“The Story Teller”

The bottom line is

we argue about the story.

Is it too long and takes up

our own precious time,

 

or is it exceedingly short,

lacking information and therefore value?

I suppose it gives us comfort

to focus on the story rather than the story teller.

 

That way our focal length

is limited, safe, controlled even.

For if we abandoned interest

in the story and reached through

 

with the heart to the heart

on the other side, like finding

a live puppy in a pile of stuffed toys,

our own hearts would skip a beat

 

in delight and surprise

at the connection of warmth and immediacy.

The unexpected joining

with the real story teller

 

creates such a song of joy

that the tune of the story itself

is changed forever

and our arguments over story

 

are revealed as immaterial.

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“Just Another Sunday

I am truly afraid

to be helpful,

allowing you free reign

to shine your light through me

 

for you will surely ask

me to do what I destest

if for no other reason

than to show me there is

 

no where Love is not.

No when, no why, no how.

And I will be left with

poop patrol once again.

 

Yet I have created

this very experience

of being “sure” you will

ask the impossible of me

 

because I ask it of myself:

Be unhappy.

Be limited.

Behave.

 

But what if I just allowed

all of it:  my fear, the truth,

my willingness and lack there of.

Wouldn’t that be closer

 

to presence; to life; to love:

I will close my eyes

on the day shortly.

A trying day: trying to be good,

 

trying to live the impossible

trying to please an idol

trying to justify grievance and anger

trying to cling to an old hate.

 

Now the day is done.

It is finished and it is good,

all of it.   I can accept and bless

the whole spectrum of colors

 

that live in the light

that is me.

 

Amen.

Good night.

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