To be

“Life is not a having and a getting, but a being and a becoming.”

                                           Matthew Arnold

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Happy dog

Presses a cold nose in my back

And so the day begins

So much to do

As the week

Filled with bits and pieces of accomplishment and failure

Comes to a whimpering end

And yet, Frostian

I have long to go before I sleep

Tasks are lined up

waiting to be done

by a body unable and a mind unwilling to cooperate

and this morning

my soul feels more unraveled that refreshed

this is what happens

when all is striving

and little is being

perhaps a pause is in order

a moment

to walk happy dog

take a deep breath

sip my Americano

and start over

remembering

my essential nature

is to

be

I rise

“You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may tread me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.”

― Maya Angelou

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The sun rises every morning

Sometimes soaring into azure blue

Sometimes orange and fiery red, reflecting back upon itself

Cloud bound

Sometimes invisible

Nothing but a promise behind a curtain of gray

But it rises

And rises again

Inexorable

and so too love

and kindness

generosity

compassion

so many forces

try to destroy these better parts of the human soul

hate, fear, greed that lust for power.

Evil people fan the flame of fear,

And legislate greed

and those who seek justice and equity

are crushed, and crushed again

and yet our divine genetics

make us resilient

and always Sacred

rises, rises, rises

even out of death

resurrection

all that is left

It is only late afternoon

but the shadow of the mountain

has evolved into deep darkness

and the clear night air

is now laden with cold

which works its way through my clothes

chilling

standing in the clear night air,

I raise my eyes to a sky that glows like a shower of sparks

and in that moment

the world fades

all the anxiety and the fear

the greed and the hate

shatter, like ice,

and fall away

leaving me naked

and still

all that is left is

Sacred

Sprinkling me

With quietude

and in that moment

I am in the hands

of

God

learning compassion

“Wounding and healing are not opposites. They're part of the same thing. It is our wounds that enable us to be compassionate with the wounds of others. It is our limitations that make us kind to the limitations of other people. It is our loneliness that helps us to to find other people or to even know they're alone with an illness. I think I have served people perfectly with parts of myself I used to be ashamed of. ”

                                                                         Rachel Naomi Remen

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The question I not

What is “right” about me, and what is “wrong” about me

But rather how can I use my whole self,

The good, the bad,

And even the ugly,

to help others

how can I, with Sacred Presence unleashed

use all parts of myself

to heal the world around me?

For God overcomes evil, within

God overcomes evil, without

Simply by transforming evil with good

Turning darkness to light

And death

To

life

Grief feels like fear

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”

                             C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

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another day

another shooting

more innocents dead

more excuses

more game playing

another day

more politics of greed

more people left behind

along the trail of “America First”

who is “America”?

the angry white men with rifles?

the smugly rich in Washington DC

the millionaires and billionaires

the haters, the racists?

I have struggled to put a name to that which

like a dense fog, lingers in my soul

and obscures the sun

but today I recognize that it is grief

a grief that feels like the fear,

the fear that we have so departed

from the way of justice and equity

so departed from the way of generosity and compassion

that we will never again, truly thrive

this grief tires me

it wears me down and makes my body ache

and there is nothing I can do, in my grief

except turn to Love

that Love embodied in Jesus

and know that this love will endure, beyond

all the casual abuse,

beyond this momentary hell

forever

second coming

THE SECOND COMING

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

William Butler Yeats

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recently it feels as though things have fallen apart

and the center no longer holds

what was good is evil

and what was evil is good

what was prized, compassion and honesty

are now neglected, and what was despised

brutality and greed, are now exaluted

Does all that is "not Sacred" slouch toward us

waiting to dominate, to "win"

and what do we do, we citizens of Bethlehem?

do we "stand rooted and speechless while the pavement cracks to pieces and the sky falls down" (Louise Penny adapted)

or do we wait for another coming

of a better world,

a Kingdom where nothing exists that is not Sacred

a Kingdom of "heaven"

and do we, instead of standing

act

birthing through our acts of love, generosity and compassion,

that for which we wait?

only dance

" Only dance,

and your illusions will blow .... in the wind ....

Dance, and make joyous the love .... around you ....

Dance, and your veils which hide the light .... Shall swirl

in a heap .... at your feet. "

                                                          RUMI

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the day is gray

and white

the clouds glower

but the snow falls bringing unique beauty

it is an in-between day

not quite sad

but not one to life your heart either

I am settling into this day

Recognizing that I too am in-between

There is a richness to life

And yet an emptiness too

white and gray

there is the good news to share

and there is news that hammers at the soul

about injustice, and greed, and falsehood

there are people to work, and sing, and play with

and yet a sense of being, at a profound level

disconnected,

alone

no, I am not depressed

more reflective

somewhere in between

feeling at peace with my life, and with myself

and deep discontent

just know dear ones

that you, as you wander in an out of my life

as you like me, or despise me

as you are enriched by me, or hurt by me

as I attend to you, or seem to think only of myself

As I share my opinion,

kindly or aggressively

that you are what this life is all about

it not all about me

I can never say, “the one that matters is me. I'm the only one that matters”

Because I know that I need others

I want you, and need all of you in my life

I may not know what to do with you

But I need to know you are there

I have decided that it is time to dance

To dance along the dirt pathways in the snow

or rain, as the case may be

finding myself in the dance

finding the sacred in the snow and mud

in the trees

and in the antics of happy dog

and I will remember that you are out there

hopefully dancing

too

Gratitude Day

“Eucharisteo—thanksgiving—always precedes the miracle.”

― Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are

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A Haiku for Thanksgiving

how does thanks emerge

by waiting for gifts received

or living gratefully

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O Sacred one

let me on this day of thanks

choose to be a person who lives with gratitude

may I be both thankful

and expectant

“We plough the fields, and scatter the good seed on the land;

But it is fed and watered by God's almighty hand:

He sends the snow in winter, the warmth to swell the grain,

The breezes and the sunshine, and soft refreshing rain.

All good gifts around us

Are sent from heaven above,

Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord

For all His love.

He only is the maker of all things near and far;

He paints the wayside flower, He lights the evening star;

The winds and waves obey Him, by Him the birds are fed;

Much more to us, His children, He gives our daily bread.

We thank Thee, then, O Father, for all things bright and good,

The seed time and the harvest, our life, our health, and food;

No gifts have we to offer, for all Thy love imparts,

But that which Thou desirest, our humble, thankful hearts.”

                                                                        From Godspell

What do I value?

Two questions have been haunting me lately

hanging around my head

going on my morning walks

joining me in my bed

ruining my morning soak

But they are good questions

The first question is this…

What do I value?

Not what are my goals?

Not what do I want to accomplish with my life

But what are the values that get me up in the morning

And take me through my day

What are the values that craft the direction of my life?

I have a value set by my family

Service

Kliewers serve.  Period.  End of conversation

It just is.

Ministers, Doctors, Therapists

Serve your community!  That is why you are here

But who can exclude love

My faith system demands that

That crazy, foolish way of being taught

by some guy named Jesus

love

love God

Love your self

And love the people around you

Accept love

Nurture love

Be love

Actually most of what I value gets captured

In that thing called love

Compassion, generosity, connection

Kindness, all the standards

So I have to come up with something else….

And I chose

Authenticity

Being real

Being honest… to God

To myself, and to….. you

Hard to do when you think  you have to be perfect

An accomplisher

When you constantly compare, compare, compare

Strive strive strive

Under you are not a fool for Christ’s sake

But just a damn fool

But still

There they are

Service, love, authenticity

Serving the people, all people, in love?

Ah but there is more

So much more

Because the second question is important too

Am I living toward what I value?

The answer is often yes, sometimes no

But here is the thing… my values path is not a straight line from A to B

It is a direction, nothing more

I am moving toward a destination I will never get to

What is important is that I keep moving

And I keep moving the right direction

Sometimes I’ll get lost, at others I’ll get stuck

But I will keep heading

Down that path

Toward that compass point that is

Service, love, and authenticity

And when I fail?

With I slip and slide into strange and sometimes dark place

I will simply pull out my values

Dust them off

And begin again.

Almost

“The saddest word

in the whole wide world

is the word almost.

He was almost in love.

She was almost good for him.

He almost stopped her.

She almost waited.

He almost lived.

They almost made it.”

                             Nikita Gill

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It feels, some days, as if all those things

for which I have reached

have slipped through my clumsy

fingers

eluding my grasp as surely as a snowflake

my dreams a visions of self

as a minister,

executive

parent, spouse

lover

hell

as a person!

have gone, far too often

slip sliding away

not quite lived out

almost love

almost kindness

almost integrity

almost honesty

almost effectiveness

but then again

I tried

only possibility

“The magic of each day lives in the unknown. It's waking up as one person, and accepting that when night falls, we may be someone else entirely. So, when you ask what my story is, forgive me----I'm not quite sure yet.”

                                                           J. Raymond

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this day I wake up

a little tired still

with a body that chastises for me all the years

of abuse and neglect

happy dog

is panting to hit the road

even though the road is yet unseen

in the profound darkness of late fall

the windows of the house star at me

black and empty

as I wander, and ponder

and wait for the light to come

I do not know what this day will bring

Oh, I know what is on my calendar

but life is not defined by the expected

but the unexpected

today I will have many choices

but they are scattered in front of me like the breadcrumbs scattered wildly

by a demented God

and I am often lost and confused

I have made enough poor choices to last a lifetime,

And beyond

people will come and go

news articles will appear on my computer

the phone will ring

and at the end of the day

I may well feel like a painting whose

Creator cannot leave well enough along

Sometimes, lately

The pondering has led to sadness

For things lost

For mistakes made

For friendships lost

For paths abandoned

and yet

it is this fact that I am constantly dying

and constantly becoming

that gives me hope

even now

for each moment where something is lost

becomes a moment of infinite possibility

no path is set

nothing is inevitable

the lonely grasping person

can find a sense of people

and get outside himself to notice, and focus others

the fearful person can find peace

the greedy person generosity

the cruel person, compassion

so often we fuse to our stories

but each story has not only a beginning

but an end

and in the freshness that is this moment

we seek to make the next right choice

and we begin again

For life changes

Our story changes

We change

Each day, each moment

We have no permanence

Only possibility

magic

“Earth's crammed with heaven...

But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.”

― Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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it is almost dark

the sun is only a hope

and the world is gray upon gray

and yet in the cold stillness

a star shines

hovering over the mountain

tardy in its departure

the white tail of a mule dear

bobs and weaves through the juniper

and the dark specter of an owl swoops toward earth

dawn patrol

life is everywhere

magic too

and I am tempted

(if it were not 25 degrees)

to take off my shoes

Tears

“Tears are words that need to be written.”

                                            Paulo Coelho

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the tears do no always come

they do not flow from my eyes and down my face

to be blown away by the wind

to join the tears of the Sacred

falling from heaven

but they are there

a cry of the heart

a rending of the soul

there is so much pain out there

and thus

so much pain in here

people divided

angry, hateful

driven by words unwritten and unspoken

into acts of essential selfishness

into fearful acts of

brutality

and casual violence

pain not shared become

that which separates and divides

yet pain

and tears shared

become the bridge

across which compassion and love walk

across which God walks

to make

all things new

Questions

In the darkness

the cold gathers and embraces

and the stars sparkle

so alive and so distant

untouchable

and in this place

the hungry ghosts

the demons of the soul howl

all the voices call

why is it am I here

where is it I will go

when I die

will I just disappear

quickly forgotten

Voices from the old days

From the future

Does anyone care?

Does anyone really care?

Enough to invest time, and love

In this meager soul

Under the clarity of an October sky

So many questions,

The answers

I don’t know