sometimes i feel like
i am a shadow of
who i once was
captured by memories
of the lives i have lived
remnants of songs sung
play on in my head
and i want to push them
out again into the
light of day
it is difficult
to remain in the shadows
to wrestle with what
is ego and what is call
what to dream of
what to let go
to wait for the summons
and still stay awake
and open to the voice
that speaks in
They say it is because of the rain.
That is the reason why there are so many dragonflies this season. Though I rarely see them unless I am in the car. Then when I am parked in a lot or waiting at a red light, one will suddenly appear, swooping in low like a chopper, buzzing my car, peering into the windshield with its large compound eyes. Perhaps it wishes to say hello or is trying to understand what sort of creature would choose to spend so much time cloistered inside a strange glass and metal box on wheels.
Dragonflies are ancient. Their ancestors have been found in fossils from when the earth was young. Yet their lifespan as flyers is only around 7 months with most of their life (2-6 years) spent in the larvae stage.
The story I am part of began long ago. I am a small part of something much bigger than I.
Dragonflies are amazing flyers with the ability to move each of their four wings independently. One species migrates over 11,000 miles!
Often I long to fly, forgetting that I must be prepared to do so and that those times of preparation can seem overly long and uneventful.
Dragonflies have voracious appetites. One dragonfly can eat 30 to 100 mosquitoes a day.
There are many distractions each day that can keep me from fulfilling what I am called to do. There are many things which masquerade as what I should be partaking of. Nothing other than what I am to do and be will satisfy.
Dragonfly vision is remarkable. Their eyes encompass almost the entirety of their head. They can see everywhere except directly behind them.
How is my vision? Am I aware of all that is around me?
Do I strain too much to see what is behind me? Does the past inform my present or weigh me down?
Am I completely immersed in the joy of my flight?
I walked through the warehouse
pieces of a border in my hand
seeking matches in the scattering of wood along the walls
this was not the first time I had been here to try to find a few more feet to finish a project
but though I looked through the offerings again and again
hoping that behind the next piece would be the one that I needed
I did not find it
I did not leave empty-handed
in one hand I had my tape measure and
in the other the two pieces of border I brought with me
yet I knew that I would not return and that my search was hopeless
I would need to try to find another place to match the border
or I would need to simply start over
I have been searching for awhile and
the project has languished
unfinished like so many parts of my life
when does one continue to seek the parts necessary for the completion of a project or simply choose to tear the whole thing out and start over again?
I am of course speaking of something deeper than simply finishing the border around the ceiling of a living room
sometimes I wonder if the project that is me simply needs to be completely redone
then I realize with gratefulness
that is not the way of the Divine
I am the sum of all of who I have been
I am incomplete
unfinished with a mishmash of parts and pieces
that don’t always match
yet God chooses to use every part of me that I make available
broken ugly beautiful
this reconstruction of my soul is a wondrous and strange thing and I am impatient at times with the work that is going on in me
I am not wise enough to see the final product or how I am going to be used tomorrow
I simply want to know
I want to be done
but this is about trust and giving my life over every day
to the Master Carpenter
but not without some pain
works on my renovation
ignorance is power
knowledge is bliss
what to trust now
is so hit or miss
it’s not what you think,
it’s what you do
keep the faith,
but it’s dead to you
until you prove it’s alive
in the way you live,
turning from consuming
into someone who gives
so you’re proud of
always being informed?
that’s a long ways away
from being reborn
no one gives a rat’s ass
what you say to their face
but you’re free to be
another ass in the rat race
as for me and my house,
we’ll go another way
that means dying to this silly stuff every single day
it comes with a cost
but the price is too high
to waste my time on things
that don’t satisfy
so i’m checking out of your group think,
your stupid hive mind,
your walking dead
blind leading the blind
like a moth you’ve become enamored
with the father of light
whose deception’s no less
no matter how bright.
keep spinning the same broken record
on the player in your mind
a lie is still a lie
though it’s played a million times
and feel free to dis this mixtape,
go ahead and push eject,
you’ll find me on the other side of
When my heart is willing, but my body is tired and my mind is weak,
what does it mean to follow my heart and continue to seek
that which warms my soul?
If the journey is what matters, not the beginning or the end,
then how do I learn from history, continue to envision,
and move towards a goal?
If the light best shines through the cracks in my brokeness,
then is my losing when I am best
with no obsession over what is my role?
And are there answers in these questions if I read between the lines,
a sudden gift that I did not expect to find,
that the best healer is one who knows he isn’t whole?
On 55, a few miles east of Seneca Rocks, just past the Native American Relic Museum & Restaurant, is the sign with no name, plain, a beat tin oval hovering between two poles, red and rusting.
Someday, when the way of my life loses its wind and the shadow of the mountain is all I climb, you will see me standing here beside the road, my legs spread wide, my arms outstretched, wrapped around the blankness, advertising nothing.
Journal entry – 11/22/98
Do not allow the Exhibitionists to dictate who or what you observe.
Resist the urge to look.
Be not like the moth so easily led astray by any glowing light, forgetting to follow the guidance of the moon.
Or the crow which covets many a shiny thing and is so quickly distracted.
You are more than an insect or a bird, flitting from spark to spark, spiraling down in ever-drowning circles.
Keep your heart-lens focused ever on the true Light.
We, the young and the old,
have in these days as did the children of old,
two choices facing us:
the New World Order,
with its guardians of violence and greed,
Babel with a new face,
or the Peaceable Kingdom,
the one brought to us by a tiny babe in a manger,
and with him the hope of real change,
in our lives,
a new heaven
and a new earth.
Now that’s what I call good news and cause for celebration.
Shall we dance?
Shall we sing?
Shall we laugh again?
With this graduation,
I reaffirm my choice to the Babe of Hope,
to the Prince of Peace,
and to the King of dictators, presidents, and kings.
Won’t you dance with me?
April 28, 1991
distant suns care not what becomes of you and i
the spark of our lives is a brief flare in the millennia of a star’s burning
they will shine on long after we have faded from our own night sky
yet there is no room for despair
another life awaits
and though briefly burning here we are precious
so burn bright
and disregard the indifference of stars