Today At Meetingbrook

Saturday, March 22, 2014

Wait

No more.

About this, do you have any questions?


n/o/ne









Is that “no” or “one”?

Which is it?

Yes.

None other. (Of which there is, wirklich.)

Friday, March 21, 2014

Ignosce mihi, pater, quia peccavi


Fred Phelps dies.

There is no sign he continues his opinions beyond his disappearance.

We’re all freed in understanding this way.



Thursday, March 20, 2014

Waltzing winter into spring

 (a haiku)

Could have been left foot

stepping out of winter and

right into spring light

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Suffering roots love


Joseph. A good name.

You've got to love a good story.

My sister's birthday.

However it is celebrated, wherever.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Broken bandwagon


Robert Reich is so helpful about economic inequality.

I almost feel there's a remote chance a hopeful thought might arise in my doubting assessment anyone cares to stop the crippling direction of things in this bedraggled and frayed capitalistic demoting democracy.

I'm chary.

And a bit sorry.

Monday, March 17, 2014

There's a welcome on the mat


When in high school we'd march in the St Patrick's day parade. The beers we ordered in 3rd avenue bars we were far too young to have been served.

But that was long ago.

Tonight there are no beers, no parade, no noise.

I light a candle for my family. Sip,water from an old juice bottle. Nibble 4berry pie. Take pills for what I'll surely die from. 

And settle in bed.

Content.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

brush strokes





an angel falls through nothing without fear


Songs of drinking and drunkenness. Radio lyric desolation of cultural St Patrick’s Day cliche.

Not that it isn’t or wasn’t true.

Still...

what’s that?

Sun climbs, moves east, the iced dooryard remains hard and fast.

Rob McCall speaks about living way out on the two-lane bumpy roads of Maine.

The Muslim scholar wants us to remember that beauty is the invitation to leave thought and dwell watchfully with inner rest and contemplation.

God has left thought and slowly turns in music of mood encountering no expectation.

To be what is passing is to unsee God in a heart without external measurement.

take ball; go home

Once touched by the light, there is only the remaining nap to fall into.

And through.