“….and why did you throw that old rag over us?”


 

 

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Lenten Journey – Day 10
Biblical Scripture: Romans 4:1-12 Open Invitation to Join Terri from
Cloaked Monk

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2-Mar-12: Romans 4:1-12

. 6 So also David speaks of the blessedness of those to whom God reckons righteousness apart from works:

7 “Blessed are those whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered;

8 blessed is the one against whom the Lord will not reckon sin.”

 

“….and why did you throw that old rag over us?”

 

 

All critters and unfolk slumped and flumped all on the peak

All legs and arms and noses and ears and even Old Crookeye

All folded and rolled and tolled over in moan and bone to seek

All dear earned rest in best friend breasts no more toned to cry

 

“Hey, what ho, what hey?  What smothers and covers our many colors?”

“Hey, what now, what bow did drop this one cover over us?”

“Rest now, peace now, sweet now of new found right with no dolors”

“Rest now, peace now, sweet now,” did chirrup winged ones in shush.

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“…and you said I had to take a bath first!”


 

Lenten Journey – Day 5
Biblical Scripture: 1 Peter 3:18-22
Open Invitation to Join Terri from
Cloaked Monk

26-Feb-12: 1 Peter 3:18-22

18 For Christ also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God. He was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit, 19 in which also he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison, 20 who in former times did not obey, when God waited patiently in the days of Noah, during the building of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were saved through water. 21 And baptism, which this prefigured, now saves you—not as a removal of dirt from the body, but as an appeal to God for a good conscience, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, 22 who has gone into heaven and is at the right hand of God, with angels, authorities, and powers made subject to him.

 

 

 

“……..and you said I had to take a bath to see the angels!”

 

 

Now galumped and gallalopped ye olde Cross-Eyed Sheepdog,

“Let me see, let me stare, let me blare out for all yon stragglers

“Whatsumever this New Light Be,whatsumever for this leapdog,

“Let me turn and twist and snort all bout new glories for scragglers.”

 

So all critters and folksies did mash and mush aside

So all friends did make path for clumsley bumsley Crosseye

So all friends soon fell to ground as new choir brief choir brief tide

Did sweep to sing one sweet note of hope and peace just for doggly sigh!

 

 

 

 

 

OLD HEN AND YOUNG WEASEL


 

 HEN CLUCKS, WEASEL LISTENS

“Peck, peck, cluckery-cloo, peckery-do,”

old moulty hen self-pleased in stray grains

did coughy-cackle in aged loo

of brisk prancy preen over the plains.

Even though droppy combs, bleary eye

topped this old head pointed  far out

Old Clucky waddled a two-step, oh my!

dusted up a line dance, bend over and shout!

“Sloockely, moochely, peckety, almost youngedty”

cluckled old Henny to who she cared not,

Not minding a slow slinkety weasely minkedty,

Sniffing her tracks, whistely slurpedty in trot.

“Rude dude, you waggely weasel slink-stink,

“Cockle-peck, trottle-deck I spike thou fluff tail,

“‘Til you lie down, bow crown and blink-blink

“In trolly-holy star now fallen in hale.”

“Wriggle in shame, same slinkedty hair-tail!

“Know you not this ol’ chick out here peckedty just waiting

“Under the foretold star fall, old toll wing sweepy trail,

Means we peckies and sneakies  no owe no bail!”

“Oh, Big Mama Hennie, no more peckie, no more scratchie!

“Oh, forsooothy in my toothy, I no more drooly slinky!

“Oh, promisey measy weasy, only wriggledty matchie

“So lookey uppey, Nobley Hennie, in cluckedty blinky!”

Now Hennie and Weasie stretched up necks in gaze

So sparkly in cheer from all the choirs of ages,

So still were Hennie and Weasie they were in daze

Most peaceful, most willing good in humming stages.

Now Mama Hennie and Junior Weasie touched feet

as they marched on under new light

Lifted in joy by chorus so sweet

Forgotten was old game, no more no fight.

“Wait, wait, Mama Hennie: why we actin’ this way?

“Why we not clawin’ and slurpin’ and peckin’ and bleedin’?”

“Hushie uppie, cluckie-chuckie, we put feet in stall.

“We bow and sigh and blink at Baby indeedin.”

 

Little Lost Lamb Found a Shortcut


 

 

LOST LAMB AND HIS SHORTCUT

 

“Oh, all my brothers and sisters are sleeping so good.

“Now I can slip away to those tender shoots

“for Mother a special surprise of a special sweet bud,

Found I with many a pawing in my muddy boots.”

 

Thus did Littly Lamb plan and prance away in the night,

Smiling with lovelit eyes as he nibbled his surprise

Nodding his curly head as he skipped with new might

Away towards Family Sheeply holding this green prize.

 

Littly Lamb hopped around the last big rock so bright

Now with sweeping new lights showing the way,

Now with sudden new sweep of singing wind’s kite,

Litttly Lamb blinked away a wing bright as day.

 

“What sweeps past me, feathering my path,

So bright, so shining, yet soft does it glow?”

“What path does it show with sweeping lathe

Of carving song, molding chords, sweeping bow?”

 

Littly Lamb saw no Mother, no brother, no sister,

no guardians at hillside once folding the flock,

Littly Lamb heard only sighings, saw far mister

softening the bleatings, echoed far rock.

 

“Oh, I must bring tenders to Mother, must follow;”

“Oh, must follow, must find again by another path,”

did Littly Lamb pant to himself scrambling in hollow;

did Littly Lamb tumble to scramble most in wrath.

 

Then did Littly Lamb blink in blindness a fall of feathers.

Then did Littly Lamb tumble down a strange craig,

rolling and winding and landing far down by leathers,

Collars draped down by his own guard’s leg.

 

“Oh, where are we, Master, where are we, Mother?”

did Littly Lamb squeak as he shook off the fallen.

“Oh, what is that hay smell, that bay smell by Brother?

“Oh, what is that glow bright, that windsong callin’?”

 

Oh, Littly Lamb, with so much love crooning in heart;

Oh, Littly Lamb, with so much wonder blinking your eye;

Oh, Little Lamb, with so much life waiting to dart;

Oh, Little Lamb, behold so much peace from on high.

 

For, Littly Lamb, in the City of David near your fields

Now lies a Little One born to touch all souls

Now lies a Little One born to walk all rocky yields

Now lies a Little One born to gift His Mother tolls.

 

Oh, Littly Lamb, step near, watch near the night away;

Oh, Littly Lamb, lie down the hay for peace and joy;

Oh, Littly Lamb, for you under angels’ wings’ dismay

did hold tight tender greeny gift for Jesus Boy.

 

 

 

 
 

 

EIGHT WEEK THURSDAY: PEACE LINKS TO GRACE


This is the promised Part Three of my QUIET-PEACE-GRACE set of essays.

So I just listened to a cloud and held my breath and smiled at a stranger.  Then he smiled at someone during their rudeness to him, and the rude one flew to a far country and smiled and someone about to pick up a rocket launcher listened to a cloud.  So now we have peace, just like that?  Well, yes and no.  Yes,  I and the stranger driving by my roses and the rude clerk and the farway fighter do now have a connection in peace.  No, not all the other neighbors nor all the other customers treated rudely nor all the other soldiers in that far way camp instantly experience peace.  BUT……..

All the other neighbors and all the other customers and all the other soldiers now stand right beside a presence of QUIET and PEACE.  QUIET and PEACE radiating outward from just one single person in each time and place form an aura, an almost-halo, a CLOUD, if you will, of prescient GRACE.  Yes, GRACE: that which makes spiritual growth possible.  And is not spiritual growth totally essential to build an environment for PEACE?

Why is GRACE necessary for spiritual growth?  It is necessary just as a seed is necessary to a plant, just as water and air and light and proper soil are necessary to a plant.  But can the plant survive, much less grow, if it is stepped upon in haste?  No, the plant must be allowed to be still, be “quiet” within its space in order to experience the peace necessary for fruitful growth.  WE must allow ourselves quiet and peace before we can receive enough water and light and air and nutrients to soak into ourselves to grow, to thrive.  And is this not one of the forms of GRACE?  And if carrying GRACE inside us, would we not then be fostering PEACE just by our very presence?  Would we not then be links in a chain of peace?

Now, are we simply dropped into little spaces of quiet and peace?  No, we surely are not.  Therefore, we must just stop, hold a breath, slow our seeking hearts, empty our searching minds, and become like Gandhi and Solzhynitsn and Jesus of Nazareth before Pilate.  Like them, we must just be quiet both with our mouths and within our very souls.

May GRACE abound!

 

EIGHTH WEEK TUESDAY: ABOUT-TO-BE ESSAY ON PEACEFUL GRATITUDE


What I am most grateful for this Thanksgiving season is the dawning realization that the most long-lasting blessings, the brightest truths, and the sweetest-tasting peace resides in a very QUIET PLACE!  Some of the quiet places bringing such blessings are the ones I least expected to find as being QUIET!  For example, the utter quiet when you are lying downwind of the turkey flock in the woods, one-split second before you hear that first scratch in the acorns or that first gabble.  Another example is the quiet between heartbeats when you are conciously slowing your own heart to calm a terrified, abandoned dog by the roadside.  Another quiet place is found in your own throat just before you gulp in amazement at the Monarch butterfly lighting on the lip of your abandoned coffee cup.  And has anyone given proper gratitude for that split-second of quiet at the bottom of a crescendo, either in a musical concert or in lovemaking?

I am so very grateful for these split-second hushes of awe simply because they are filled with awe.  Being graced with the ability to stretch our souls wide into AWE is such a priceless blessing for which to be grateful.  My sainted maternal grandfather used to tip-toe in to remind us grandchildren sleeping on pallets after Thanksgiving Day was over that “Now is the part of the day for which you REALLY ought to give thanks.  This is the time for remembrance.  This is the time for storing up your treasure where no one can break in and steal it.  Now is the time for dreaming.  Now is the time for thinking how much love waits for you here in the morning.”  PawPaw, I know you are reading this as I write it, from your specially assigned light beam.  I am so gratefully peaceful in these memories of you.  I am so peacefully grateful that you were, and are, my dear PawPaw.  You always amazed us how quietly you could tiptoe.

I am giving thanks for the quiet of my children’s breaths when preparing to greet me.  I am filled with peace and gratefulness at the quiet in my soul when I view each new set of grandchildren’s photos posted on their parents’ websites.  They are so quiet in their expectations just before their shouts of glee!  Truly, it is the quietness in those brief moments of anticipation for which I give thanks.  These brief moments ride on the faster-than-light particles from my heart to theirs.  From them I have learned to hold my breath and just BE.  The little ones in city, field, and forest know the secret of breath-held peace in preparation for whatever the day brings.  The little ones know the necessity of the held breath.  Without a held breath, a slowed heart, a focused mind, a directed soul, the long-awaited/soon-expected never quite happens fully.

My invitation to you all is to hold your breath, to watch, to focus just a split-second here and there through the happy bustle of this holiday.  The micro-second of utter quiet within yourself will provide its very own “Horn of Plenty”, dear pilgrim.

SEVENTH WEEK SATURDAY: A WEEK IN THE BODY ODD


This week has been a mixture of nose-bleed highs and bog-wading lows with my writing.  Since I only committed to writing FIVE-DAYS-A-WEEK through the end of 2011, this Saturday is sort of an extra little “doo-dad” for me.  Here goes:

 

Scrunched shoulders at a computer screen

lead to scrunched blood supply from soul to brain.

(See me driving myself into a rut trying to social network in the interests of improving my “worldview” in the interests of my writing career!)

 

Designer scraves for peaceful necks

and weaving fingers where the heat drips a scarf of dust.

(See NYC Trends News on weather.com under any zip code contained in NYC)

 

LO to tweets

NO to sweets

IO to bank

MO to shank

ZeRo to interest

NeRo to pederast

BO to date

SO to hate

URLs, MACaddresses, IPaddresses, tweets, pings, LOLs, and WTFs

 

No typing, only clicking

No composing, just copying/pasting/linking/tweeting and FBing

No IRSing for OWSing

IR sing-ing even when OW!-ing on bridges and docks after NO PARK-ings

No stamps on wide stationary, only blogging on broad screened broad bands.

 

I never met a Quaker from Alabama (from the 2011 novel by James Lee Burke about fools)

I never me a sailor from Mount Zion

I never met a juggler from the Moon

I never met my loverboy in church

I never met Granny at Bubba’s Internet Cafe

I never met a clown at the graveyard

I never met a senator in the library

I never met a pianotuner at the Met

I never met a doctor at Rite-Aid

I never met a banker at the Food Bank

I never met an ancient god in a beauty parlor

I never met a gambler in a lion’s cage

I never met a magician at a firing range

I never meet myself until I leave.

(Aplogies for the boring format and STILL no graphics included, but my wordpress admin is acting up.)

 

 

SATURDAY: IN-LAWS AND WHITE HAIR


Some of you may think the two nouns in the title of today’s post are synonymous, while others may be convinced the first brings on the second!

But I am here to tell you, inlaws are one of the chief sources of my inspiration in these, my official white-haired days!

If I were sitting in the park with the NYC AGAINST WALLSTREET protesters, my mind would wander to past conflicts resolved more-than-satisfactorily with in-laws!

When I indulged in a short jog in the forest this a.m., my mind wandered to the various comments some in-laws about my outdoor activities.

As I played with my canine family members this a.m.–you guessed it–my mind wandered to comments from in-laws about my relationship with said four-legged loved ones.

So, now it should not be difficult for you to see how past encounters with in-laws (especially those resulting in my “letting go” of my kneed-jerk defense mechanism) helped me to deal so well with the stranger-encounter described in my “White Hair Walking” post earlier this week.   My white hair is an outward and visible sign of the number of years required to grow wisdom inside the ol’ head.  It reminds me of many successes and challenges, spurring me on to deal with even more “strange encounters” in such a way as to build even more wisdom.  This kind of wisdom brings understanding at a deep enough spiritual level to change a troublesome road into a victorious path to PEACE!

SENIOR AS REPRISED WRITER


Guess what?  It’s never too late to rejoin at least ONE of your 20-somthings dream selves!  Writing again and digging for “the truth”, or at least recognizing it when it springs out of your fingertips on the keyboard, is a surprisingly joyous experience.  Looking into the light of each new day, best found through meditation and physically touching at least one small portion of the natural world, really establishes a foundation that is balanced, peaceful and invigorating all at the same time.  Surprise, surprise–it also builds stronger, more lasting bridges to those I care about most, dear family and friends, even new friends coming from the most unexpected corners of my world.  Thanks, everybody.  Thanks, world.  Thanks, Creator!

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