Parable of the Mirror

“Parable of the Mirror”, meditation on Luke 18: 9-14

“'O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity--greedy, dishonest, adulterous--or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, and I pay tithes on my whole income.“

Lk 18:11-12

This poem accuses no one. In mercy, it is a warning to myself.

The rich man stood before the mirror,

      but he,

blinded by hubris,

      presumed himself to speak to God,

“Oh God, I thank thee,

     For you did not make me like the rest.

I did not lust for wealth or women,

      I fasted on first fridays.

I followed rules and paid my dues,

      heeding laws for promised price.

I tithed from all my income,

      and gave to charity besides,

attended service on the sabbath,

      my pew and seat reserved in wood.

I disowned the daughter who lived in sin,

      mindful of my example.

ignorance can be no excuse,

      respecting what is righteous.

I instructed the bum to “get a job”,

      and smashed his bottle of booze.

pitiless wretch, slave to himself

      he wept as whiskey wet the ground

of course he should have thanked me,

      such good advice and without price,

it is, of course, to be expected,

      what do swine have use for pearls?

O God, I thank thee well that I,

      am not like the rest of humanity

greedy, dishonest, and adulterous

      no wonder You should look like Me!

The moment fades into the mirror,

      time into the timeless

sense ablazed as man is silenced

      by truth, that is justice' end

the man sees his narcissus,

      his own god, his audience none

he screams forever in the darkness

      absorbed, dissolved into the mirror.

Earth, Hearth, and Water

Earth, Hearth, and Water

I feel the earth.

        My body is made of earth.

        And to earth it shall return.

I long for the earth, to feel the earth,

        sensually with my feet.

Feet made of the same clay.

        upon which they tread.

I feel my body made of earth.

I long to be grounded,

        steady and solid,

        from the earth that I was made.

Ashes to Ashes and dust to dust,

        made from earth yet more than earth.

I am rooted in the earth.

        My flesh is grounded in the earth.

        My body is earth,

               and so for earth I long.

              Earth to Earth and hand to hand,

                   Vessels of Clay and Heart to Heart,

                          (Cor ad Cor, Loquitor)

                                 Desire within, fires of clay,

                                        Fire to Fire to and earth to Hearth.

My body is Holy,

        Earthen vessel of treasures unseen.

               Holy in longing, holy in vessel.

                      Holy in longing for one like its own.

My feet long for the earth.

        Soft dust beneath them.

        Clinging and sticking as I walk.

I long for the earth, longing to feel

        the feeling of dust and ground beneath,

               the stability it brings.

So you can understand my lack of ease,

        When you, mysterious Thou,

               Beckon me, who longs for the earth,

                      to tread upon the Water.

JM

Other Bodies

Other Bodies (written March 2010)

I feel my Body,

      it is filled with hunger.

      hungry for touch.

      hungry for love.

And I wonder, do these other bodies

      those other persons

      do their bodies feel like mine?

I walk down the street,

      searching with my eyes,

      searching through my memories,

With naked eyes and pregnant memories,

      (incarnate with feeling)

           and see bodies not my own.

The pure body of the young child – full of innocence.

The soiled body of the prostitute, empty of hope.

The proud body of the athlete, full of vigor.

The exhausted body of the factory worker, empty of reserves.

The soft body of the playboy, full of grace and charm,

                                             (yet empty of Alētheia and Eros)

The gluttonous body of the rich man, full of indigestion.

The battered body of the homeless man, empty of all but shame and envy.

The bruised body of the child in the slum, stomach full of hunger

                                                               foraging for nourishment,

                                                               himself misplaced in the garbage.

The feverish body of the AIDS patient, vulnerable in every way,

                                                               empty of means to defend himself.

The painful body of the injured man, wounded not defeated,

                                                               full of grit and determined.

The broken body of the cripple, full of bitterness at that word,

                                                               yet so apt in all its horror.

I see all these bodies.

Seeing them only in part.

Revealed only in part.

The beings they express,

      expressing only in part.

What then does my body express, and what

      does being beneath convey?

Innocence,

hopelessness,

pride and vigor,

emptiness,

soft deceit,

Alētheia and Eros.

Gluttony,

Envy,

Hunger,

Lostness,

Vulnerability,

and brokenness.

All these things I feel, and yet,

      I have no caricature to express.

The torments under inwardly I groan.

      My Body is me.

I wish to be divorced from it.

but it does not allow our irreconcilable differences,

           to be cause for separation.

And so, we hunger and suffer together.

I feel my Body,

      it is filled with hunger.

      hungry for touch.

      hungry for love.

And I wonder, do these other bodies

      those other persons

      do their bodies feel like mine?

           with naked eyes and pregnant memories,

                incarnate with feeling.

Tears and Hope

Tears and Hope

I saw her in tears.

      My Dear sweet friend.

They streamed down her lovely face,

      in spite of herself.

Her dark hair was pulled back,

      so my gaze was unobscured,

      as tears flowed from moist cheeks to her neck,

      and her face trembled.

Sitting almost still,

      but not quite,

      hands and feet shaking.

Her heart is broken,

      that is, it is feeling.

Her Heart wants to love,

      it needs to love.

All her being is desire,

      her heart is thirst

      and her body is hunger.

She saw a boy.

      Beautiful and glorious to behold.

The sight captured what her heart desired,

      and so she dared to hope.

What does she feel in the dark night?

      The “other” side of expectation.

      She is one and she wants to be two –

Her heart speaks, and wants another heart to listen.

      Not only to listen, but to understand.

To understand her heart.

To understand her very self.

     She thought there was someone beautiful

     just for her,

     and before her eyes he is taken away.

But still – the dream remains

      I contend that it is not in vain.

She weeps because she deserves better,

      - her heart cries out for more.

      her hope is not in vain.

Such Beauty does not go unnoticed

      (though sometimes, this is an annoyance,

      more a hindrance than a help).

Her heart cries, it was made for love,

      to give, and also to receive.

This is why her heart weeps, it was made for love.

      though this also, is the reason why,

      her hope is not in vain.

Her heart, that was made for love,

     (and clearly then for nothing else)

     has a destiny,

     according to the purpose for which it is made.