Encountering the Almighty

This man of righteousness had so much to give;
Is there anything left to say about this life well-lived?
We will gather to pay homage  and comfort his wife
The mate of his soul, in which he took great delight.

His daughters, too, who carry him in their hearts;
May the pain of their loss not drive them apart.
The grandchildren live the values that he supported;
On their hearts and souls his way is recorded.

And all that he encountered, man, woman and child,
Is better for having known him for even a short while.
A man with such a steady, strong light
Surely has a place on The Almighty's right.

Looking for Light

I like to imagine that all of us are like the points of light
That we see in the sky in the dark of night.
And just like the stars when they seemingly go out,
Their light lasts a century, or there about.

Stars burn the brightest before they transform,
But living forever seems to be their norm.
Some become black holes of negative energy;
I hope that's not the fate waiting for me.

I believe that we can choose, and I hope it's true,
Which category of stars we will belong to.
If we keep looking to share Light wherever we're placed,
I think our negative energy will, at "death," be erased.

Wouldn't It Be Wonderful?

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we wrote our best friends' eulogies
While they could still hear "what you meant to me"?
I don't want to wait until my friends are in the ground,
And our love for each other will make no joyful sound.

I am quite sure that I will die with a less heavy heart
If my gratitude for my friends is, their souls, a part.
I will also die with sadness for the loves I had and lost;
My need to save my earthly heart exacted a terrible cost.

But I hope that in Eternity we will see each other and smile
Because our love was something good, if only for a while.
I long for the day that I will, once more, feel as one
With all of Creation's daughters and sons.

When Johnny Went Marching Home

How did our "Judeo-Christian" American society get to the place where the widow of a World War II veteran who spent her life teaching young people not only how to read and write, but how to behave in a civil manner, is threatened with losing her home of over fifty years because she doesn't have the money for a new roof?

Her husband not only served his country in the US Navy, and met his future bride at a USO dance, he and she served as officers of the VFW for several decades, traveling all over the country to make sure that we never forget the men and women who sacrificed everything for our freedoms. Their only son spent his life as a military nurse, saving countless lives to continue in the service of OUR country. He died of cancer several years before his father, leaving a sister who is also a nurse the full responsibility of her aged parents' care. She cannot leave her work to care for her mother, and her mother only has the memories that surround her in the home she and her Johnny shared, now that her Johnny has gone marching HOME.

She continues to serve in the VFW and loves the city of New Orleans and Louisiana so much that she continues to travel to the French Quarter to tell everyone who stops into the Tourist and Commission office on Jackson Square about the many blessings of being a native New Orleanian. We should be naming her the patron saint of Yats, but instead, she is worrying about how she's going to keep a roof over her head. Really?! Is this the best we can do?

When Will We Take Responsibility?

We are created in the image of The Eternal Light;
This earth can either destroy it or give it flight
It is the responsibility of the parents of each child
To protect and nurture this light for a very long while.

Why else are our little offspring, for so long, so weak
That they still from their parents, shelter seek?
There is so much to be learned about nursing this fire
And protecting it from others' selfish desires.

Where did it really come from, this idea of original sin
That any babies born of the desires of the flesh would not be, to heaven, let in?
While it is true that the urge to procreate is the strongest in all creation,
Our Highest Power included in the act,  brings it to a sacred station.

When we don't honor the Eternal Good that lives inside us, as a soul,
We eventually destroy the Sacred Light, and we cannot be whole.
Those who are born to souls that are dead have much trouble finding the light,
Even though being a child of The Light should be each child's birthright.

We attempt incantations and rituals to wash away our responsibility
To behave in a way that will nurture the child to be all that it can be.
We pretend that our priests have power to wash our sins from our souls;
I believe it is in the parents' shared light that the child will reach its Eternal goal.

The Christ doesn't mean "Jesus," though for many this is the case;
The Word refers to the Infinite Power welcoming back the human race.
Until we are willing to live by, and raise our children, in The Word
All the public proclamations of salvation will not, by their souls, be heard.


When will we stop looking outward for the answers that dwell
Inside our innocent newborn selves?
When will we believe the The Power is within each of u?
It's for each of us to claim our own soul's inclusion in The Just.

This road is not easy, but if we hold tightly to our beliefs,
Our light will find others and The Grace will increase.
There will come a time when the whole world will shine so bright
That there will be only Holy Days and Holy Nights.

How many more Messiahs will it take
Before we, our arrogance, are willing to forsake?
When will we take personal responsibility
For bringing this world back to Unity?

A Rabbi?! Oh, Really?

I'm beginning to feel like an old rabbi, endlessly arguing fine points of sacred scriptures;
The internet and my rejection of patriarchy has freed me from many strictures.
It's like I have the ancient library of Alexandria in my restlessly seeking hands;
Is this (as many believe) the devil's work, or is my seeking part of God's plan?


I believe The Almighty Aum hasn't changed with the times or the seasons.
I also believe that The Manifestations change with our ability to reason.
There are still many who accuse me of arguing over mere picky semantics;
For these people, believing we understand the original scriptures does the trick.


I do believe that since the dawn of creation, humans are the only creatures who have known
That searching for how we're made in the image of The Almighty is how our souls are grown.
But we forget that some words and some precise meanings are lost when words are translated;
Until we can understand them exactly, they should be neither wholly accepted nor negated.

We seem to vacillate wildly between hiding from our missteps and taking all blame;
The need to feel like we control Creation leads to nothing, long-term, but shame.
Our shame then prompts us to clean up or hide our perceived messes
Before The Great One smites us for any of our fallible, naive guesses.

How much more peace-promoting would it be to believe that we are born good,
And that the Great Light shining in each of us is simply covered by a bodily hood?
We would look into each others eyes and we'd honestly touch their Immortal souls
Instead of turning from their pain in shame, our souls' bond would help to make them whole.

If we felt intrinsically cherished, we would learn to gently examine our mistakes,
And we would share the lessons that we've learned, for all of humankind's sakes.
We would truly be interested in camaraderie rather than in competition,
But we must stop believing that controlling Grace is a worthy life's mission.

Warrior Women

My mother died before I was born; she had human breath, but no Spirit.

I cried out for a mother’s comfort, but none of my mothers could hear it.

I have the soul of a warrior, taken from my father and his mothers,

And when my father beat me, I wasn’t protected by any others.

The women who loved him saw that my turning from him made him weak;

This was the sense of control for which they all pretended to seek.

 Because I so wanted a mother, I’ve taken the whole world under my wing;

Having no strength or skills I could offer, except for the songs I sing.

Oh My Sisters, how I've loved you as I lay with you on your pyre;
To shelter you from the destructive flame was my only heart's desire.
How did we come to this where you let me stand accused
Of perpetrating the crimes of those by whom you were abused?

Oh My Children, how is it that when you learned to walk on your own,
You have allowed me to be scorned in your families' homes?
How is it that I was fed to the lions when I finally felt my own pain,
Didn't I hold you after your bloody falls, again and again?

I have waited as you mothered your children and claimed your dignity
But to salve my warrior's wounds, who has responsibility?
Will there never be loving mothers' arms to encircle me?
Will you never look for a  way to have a heart that, for me, is free?

You seem to dance with angels and sit upon Your Father's lap
But your invitations to join you have always been a trap.
You seem to want to be His favorite, so you ask me to entertain;
Then you point out how foolish I am, and treat me with disdain.

I have tried to make you love me with becoming your handmaiden;
I didn't have the courage to believe that I could be your friend.
I have nursed your children and worked with you to appease your men
You have said you want us to enjoy time together; my question is, "When?"

I have retreated into myself, trying to preserve the little light
That is left inside my earth-bound soul, which used to burn so bright.
If it was possible to simply will ourselves to fade away,
Drifting away on the waves to the sun is that for which I'd pray.
 

What we are taught to call fear is the awe of complete unearthly peace;

We have even turned our personal faces of God into the faces of beasts
Love and fear are mutually exclusive, as are love and distrust.

Fear is what fuels greed and abuse; which are both born of lust.

Many women want the comfort of their own warrior’s sheltering arms,

Paying no attention to other mothers and children that are harmed.

 They all were taught that to survive meant they had to bend their knees,

And to sacrifice even their own babies to, their Jealous Lords, please.

These women feed their own young to these men to protect themselves,

And learn to harden their hearts to the carnage’s sounds and smells.

These women fail to understand that a beast who conquers, with fear, a child

Should not be allowed a place in community life, except perhaps, in the wild.

Men who rule with cruelty avoid me; those of kind strength are friends.

Not the men, but their women fear me, that I will harm their cowering men.

The cowards hide behind their women’s skirts when someone confronts them;
These women who will not stand with their sisters do not demand amends.

I cannot and will not befriend a person with a vengeful heart;

In my feelings for the abusers, trust and love cannot  be a part.

The quandary has become that women who see their men respect me

Don’t realize that conquered enemies are all their men may ever be.

You may rest easy, My Sisters, your man doesn’t interest me.

It is not me that is a threat to you; it’s your own insecurity.

Woman who bows before no man, a man finds hard to resist her.

If you stand up to this beast; you like me, may lose many sisters.

But what good is a sister if she has no warrior in her soul?

In order to protect our young, it is important that we be bold.

It was never my intent to bring the men you call your own, harm;

But I will attempt no relationship while he’s wrapped in your sheltering arms. 

 

I didn't know that you, my friend, were afraid to stand alone;

I've never really had a place that I could consider my safe home.

I would rather lose you with the hope that we will one day reunite

Than to risk harming you any further with my grief's might.

I pray that all the people I've loved and lost will remember me kindly,

When our peaceful souls identify each other in Eternity.

And my mother's sweet soul won't foresake me for someone else;

There will be no more need to fear me, for I'll be my baby self