Passion

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PassionBremen3

Only an occasional passing car to bring me down,
back to here,
I fall into breathing rhythm of Bremen’s half-sleep,
comforted in his watch,
heartbeat to heartbeat sync, we are One.

I memorize the patterned beat of rolling tires
clipping cracks and asphalt riffs from frozen melts
outside my bedroom window.

This is real ground under my feet.

In my undoing I learned to reassemble,
notice small syncopated taps, life entering
with each pant.

Transformation does not make itself
on sidewalks under full sun. It is not
gleaming glitter sprinkled to make show.

I align myself in formation not with rigid
anatomy, but with fine variation.

An almost perfect petal, virginal white,
but for fragmented hue brushed
by an all-knowing hand, grace tenders awry.
He came not in perfection, but like me.

Sacrifice does not mean to suffer, but
to make sacred.

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Author’s Note:

This is the first Lent in a very long while where I have not participated in traditional Christian ritual. I stepped away for a bit, not from Christ, but from form.

I realized that this is what Lent is all about. In the past, I couldn’t reach him, feel him, be me with him. I busied myself doing what I thought were the prayers and the actions that would show me the way. I never succeeded. I felt guilty. I wasn’t perfect in my form.

I rest in a different space now.

Transformation comes in small taps, bits and pieces, until I recognize it. Then it all comes tumbling down, only to reveal the Real.

We are all community. I find my Oneness in Jesus, but also see more. He expected that from us, hoped for this, I truly believe. He enfolded all to him reminding us that we have always been worthy – human, beast, plant, earth, water, air – all beloved.

When I falter thinking there is only one way, I remember that he came as I am, in our multifaceted, brilliantly brutal human way. There is no other way, but Oneness between all.

Shatter the form and let your soul rise. Allow those tiny taps to break you open to become One. Remember the root command – love one another.

 

More at JOURNEY/lex.

 

Day of Palms

Original sin etched on soulsnapo2014button1
this frigid Day of Palms.
Frozen teardrops fused
to bare limbed trees,
burgeoning buds of promise.

On this day and long ago,
he rode into a different town.
The beginning of an end
to make us whole
without our sin for blame.

Why so brutal and a savage death?
His simple words to remember,
there is no privilege to be earned
just passionate love surrendered.

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Author’s Note:

Today is Palm Sunday.

Spring made a short stay of it. A little rain this morning turned into a snowy, wind howling storm.

If you are interested in learning more about this poem, please visit my blog Be Still… and click on Palm Sunday, Frozen.