each and all
For this is Abba's will and Abba's wish.
And learn to live with what you cannot change,
For Abba's patience with us never ends.

Attune your mind to Abba, not idols.
That is the only value you must hold.
Without this everything is flame and dross.
But with it creativity has space.
And Abba's will may yet be done on earth.

On Being Ignored

2005-10-03T22:28:00.000-04:00

Whenever you are seen as knowing much,
Or having wisdom, smarts or expertise,
You run the risk of being filled with pride
And then the risk of ending up ignored.

This is most true of those who would reform,
Whose brush is broad, who seek to change the world.

Expectations of your past go forth,
And woe to you if you do not conform.
Reject the image people have of you,
And it were better you kept silence too.

How many of us end up in exile?
We see ourselves as silenced. We retreat.
But look at things again. Be honest now.
What gave us cause to leave our audience?
What happened that led us to close the doors?

Perhaps I judge too harshly, blind to pain.
Perhaps the door was really shut on you.
I merely say, Come, see the the cause again.
For if a cause is festering within,
The chances are your future is as well.

Yes, exile often is a two way street,
created by ourselves and by events.
And even if rejected, it makes sense
To seek perspective on a frozen past.

Do you subject the past to a broad curse?
Consign a stack of memories to flames?
Say you never will go home again?
Or hate the world you once sought to remake?

Live high, aloof, alone, in bitterness?
Take angered solace in your solitude?
Excuse me if I disturb this high peace.
Would you allow Abba a simple word?

"I've been within you, as I always am.
And you have never, ever been ignored.
I've been within you waiting for your nod,
So we can seek a nearer, better shore.

"We can repair the bridges time has burned,
Or we can move along as we decide.
Just know your isolation is not real,
For you have had a friend from start to now."

So what takes place when such soft words are heard?
You're free to choose, to reassess your time,
To do your history over, as it were,
To start again and set your course anew.

This freedom never leaves, it is instant.
But open eyes and ears to who you are.
Stand tall in knowing you are not ignored.
Not by the eyes that count, the ears who hear.

"I am in all, I link all in a chain,
Or circle or great gathering or throng.
I wait for you to be the who you are.
Not burdened by resentment, hate or pain."

Ah, think of that when you end up alone.
For it is death we feel when we're ignored.
But, even then, in that most lonely place,
Reach out, look in, feel Abba's presence there.

For even in the most lonesome valley,
I say to you, You shall not be ignored.
You shall walk hand in hand through death's shadow.

On Small Virtues

2005-10-02T09:51:00.000-04:00

Small virtues are not small in any way;
Small virtues can be signs of giving hearts,
Thoughtful things one does with care and grace.

To look down on small virtues can be small;
There is an origin of such put-downs.
They rise from two perspectives commonly:
The first is snobbery which look askance
At actions seen as crude or low or trite.
A sneer goes forth that says, Servility!
Or, Tacky! Or, Without taste! Or, How gauche!
(Oblivious as Abba feels the lash.)

The second view suspects hypocrisy.
A caring hand within a family
Turns into violence out in the world.

I have been known to say of all virtues:
What good is what is easy to perform?
Why love of friends and not of enemies?
To these hard questions I would also add:
Consider what the good you do achieves.
Take care to know how all the ripples flow.
Do not take pride in causing far-off grief.
Or puffed up with some showy charity.

I shall come back to this, but first this thought:
In truth, you could be free of all of this.
But only if you slough off all self-hate.
Yes, hatred of yourself, imperfect you.
Yes, hatred of yourself, the fallen you.
Yes, hatred of yourself, the failing you.

All of these hates can mix in with virtue,
Producing double-binds and conundrums.
But Abba sees this mixture in each soul.
How self-hate breeds depression and despond.
How Herculean efforts don't suffice
To pay the prices that self-hate exacts.

There is a light within. A spark of life.
It's Abba's presence and your divine seal.

Accept. Observe. Let pass, as Abba does.

+

Your best virtue is claiming none at all,
Regardless if your deeds be large or small.
You do not know the end of what you do,
Or uses others put your efforts to.

I call this your baptism of true fire.
Unseen, unheard, it happens many times.
When judging ends and and self-love is renewed.
Self-love founded in Abba's love of you.

The smaller good, the more your good achieves.
The smaller good, you see the ripples flow.
The smaller good, you cause no far-off grief,
Nor fall into false forms of charity.

A billion small goods might do more in all,
Than all the vaunted plans some leaders hatch.
The victims of large goods that turned to flame
Are muted testimony to this truth.

So sneer not at small virtues but raise hands
Against virtues that turn the world to ash.

Back To The Child

2005-09-29T10:40:00.000-04:00

Would I be jailed for touching children now?
Oh no, you say, it has to do with how.

Would I be faulted holding children high?
A child can be demanding, infantile.

Is that the way things are in Abba's realm?
Except you be as one of these, stay out!

Can we say all we see is in decline?
That children have no spark left in their eyes?
That parents have no time to care or love?
Why would I say the kingdom is for these?
Except you be a child, you can't belong!

Come voyage with me back to when I spoke.
Your children have lost much of what I saw.
I speak of spectrums when it comes to all.
We have our nasty moments, vengeful days.
A child will grasp and hate and fear and scream.
A child will melt with love and visions fair.

I peel the onion of reality.
And when I do the center is the womb.
Here sperm meets egg and miracle ensues.
Some chances from the billions come to life.
Two persons have together made someone.
Or twins or triplets, I'm not literal.

This mating is a spectrum in itself.
For anger can conceive as well as love.
Neglect is just as prevalent as care.
Resentment rises in some childrens' eyes.
The damage of the first days will survive.

So shall I say it now as I said then?
Let children come to me, do not prevent!
For Abba's realm is made of such as these.
And as a little child you need to be.

Stop! I will say exactly what I mean.
If I place children first, ahead of wars --
If I place children first, instead of cars --
If I place children first, instead of wealth --
If I place children first in Abba's view --
Why would I? You must answer me. Come. Do!

It is because this is the mountain top.
And everything descends from every birth.
Until this world is weighed beyond all hope
And failure reigns in every land and home.

Children, widows, sex slaves. criminals --
They all are one in Abba's loving eyes.
The shards and shattered pieces of our world.
Sing Kyries for deaths that we inflict.

What values do you place atop all else?
Guts! Competition! Winning! Love the Flag!
Stop once again and picture me back then.
A milling crowd who take me for a freak
Or for some magical celebrity.
Some frail disciples shooing kids away.
And I, in livid anger, say, No way!
Bring them to me! To Abba, they come first!
Before the likes of you. Make way! Make way!

+

The ruined children I see are adults.
And loving them is harder than a child.
This is the inner meaning of my words.
Each one of us contains a little child.
Recover her. Recover him. Seize life.
Except you find the cringing child inside
And give that child the deepest warmth you have,
You'll flinch at life and commit still more crimes,
Because of what you lost once as a child.

+

See the child who drinks himself to death.
See the child whose nose is flush with drugs.
See the child who commits suicide.
Hatred lavished on the one who was.

+

I say that in an instant all can change.
The wounded child can yet be taken close.
Enveloped in the light of Abba's love.
For Abba lives within each mother's child.

The broken children from our mountaintop
Build broken cities modeled on their pain.
There is a sad and hard continuum
From child's resentment to completion's stage.

Will father turn to Abba or pace on?
Will mother turn away from her cell phone?
Will children feel affirmed or more neglect?

+

Change values, world! That was my message then.
Change values, world! That is my message now.
The simplest things. The most egregious sins.

On Weather

2005-09-28T07:43:00.000-04:00

We lose our weather and then it returns.
We do not see the stars in smoggy towns.
We do not feel the heat when air is cooled.
We live depending on what isn't seen.

Turn off our power; we live helplessly.
Deprive us of our fuel and we can't move.

The weather, when not friend, seems enemy.
We do not know the ends that we devise.

Each year we claim to know the universe.
Each year things are revised, past theories shelved.
Our institutes and researches proceed,
Our faltering capacities stay frail.

Abba does not control the weather's course.
Abba is life within, without, beyond.

The weather is one of our tests of life.
How we respond will tell us who we are.
And this has always been the basic truth.

The weather is one of our tests of life.
Which offers more protection, homes or caves?
The universe is given as a school.
And I keep saying, Ask! You shall receive!

When Abba is rejected, failure rules.
We call our failures acts of god and grieve.

The catalog of reasons is quite clear:
We do not use our minds as Noah did.
We do not act together mindfully.
We act to make up for passivity.
And then go back to lassitude and sleep.

To have Abba at hand is mindfulness.
To have Abba always is working through.
To have Abba in touch is not to stray.
But our performance shows how much we lose.

The universe we see is like a fan.
It can be closed or opened with one hand.
The one we call Abba, our closest friend,
Has aspects that we cannot comprehend.

But we know more as we attend to life.
And those who know the most feel Abba's touch.

We cannot prove existence beyond proof.
But we can know Abba with one small breath.
And if we see our lives as Abba's school,
We can face life. And challenge. Even death.

What's worse? A sudden storm or human hate?
Say neither. Accept both. But not as fate.
Life is the force of learning. Life's a school.
And weather is a lesson to be learned.

On Bliss

2005-09-23T20:31:00.000-04:00

The state of heaven is a state of bliss.
For us the place of heaven is within.
And bliss is being one with Abba now.

The prayer I once gave you begins with bliss.
Abba and heaven spoken in one breath.
Heaven and earth together unopposed.
We are the earth. Within us Abba lives.

Bliss is a state of calmness in the storm.
Bliss is a state of freedom mid the rage.
Bliss is the life connection we all need.
Bliss isn't wacky, prideful posturing.

To wear bliss on our sleeves is tacky praise.
So keep bliss to yourself. Abba won't mind.

Bliss overcomes enigmas and regrets.
Bliss powers the surmounting of all pain.
Bliss opens vistas through all time and space.

+

Bliss is the center from which life creates.

Bliss is transcendence anchored deep within.
Bliss is the breath of Abba breathed with grace.
Bliss is an intimate embrace of life.

Bliss is the root of deepest happiness.
To be bliss-full is also to be free.
Bliss is the state of being consciously.

+

How can so many things be claimed for bliss?
When downcast is as common as downfall?

Nothing at all is claimed save saving grace.
This is a simple testimonial.
And yet I know it is a gift for all.

I spoke one time of sheer beatitude.
Of blessings given to all those who hear
The inner promptings of the one within.

Sit light to everything, love Abba's way.
Sit fair to everything, give fair its day.
Endure, transcend, accept, change as you may.
Bliss-full beatitude is Abba's way.

Vision and Enigma 2

2005-09-21T12:03:00.000-04:00

Some argue that the past contains the now.
Or that the now must hold all of the past.
Which would explain my presence, I suppose.
But this would be less than what truly is.

Whatever can take place has not occurred.
For if it had, there'd be no need to be.
If all was said and done, life would be done.
Remarkable, this strange philosophy!

You know: The story of two roads that meet.
One goes one way for an eternity.
The other goes the other -- the same thing.
They meet. They call the juncture This Moment.

But if eternity's already past
Or if eternity is still to come,
Must not all things have already been done?
Must not this moment be done, or to come?

Our answer must come from our point of view.
And I can only give you mine: It is:
Time is not circular, does not repeat.
Eternity is not chronology.
Eternity is time on heaven's terms.
It intersects the world's time all the time.
It is whenever Abba's will is done.
Eternity is heaven's time on earth.

May I say this in yet another way?
Time is a spectrum in itself, a field.
Its colors flash according to the time!
One moment you create and lose all sense.
Another you are waiting and time drags.

Time has its qualities and quirks galore.
What we can measure is but fuzzy math.
Would you not trade all sleep for one sweet kiss?
Would you not give a year for one sweet hour?

What we repeat is striving for lost times,
Lost moments when truth flashed across our skies.
We all are containers of all kinds of time.
Each moment can transform all past moments.
Each moment can create times yet to be.

Wherefore we call time's truth a miracle.
Or vision, moment, or bright clarity.

Why would I still be here if time were stopped?
What is eternity but pregnant time?
The medium of knowing time is you.
Abba within you is your link to truth.
The truth of time is being unfolding.
The truth of time is vision realized.
Unfolding, realized -- at the same time.

The truth of time is letting stasis be.
The truth of time is is our eternity.

Vision and Enigma

2005-09-19T08:17:00.000-04:00

Some say there is an eternal return.
Recurrence of all past events always.
Philosophy replaces ancient creed.
The being of all being parsed anew.

The very truth of life is life itself.
For it contains all miracles and views.
Reliving it is not one of its truths.

Abba is every life's eternal truth.
Abba is being, to the edge of naught.
Abba is truth experienced within.
Abba is life as far as we can know.

Abba's concern is for what we create.
Why do balk in fear of doom and death?
Why do we set the greatest gift aside?
We already die when this is done.

There is a heaven, heaven is a place,
Where Abba's will is done and we are free.

This heaven's here when it is here. Always.
How it continues is not ours to know.
But we already know it cannot die.

+

When we are dust is Abba there as well?
How can we know? Why should we know? We don't.

I think of Paul bemoaning his demise,
If he from dust and ashes might not rise.
I think of sad religion built upon
Sad doctrines wishful thinking once devised.

What's wishful about corpses wandering?
And heavens made to look like judgment halls?
And fairy myths of tinsel deities?
These wishful doctrines are a sad reprise
Of priestly striving for ascendancy.

The real enigma: How the truth slipped through!
The only true thing is Abba in you.
The truthful vision: All Abba can do!
If only you let Abba work in you.

On Wandering

2005-09-18T10:23:00.000-04:00

Some wander, some stay put, I move at will.
Sometimes to places anchored in the past.
Sometimes to seek out places to be known.

A wanderer might be a stranger too.
I wander but each place I am is home.

A wanderer may never move at all.
Our minds can wander farther than our feet.
To read the lives of those whose lives are o'er
Is to set feet upon another shore.
Sometimes the parallels are very clear,
And other times we're drawn to stretch our sight.

We see the ebb and fall of lives long past
Their loves, their ills, short lives, long lives, now still.
We wander through these vaults of memory
Amazed at times at what our eyes can see.
Long-forgotten words are heard once more.
Names once lost in the mist rise up again.

+

Today to wander is the artist's way,
For art is now perception in itself.
The layers of our making are so deep
Reflecting creations beyond all count,
Our coalescent magic can be seen,
And real is now the art that we once sought.

The world is lines, lined up at our museums.
And wanderers who see what time has made.
One day museum lines will cease to be,
As we perceive the world that we create.

+

Then wandering will be the way for all.
A loosening, a freedom on the road.
Stand still. Or move. It makes no difference.

New ways to wander rise like poppies fair.
Today's confusion is tomorrow's sight.

Lost continents will be the wanderer's goal.
Rise up anew, for wanderers bring health.

+

The wanderer will find a sacrament
In any sighting, hearing or parade.
The wanderer will not divide the truth,
Romantically conceiving unscaled heights,
Excoriating lows, bowing to highs.

One billion perspectives, one billion truths,
Sitting like bricks upon the passive mind.
It takes some wandering to make them live.

Wherein lies greatness, in your life, in mine?
Once set your anchor there and you are lost.
Wander. Create. Make choices. Keep on going.
Your passing thanks the only clue you need.

Come joy! Come vision! Not some frozen past.
Come peace! Come light! Let all things be made new.

Thus let us learn to see and freely be.
And thus become a world of wandering.

The Stillest Hour

2005-09-14T16:48:00.000-04:00

There comes a time when nothing can suffice,
When words are like a glass that breaks and cracks;
When portents seem so real and speech so vain,
That all events seem beyond all control.

Retreat into the stillness, let all go.
Make no decisions, give in to the deep.
Embrace the stillest hour as loving friend.
Close out all thought, all feeling. Now attend.

Simply attend, expecting not a thing.
A maelstrom cannot come into this space.
Whatever is imagined or retained
Can be dismissed: Put out. Done with. All clear.

Descend into the stillness where the power
Does not impinge, but rather creates room.
Yes, room to think of steps that you will take.
First one, then two, then one, then two again.
Nothing too fancy, you're on guidance now.

Your stillest hour is in a ribbon wrapped,
A gift from Abba, please to recall that.

Who is the still, small voice amid the storm?
Whence come the softest words that have such power,
That mountains move at one whispered command,
And centuries of ill turn round at will?

The stillest hour is now, let it enfold
The agonies, the dead ends and the blocks.
Immobile, you are set to move again.
Struck dumb by living, you will live some more.

Let Abba's guidance be your resting place.
You are not dead, just silent and enclosed.
Now rise and feel a rising, subtle power.
And move on, lifted by the stillest hour.

On Redemption

2005-09-08T12:34:00.000-04:00

I see the bodies decompose knee deep.
I see the face of those who ravage towns.
All cruelty in but one ugly face.
And all defeat in but a single tear.

I see the past impervious to will.
And history may be the victor's tale.
The victors change, but revenge stays the same.
And humankind still plays this vengeful game.

Is goodness nothing but a sad repair?
Repair? Start over? Celebrate? Have done!
Stop now! What's wrong with all I've said?
It is that palaces remain in power?
It is that wrong has strings attached always?

Complexity breeds this simplicity:
Our edifice of mayhem on the screen,
The better for to get the story out,
Our manufacture of new death machines,
Our power wearing suits and ties and rings,
All these go back to Pilate pacing round,
And languidly decreeing that no sound
Be let to permeate his palace walls.

How does my crucifixion now redeem?
My cross is is where the answer makes its stand.
I am redemption that's beyond revenge.
I give empowerment to all who seek.
I am the testament to Abba's power.

For in each one, from Eden to this day,
Abba had only one persistent thought.

That was and is is to co-create this world,
That heaven's way would on this earth obtain.

The cross surveyed a dismal, failing view,
The crushing of all dreams and hopes and prayers.
Yet in each soul and body Abba stayed.
And if you look within, you see a face.
This face is infinite in patient love.

But do not fail to see the justice there.
For with each year that Abba's way is scorned,
The tragic contradiction's all the more.

Demonic human evil has its day,
And catastrophic failure still persists.
These monumental evils all add up.
But rather than desert, Abba holds sway.

Still all who ask are answered in good kind.
Still all who seek discover their own way.
Still all who knock will find an open door.

The flames revenge creates are not required.
To see the face burns more than any fire.

+

I witness many living suicides.
They walk. They talk. They live in ignorance.

Who is to blame? Themselves, religions, books.
All ways that do not see the gospel whole:
Abba's at hand. Abba's within. That's it.

+

I once explained there is one deadly sin:
Deny the holy spirit. Certain death.
This holy spirit is Abba within.
Extinguish Abba and you cease to live.
Yet this is not the final word at all.
For this light cannot ever be put out.

+

Redemption does not depend on revenge.
Our eye for eye is puerile idiocy.
Redemption is the twinkling of your eye
When it perceives the saving truth within.

On Soothsayers

2005-09-07T11:01:00.000-04:00

Sometimes there is a time to pray and fast.
Not as display to others, just a time.
Heed to the motion of the moment, heed.
For in your mind there is a fertile field.
And impulse may presage a bursting seed.

These days soothsaying focuses on doom.
The earth will warm. The trees will die. Prepare.
More quakes will come, more deadly waves, more fire.
See, sinful man now sounds his own death knell.
See: What we eat! See: Poisoned waters! See.
Empty your pockets. Bow your heads. Be sad.

Soothsaying knows no ideology.
Right, left, high, low, in, out, predict away.
The grip of doom grows tighter day by day.

Would you prefer an alphabetic code?
Spend your largess and play this fine mind game?
Let your worldview be one that entertains?
Do not these ancient tablets hold the truth?
And if they don't, there will be others soon.

I once stood in a lonely wilderness.
I prayed and fasted forty days in all.
And in the end it was worth every hour.
For truth came rolling down like crystal streams.
Truth broke through crevasses to sun-baked plains
To sooth the fevered brow of anxious earth.

But no, the world prefers anxiety,
And spectacle, and miracle, all three.
Under the aegis of our false worship.
Caress the creed or else caress yourself!
Do anything but see Abba within.

I give the name of Satan to all fears.
I watch the mechanisms as they rise:
Magical mystery and vaunted power.
Misplaced worship and vain idolatry.

My sojourn made these curtains drop away.
And in their place a simple reason rose.
Turn and believe this good news here and now.
Abba's at hand. Join hands. Create. Enjoy.
And, if that's so, this whole charade's kaput!

When you pray, Lead us not, the temptation
Is to trade freedom for a mind that's blind.
I hear your cry: Don't let our pleasures die!
For then we might be seeing with clear eyes.

On Great Events

2005-09-06T13:33:00.000-04:00

We do not see a future in our hands.
Instead we are in thrall to Great Events.

The greatest thing of all would be to own
The very challenge that is life's essence:
That is to freely choose to co-create,
And build the values on which life might thrive.

But no, see what we do, and how we fail:

See here, disaster one, the crumbling towers!
What values were revealed upon all sides?
The puerile values of the puerile past.
With but scarcely a hint of new insight.

See here disaster two, the waters rage!
What is the value of recycled awe?
Doomed to repeat a way of proven doom?

See now disaster three, more waters rage!
Well, didn't Noah have the right idea?

The truth is that we close our eyes to truth.
And Great Events repeat to gaping eyes,
Incessant nostrums and obscene sound bites.

Just as "addiction" forecloses freedom,
So "Great Events" foreclose all saving change.

Our heaven is impotent candy dreams.
Hell is evoked when called for in the script.
Heaven could be a reasoned reaction.
Hell could be seen as mindlessness unloosed.

I once was said to create miracles.
I merely did what reason can well do.
I merely previewed possibility.

Aye, few perceive the largest miracle:
That Abba is at hand, a partner, friend,
That hoary past is lifted feather-like,
That we can say goodby to Great Events.

The greatest event would be values changed.
That is the only option that remains.

On Poets

2005-09-06T00:08:00.000-04:00

What is the obligation to retain?
Memories fade. Why not my own? It does.
If I say poets lie, must I explain?
Must all be held to everything they say?

Are you confused? "But that was yesterday."
Hard work, to gather reasons to retain.
But then again, why should we be believed?

Precisely then, I do not seek belief!
I do not seek a sanctifying nod.
We poets can't be shackled to The Truth.
Our knowledge is too small, our learning weak.
There are too many truths for us to reach.

We have the talent to take fair refuge,
In this or that delicious sight or place.
We have the ears to listen, eyes to see.
And if our senses lie, that's poetry!

Does wisdom lurk elsewhere than in our minds?
Beyond some dumb facade or dormant form?
Why even words are slippery, they flee.

I long sometimes to lie down mindlessly,
And let heaven and earth be poetry.

Why are my feelings more precious than yours?
More noble or more honest or more sharp?
Come, celebrate our dullness, it is real!
Today we have no wisdom to conceal.

We poets craft big answers from our pain.
I know you may resent this laying bare.
I speak it merely to connect with you,
At the precise spot where the mind meets heart,
Where, from a certain angle of vision,
The spectrum of the whole self can be viewed.

For if upon it lies no spark of life,
No inkling of what love or light might be,
And if one's story now cannot be told,
Then look again! Or has a poet lied?

By now you are well sick of poets, right?
But I have led you here with honesty.
And when our excursion is said and done,
Your eyes may open to your only home.

Wherefore I strip the poet's practice bare,
And gather fiction to a special pyre.

I say, Look, look within, seek Abba's fire.
In sight of light today, not yesterday.
Seek presence, not the promise of beyond.
Let past be gift. Let expectation be .

What is more real than what is real in you?
What is more timely than the present time?
Abba does not deceive, neither do you.
And on a good day, poets speak what's true!