Possessions speak to us all day long.

That book you purchased

But have never read

Says

“Read me!”

And the empty shelf 

Says “fill me up with more.”

Some possessions warm and nurture

While others distract, dissuade, and even harm.

If we are not careful, the things we own

Can siphon off our strength.

Or they can build us up,

Make us better.

So choose carefully what you own

And don’t be afraid of letting go

Of a thing 

When it no longer serves 

The purpose for which it was purchased.

They say that not all who wander are lost,

And that’s true of me, I think. 

I wander, wander,

Never sure

Exactly where I’m going,

But also not without a rough idea.

The inner light points in a direction

And I begin to act, to move step by step

Toward the place where it feels that I should go.

And I trust the way to open up before me.

And it does. That’s the miracle

Though it does not come

Without the work

Of exercising faith.

I relate to the albatross and its endless worldwide journeys.

It is said that the albatross can travel ten thousand miles

To bring home one meal of oily vomit for its chick.

Yeah. I think that’s it. Ten thousand miles

To find one little treasure,

One morsel 

To regurgitate here upon the empty page.

I find myself wanting to expand upon this work.

To share more of what I see and feel,

More of the people that I meet

As I wander, wander,

Round the world.

A discussion of "Choose Your Story"

It is possible to serve the light

For your own sake?

To be 

Dark inside,

Filthy with secret pride

While outwardly stacking up

Your achievements, 

Allowing others

To laud your name, 

And never once realizing

That your soul is lost,

Not in gross immorality,

But in the actor’s game

The hypocrites play.

Listen closely

To yourself.

Is your story one of redemption?

Or is it the hero’s myth?

They are not the same story.

I have a deep distrust for the latter

And an unfailing affection for the former.

So don’t tell me how you slew the dragon.

Tell me about the dragon inside of you.

That’s the story I long to hear

Because he lives inside me too,

And it is all I can do

With the help of God

To find my way.

There is the part of me that likes to go out

And there is the part of me that likes 

To come back home.

And both play a part in the strange way 

That I support my family,

My family.

And you are part of my family.

I go out, and I come back home.

And I share the wisdom that I’ve found from the road

With the ones I love, the ones I love.

I love you, and I pray 

For you in your own journey.

Perhaps one day, you will grow up

To go out and come back home

And share your wisdom

From the road.

And the cycle goes round and round,

You are my children. And one day

You will have children

Of your own.

Lessons from Raymond, the homeless man 

Who helped prepare me for the road.

To view previous lessons, find my playlist entitled: Raymond Lessons.

Lesson 11: All Day Long

I almost didn’t mention this one

Because it contradicts 

Something else 

That Raymond said.

But it has become applicable.

You see, I was skeptical 

When he implied

That everything came to him without asking.

Sometimes, maybe. But always?

And so I asked Raymond,

Do you ever have to panhandle

To get the things you need?

“Yes,” he said.

“How much?” I asked.

“All day,” he said. “Every day.”

“Oh…” I said. And I didn’t like that answer.

Because now it appeared that our good fortune

Was a special providence, and that

I would not be able to escape 

The work of asking.

Many changes are afoot.

I stand on the brink 

Of, yet again, a leap of faith.

And somehow, it feels as if 

These little thoughts

Might just not be enough,

As if I should be, do,

Something more…

Something more…

And I wonder,

Is it enough?

What do you think?

Might the world feed me and my little tribe

If I just keep showing up…showing up?

Soon we will find out,

Won’t we?

I weave your dreams from autumn leaves 

Turned brown and drifting downward

Toward the emptiness 

Of summer skies

When the snow flurries

Upward toward the starlit heavens

And the moon looks down 

Upon the restless hopes

Of careworn souls

Who daren’t 

Believe

That anything

Could be so real 

As the grind of wheat upon the wheels of time.

And the feet of those who’ve gone before

In the dusty tracks of them

Who couldn’t find

Their way.

Today's poem... and the subject for today's episode.

I wonder, If I were someone else,

Would I be just like them.

I can't help but think

That to some degree, I would.

That makes me think that it's just me

Walking around and being everyone.

So many people can't help but be themselves,

Just like me, just like everyone.

I wish that I could be 

A better friend to them

And in turn, a better friend to myself.

God help me to see it deeper

To feel myself in the others

That I meet each day

I pray.

Taking a new format for these podcasts. Today I discuss the thoughts that precipitated the poem of the day:

Note to self:

People want what they want,

And some graciously give,

God bless them.

But when it comes to making a living,

It may be better me to focus on what others want

Not what I want. Sell them something

That they are already looking for.

And then use the surplus 

To graciously give.

One day, the world will change

To an economy of gifts.

I look forward to that day.

But in the meantime, it’s a balance.

We work. We sell the people what they want.

And then we give of our surplus property.

It is an imperfect system. 

But it works.

And perhaps we can use it as a tool 

To shine a light on the coming world of gifts.

I am the roots of the tree

The thing unseen.

I am

There but you can’t see me.

You think that it is you,

That it is he,

But it is we

Three.

Remember. Oh, remember.

And when you think that you’re alone

Draw deep from the unseen place that lingers

In the memory of what you were before you sprung

Up from the ground so many years before.

There we were together.

And though

You cannot see me.

I have never left you and I never will.

I am the source, the wellspring of your deepest desires. 

And one day, when you’ve grown tired of living,

And fall down hard to the unforgiving soil.

There I will wait to meet you deep

In the hollowed end, 

That is beginning.

Thank you

For letting me nourish you.

I am the roots, and I love you

And though you think that we are separated,

We are not. We cannot be, we three,

Are knit together in oneness

Always.

I have to slow down and visit meaning

Or it escapes me. I have to ask myself,

Do I find meaning in what I'm doing now?

I ask it all the time, of myself.

And to my surprise 

It often says, 

Aye, there's meaning.

And that's classic, to find it 

In the most unexpected ways and places.

But it's not enough to find my meaning 

I have to see it in others also.

I have to hear the stories.

I have to watch their

Sacred paces.

And the sight, the sound, of it

Restores my faith in meaning itself.

And as, like a flood, it washes over me,

I am restored to the unnameable meaning of it all.

There are those who try to deny hell

But I am not sure why.

There are those

Who choose hell in this life

When the light shines the day long.

I can’t imagine that the next life is so different.

But I also can’t imagine 

That the light doesn’t shine brighter there.

But that means that the darkness 

Must also be deeper,

The contrast more stark.

There is always hope for those who want the light 

Though they flounder and fail to find it.

I do not worry about them.

But there are also those

Who do not want the light.

They seek out the shadows.

They revel in causing pain.

And you cannot force a soul to heaven

Though you extend the hand of mercy the day long.

I wish that I could give the world His love,

Not a system of belief,

But the Man 

Himself.

For I am cradled in his kindness.

My home is in His heart-

And though I wander 

O’er the earth

My pillow a stone,

My shelter rain,

I am at home

In Him.

It makes me think of those

Who have no home

In the love 

Of One.

It makes me want to wrap them up

In the harbor of my heart,

To clothe them with acceptance,

Peace, truth, and kindness,

And to free them, 

Like birds

To the belief that they are loved,

How is it done, I wonder,

When I, myself, 

Am yet like sparrows?

It seems so little to love.

And yet it, so often, has been 

The only thing I had to give.

Old friend, the world that you have chosen,

The spoil that you have taken,

Sits rotting

Under your canopy.

“But I could pay,” you say,

“I could pay. And here is the receipt.”

Fool! You believe that you are the hero,

The saver of the day, the victor

By the thickness of your pocketbook.

And what’s more, that you have escaped

The eye that sees all things,

When in reality,

You have dealt treacherously.

You have whisked away the hearts

And the very souls of men

For your own pleasure.

Bring them back, I say!

Bring them back!

Before, with fierce anger,

I come into your house to repay.

And your family is stripped from you,

Your pocketbook emptied.

Your soul ravaged 

Of solace,

And you left desolate

Amid the furious winds

Of the desert of the soul.

Old friend, we are still friends.

But know that you can’t go on this way.

And I mourn to see the future that awaits

If you do not swiftly change your ways.

If the world will ever find peace

Good people will have to stop fighting.

It is not enough for good people to be good.

Being good has a blind spot. It makes you think

That you are justified in fighting for what is right,

In making war in defense of truth

And to preserve your freedom.

But freedom doesn’t need to be preserved.

It lives within the heart of those 

Who can’t be persuaded 

Not to speak the truth

Even when the enemy rages 

And the tyrant oppresses.

So be good. Speak the truth.

But also be kind. It is the way 

That leads to peace.

Some news.

I am going overseas.

I don’t know how I’ll get there.

But I’ve never known how I’ll get there.

And isn’t it strange that I could know such a thing?

And yet I do.

How long will it take me to get there?

I don’t know.

How will I support myself when I get there?

I think I know. More on that to come.

But in the end, God only knows.

And how long will I be there?

A year, a month, a day,

A lifetime?

God only knows.

One thing I know.

My path is a surprise.

And the joy is walking it with Him

Wherever he leads me. That’s enough.

If I were to just act

And stop thinking quite so much

I think I’d be better off.

So long as our intentions are good,

I don’t know that it matters that much

What we do so long as we do.

Do, do, do. In all things, do.

That’s what bodies are made for.

Do the best that can be done

Under the circumstances

And then move on

To another do.

I wonder if it’s the long-term 

That gets us thinkers into trouble.

We try to make choices 

That we can’t yet make.

I am sure there are some

Whose problem is the opposite

Who get themselves into trouble

Because they don’t think quite enough.

But for those of us whose addiction

Is trying to work it all out beforehand,

The antidote, it seems to me, is DO.

Lessons from Raymond, the homeless man 

Who helped prepare me for the road.

To view previous lessons, find my playlist entitled: Raymond Lessons.

Lesson 10: Keep writing. Tell a story. Disappear.

This one surprised me.

It came in the days that followed.

Raymond had given me 2 books,

One deep, the other bubble gum.

Couldn't get past page 40 in the latter.

Couldn’t put down the former.

The author of the latter 

Was all over.

But I could not find a single word

About the author of the former,

It was published in 1939,

And the writer had disappeared from history

To spite the fact that his book

Was one of the most meaningful, 

Well-written, and moving stories I’ve ever read.

And in those two books, Raymond’s message 

Came through crystal clear:

Tell a story. Tell it well.

Move the people,

And then disappear.

Don’t try to be great.

Just try to tell a good story.

It’s enough.

I will gather the apples before they fall,

But not my apples, your apples,

If you'll let me.

You planted the tree with good intentions

But we all know how that goes.

And they'll soon go to waste.

I'll also clean your windows,

Mow your lawn,

Walk your dog,

If you let me.

You planned to do it all,

But we all know how that goes.

I'll even take out your garbage 

If you let me, so long

As I can rifle through your trash.

You bought that stuff with good intentions

But we all know how that goes. 

And I can make a living of your waste if you'll let me.

And what's more, don't put it past me to wait

Until you're bothered 

By the unused scrap of land

And are ready to let it go for a song.

I'll sing the song if you'll let me.

And pound out a golden paper

If you'll let me, if you'll let me.

I am the care-free scavenger.

My life is easy, risk-free, almost.

Because I know how that goes.

And I am willing to work and wait.

You can create another version of the past 

That serves a better future.

When you do something you regret,

Rewrite the experience in your mind.

And give thanks for God’s grace

In helping you to choose the better part

Even though you did not choose the better part.

Be descriptive in your re-writing,

Enough that gratitude wells up

For making the right decision.

See it. Feel it. 

Resist the tendency to disbelieve.

And you will actually create another reality.

Yeah…out of fantasy. 

But your brain doesn’t know that it’s fantasy.

It experiences those good feelings

As if they really happened.

If you do this consistently,

Sooner or later, you’ll discover

That you start doing the right thing

So that you can experience more 

Of the feeling you felt

In your made-up past.

It is a strategy for the weak

Who wish to be made strong through belief.