este, poema de la muerte

This will 

be my 

death poem

I look 

around --

Owl hoots

even as

I live

and breathe

There is

only 

this

without/within god

 A phrase in Chesterton’s book on Francis ... “a saint without God” — interests.

Makes me think of Christ as the center of creation, center of humanity, that which resides innermost.

Thus, a christian is someone dwelling toward that centric existence, that way of being intent on dwelling innermost with and within all being, all beings.

Perhaps “a saint without God” is one whose life is lost within God.

give the legend a break, see directly

poverty of ego

stripping away

standing naked

a spirituality

of empty identification

with the dispossesed --

no, not today, the day

of Francis -- emptiness

dropping out of ceremony

Standing in the middle 

of God, no liturgical

protocol, no procession

Francis took poverty by 

hand, sat down with, looked

into eyes, smiled, and wept

having faith in something never seen before

 So many

Leave

Finding

Ground

This

Transitus

Brother

Father Francis 

Thank you

For leaving

but you make me forget so very much

 This

Is not poetry

This

Is the cry

Of

Devout despair

Of

Reverent disdain

Of

Yesterday’s joy

Bruised

Bloodied, clawing back

Amnesiac

Tell me the forgotten

dormiérunt somnum suum

 I have atoned for my sins

I have prayed to the angels, 

Dómine, lábia mea apéries.

O Lord, open thou my lips.

Et os meum annuntiábit laudem tuam. 

And my mouth shall declare thy praise.

I have grown weary of the insanity

tired of the foolish lies and liars

my prayer is exhalation, 

Laudes - Campanae, bells sound

I yawn, the morning cool inhales

passing psalmody, gentle guitar

(Ps. 66) Deus, misereátur nostri, et benedícat nobis:

May God have mercy on us, and bless us:

illúminet vultum suum super nos, et misereátur nostri.

may he cause the light of his countenance to shine upon us, 

and may he have mercy on us. The question arises:

Where is this countenance? Is it looking out,

or is it looking at? Where is God, exactly?

I no longer have any idea of God’s presence --

no notion of church topography or clerical navigation --

only some quantum gibberish about Schrödinger’s Cat

both dead and alive at same time, or double slit stuff

sometimes a particle, sometimes a wave, then 

Higgs bosun, the God particle (as they say) dropping

through the crash in accelerator into ... what?

Where does “God” fall out of and fall into? Cern,

sitting astride the Franco-Swiss border near Geneva,

is as good a place for God as is the Vatican or Mecca,

better than Washington DC, not as good as a tomb in

Assisi where the bones of Il Poverello and Lady Clare

consider their poverty alongside riches of their church.

I tell the captain of the Respite Sail Boat that it is, yes,

a depressing time, it is not her, except she is in this time,

our country’s father is insane and surrounded by ridiculous

men and women too frightened of his lies to remember truth --

where anything could happen, citizens fired upon, and fired,

people kidnapped and disappeared, universities cowed,

churches gone mute, those without money ... absurdly 

labeled communists and fascists by real fascists and oligarchs --

we are left to our own devices, doomscrolling and video gaming

while nuns and monks turn to psalms for sanity, for us all --

4. Illúminans tu mirabíliter a móntibus ætérnis:

4. You illuminate wondrously from the mountains of eternity.

turbáti sunt omnes insipiéntes corde.

All the foolish of heart have been disturbed.

5. Dormiérunt somnum suum:

5. They have slept their sleep,

et nihil invenérunt omnes viri divitiárum in mánibus suis.

and all the men of riches have found nothing in their hands.                                                        (ps.75)

 

Beware of the nothing in their hands. They know not what they hold.

God is like that: everything for some; devastation for others.

I have here a quiet room. Outside, there is sun on October branches.

I suspect God is wandering by -- Some leaves on branches nod and sway

can you hear the determination

 Many leave home

If their father

Or husband beats them

There are many bags

Pulled out of closet

Some have guns or bats

The abuse will not continue

Sorrow accompanies packing

To leave, to end, the cruelty

old enough to face the dawn

What do you mean “angels, 

guardian angels?”

They are celebrated today. 

These invisible so-called beings

Here to help, protect, guide?

Who are they? How happen?

I love the idea. Can’t penetrate it.

Maybe it’s the free will thing — it’s

Our choice to be good or bad, 

everyone waits for our choice

To shoot someone in the head

Or pull someone from collapsed rubble —

No angel diverts bullet, or diffuses

Bomb — and we suffer the suffering,

The ones molested, stabbed, blown up

Duped, scammed, fed lies and cancer —

Listen — I like the idea of angels, maybe

They need an organizer, a rally, a protest

night prayer

 If it be your will

https://youtu.be/q78kp_HmvKw?si=4H8K6PPiMCWWXWI1

yom

 I atone

For my failings

Resolving

Return to

Pure gift

At center

vorsicht, προσοχή, méfiez-vous, tener cuidado

 A song for the dying of light, and those who swing obscurantism over all.

https://youtu.be/FrsGTItbss4

Beware Of Darkness

      By George Harrison

Watch out now 

Take care, beware of falling swingers 

Dropping all around you 

The pain that often mingles 

In your fingertips 

Beware of darkness

Watch out now 

Take care, beware the thoughts that linger 

Winding up inside your head 

The hopelessness around you 

In the dead of night 

Beware of sadness

It can hit you 

It can hurt you 

Make you sore and what is more 

That is not what you are here for

Watch out now 

Take care, beware of soft shoe shufflers 

Dancing down the sidewalks 

As each unconscious sufferer 

Wanders aimlessly 

Beware of Maya

Watch out now 

Take care, beware of greedy leaders 

They'll take you where you should not go 

While weeping Atlas Cedars 

They just want to grow, grow and grow 

Beware of darkness (beware of darkness)

Written by: George Harrison

Album: The Concert For Bangladesh

Released: 1971

Lyrics provided by MusixmatchWas 

Yes.

Beware.

for a little while

 We’ll wait

The insanity will tire

Die off

Rebirthing sane joy

geist im inneren, lärm ohne

 If God’s voice

Is within

Everything

God must

Be so

Disappointed

We listen to

Stark raving

Outside lunacy

war

 Comes to America

(Idiots) force generals

To sit on hands

sitting in dooryard after walk

Yellow leaves

Fall to ground

With a lightness

Turning, twisting 

From high branch

Two on my lap

I ask them

If they had

A good summer

μόνος

 Cars go 

Up and down

Road

Between Ragged

And Bald

Mountains

Which is

Where I

Find myself

Each

Morning,

Alone

looking through you

Scholarship and the immersion into words.

 St. Jerome (born c. 347, Stridon, Dalmatia—died 419/420, Bethlehem, Palestine; feast day September 30) was a biblical translator and monastic leader, traditionally regarded as the most learned of the Latin Fathers. He lived for a time as a hermit, became a priest, served as secretary to Pope Damasus I, and about 389 established a monastery at Bethlehem. His numerous biblical, ascetical, monastic, and theological works profoundly influenced the early Middle Ages. He is known particularly for his Latin translation of the Bible, the Vulgate, and has been designated a doctor of the church, a title granted to saints in the Roman Catholic Church whose writings and teachings are of particular importance.    https://www.britannica.com/biography/Saint-Jerome

Where one finds 

what one is

Looking through

You

αν διαπιστώσετε ότι ενδιαφέρεστε

Good

For you

Good

For us

Panentheism

Inhabits

And

Surrounds

Should you

Be so inclined

today’s feast

 Angels preserve us!

if you’ve ever experienced mental illness

 We don’t know what to do with derangement, paranoia, malignant narcissism, and cruelty. Psychopathy is difficult to contain and treat.

I feel badly for the patient. Mostly I feel badly for those around him helplessly afraid. Then I feel angry with those who use and manipulate him for their own benefit.

We are abused children in a disfunctional household where addicted adults and neighbors are high and abusive and out of control.

Things, we like to say, will get better. But not until additional pain and suffering is promulgated and prolonged.

Mental illness sucks.

It is our plague right now.

Unhappily.

deum creamus, deus nos creat

 a theological/philosophical

encomium in prison this morning

to Deum Creamus -- the adverbial

adjectival co-creating of God 

when is checkout time

 Time will come

Ugliness in White House

Will be taken away

As if gold

Would change

Anything

nihil umquam satis est

 Nothing

Is

Ever

Enough

praesentia sine verbis ipsa est

 How many words

Does it take

For a sentence

To reveal itself

The answer is

None —

Itself is wordless

Presence

qui tacet consentire videtur, ubi loqui debuit ac potuit

 I find

I have

Little

To say

When guests

Visit I

Have little

To say

Last night

Around fire

Pit a trillion

Stars overhead

None of

Them said

Anything but

We are here

As fire

Lowered

In steel

Ring