Psalm 37: Psalm of (Adjusted) Proverbs

Avoid fretting over selfish people;
do not be envious of wrongdoers,
for they will soon fade like the grass, and wither like the green herb; 
just as all humans do.

 

But focus on the bigger picture, and do good;

so that you live in simple thankfulness and don’t cling uselessly to transient things in life.

Take delight in that which is transcendent,

and allow yourself to be filled with gladness.

 

Commit your life to focussing outward;

engage with others,

and experience your interconnectedness

with all of Creation and with the Divine.

 

Do nothing from time to time,

and allow yourself simply to be;

do not worry about what others are doing;

do not get wrapped up in the comparison game.

 

Experience your anger but avoid reacting out of it; let go of your wrath.

Do not worry—it won’t accomplish anything beyond exhausting yourself.

Rash actions, motivated by fear, are dangerous.

It is better to be patient so as to act with calm clarity.

 

For selfish, impulsive, and greedy actions

will leave you unfulfilled,

their satisfaction, fleeting.

Delay gratification, and plan for the long-term.

 

Gluttonous people like to mock those seeking to serve others,

denying their own sense of guilt.

But such selfishness eventually

consumes itself.

 

Habitual self-centredness is harmful to others,

blind to the poor and needy, hostile to those trying to help.

Such self-centredness is subtle self-harm,

leaving one cut off from life-giving relationships and community.

 

It is better to value what little you have

than to constantly covet that which you do not,

for coveting leaves one always wanting,

but the satisfied will rest content.

 

Justified are those 

who put the needs of others before their own.

Their selflessness 

will be their legacy.

 

Know that all people will perish;

all are transient as annual plants;

they will vanish away 

like the smoke of an extinguished candle.

 

Loving themselves above all else, selfish people only take,

but generous people will keep on giving, regardless.

Giving and receiving are both gifts

to offer to those around us, in balance.

 

Maintaining contentedness in all circumstances

gives one confidence to move through various circumstances.

Then one is able to persevere through hardship,

moving forward in hope.

 

Now this I have observed in life:

those of both guilt and innocence have been forsaken,

and both the rich and the poor have been forced to beg.

Yet strive for goodness and to be a blessing to others.

 

Obviate the path of evil, and always seek to do good,

so that your good actions may persist forever.

For we must contribute to the justice

we so long to see in this world.

 

Perniciousness breeds death,

but magnanimity brings life.

We must strive to bring life wherever we go,

that life might triumph over death.

 

Quote wisdom,

and speak of justice.

Cherish them in your heart,

and let them guide your actions.

 

Ravenous for power,

the selfish prowl amongst others,

seeking to devour those who are weak.

But what goes around eventually comes around.

 

Survival of the fittest:

rules are coded in our evolutionary past.

But we as humans are fit enough now

to care for the Other.

 

Take notice of the great evils in this world;

you will probably see them always.

But, you, strive for good,

and be an agent of hope in this world.

 

Uphold those who bring good to this world;

they are beacons of hope for a better, more peaceful existence.

Don’t give acknowledgement to those who seek evil;

starve them of the limelight that feeds their egos.

 

Victory for the cosmos is greater wholeness for all;

transcending this present state is the hope that will take us there.

Live like the universe is on your side, willing you to be the best you can be, 

because maybe it is.

 

Welcome to the hazy grey areas of life,

where black or white thinking isn’t enough.

Be prepared to nuance and qualify;

negotiation is your friend.

 

Xenodochy must mark your actions

in a world overcome with xenophobia.

Care for the stranger, the widow, and the orphan;

transcend yourself.

 

Yearn for awe and wonder;

raise your consciousness.

Connect with the bee, the leaf, and the cloud.

Strive to see that which your eyes cannot see.

 

Zealously defend not your freedom or your rights,

but your compassion and integrity.

At the end of your days, may you be blameless,

and may you be filled with joy for the gifts of life that you have selflessly given.

Psalm 15: Admittance Requirements

Who may be admitted into the presence of the Divine?

Anyone

who earnestly seeks the Divine

with humility

and who cares for those in need.

 

Those who do such things

will become aware of the all-present Divine within and without them.

As I Shout in the Streets

I no longer know what matters to such American

people. Although if I follow their leader, money

seems to be an answer. I read about the sans-gun

service of once-US Poet Laureate Frost. Does freedom

fighting of that sort count? Or is it only the power

of military and business that is worthy of praise? ‘God

bless America’ sounds hollow when your god

is only invoked to defend those Americans

wielding wealthy, masculine, white Christian power.

You threaten to sue with check-books of money,

declaring that your rights demand denied freedom

for the Other—and if that fails, you have your gun.

You angrily yell: ‘Keep your hands off our guns,

and keep your political correctness off our God!’

You claim this government is killing religious freedom.

But Christian liberty is not religious liberty; America’s

separation of Church and State proven a lie. Money

will now be our ruler—the divine right to power.

The rally ‘Vote for Life!’ becomes ‘Vote for Power!’,

as the NRA threatens, ‘Vote to Keep Your Guns!’

Once again we are reminded of the money

chiselled for worship of a lifeless, foreign god.

This is the god for which platforms of ‘Americans

First’ are throwing aware their coveted freedom.

Your ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ pursuit of freedom

is revealed to be a desperate grab for power.

You are willing to distort the elusive ‘American

Dream’; replacing and reifying it with rights to guns,

rights to give lip-service to only the Christian god,

and rights to the pursuit of money, money, money.

You say intelligence is success, measured by money.

You claim that to maintain our fought-for freedom

requires labelling and barring those who worship Allah.

You have compromised Light in order to possess power.

Driven by fear of Other, you cradle your precious guns.

Is it only You who gets to define what is Great America?

Lesson one: If I make money it will bring me power.

Lesson two: Freedom is defended by wielding a gun.

My plea: Dear God, I don’t want to be this American.

The Unwelcome Companion

Wetness licks my hand.

Perhaps my puppy—your puppy—our harrier—is seeking a playmate—

I see no wagging tail, lolling tongue, or wide puppy eyes.

It is the rain, accompanying my lithe body—I dance along the cobbled street—

I sit at my desk in the artificially-lit room, surrounded by electronic hums.

You are beside me, telling a joke—bringing tears to my eyes—

You and me—together—laughing so hard—

Your silence is palpable; your invisibility, pungent.

Another tear smudges the ink before me.

I wipe my face, trying to whisk away incrimination.

I count my blessings and tell myself I should be filled, brimming, overflowing with—

Joy—Joy—Joy—

Thankfulness—

Excitement—

Anxiety

Fear

Dread

Guilt

Emptiness

Empty—

Empty—

Empty—

—Tears.

Hypothesis: 'But Then You Write a Poem and You're Fine'

Bone cave. Capable of holding the life of death. Perhaps waiting

is death enough. If only convincing was needed: all will be well;

all manner of things; be well, be well. Been swallowing placebos,

knowing their lie—they prove less effective when death is needed

for biology festering inside. Maybe truth is void—death without

life. Only in the mind—this narrative of mine—a personal Hell—

isolation—punishment—just—divine—

Contact: Attempted

I open my eyes and slowly lift my head. I am in the white room, sitting with my back against a wall. My legs are drawn to my chest, arms holding them tightly. The walls are smooth and emit a blindingly bright light—not only the walls, but the ceiling and floor as well—yet no light fixture is visible.

I allow my sight to rest and focus upon the figure in the centre of the room. Sitting still on a simple metal chair is a man. His physical appearance is difficult to discern, such that if I hold him just outside of focus only then does he appear distinct. He appears perhaps 35 or 40 years of age. His dress—black shoes, dark jeans, and a white button-up shirt—fits to his well-kept body. His hands rest upon his knees, and he is leaning slightly forward. His face is unshaven and his chestnut hair threatens to fall into his eyes. His hazel eyes are watching me.

When my eyes first meet his, my stomach lurches. But I recover with a snort of laughter. Of course you’d look like that, I think, wryly. The man sits up and crosses his arms in front of his chest without taking his eyes off me. His posture challenges, Like what? I purse my lips, refusing to respond, but the thoughts form in my head regardless: Like someone I would want to trust and respect purely by look alone. I frown and glare at the man. “I’m not amused,” I say aloud, accusingly. The man neither blinks nor moves—no sign that he has listened to my silence.

I close my eyes, sighing, and let my head fall back against the wall behind me. I feel the man watching me still, and—worse—I feel him moving around slowly inside my mind. My irritation spikes, but I do not hold onto it. “I’m tired,” I say, without opening my eyes.

“I know,” he replies.

I open my eyes and shift my head just enough to glance at the wall above and behind me. There is no outline of a door and no doorknob. The room is completely sealed. I should have figured, I think. My man remains in my mind, silent but moving. I glance again at him—still watching me—sigh again, and re-close my eyes. I allow my mind to wander, knowing he will follow, and yet too drained to raise barriers.

I should have known that I would end up here. The Room. This time with no door—no entrance; no exit. And yet, I can leave at any time. This room is not built of physical walls, but rather a projection of my mind—firings of the neurons in my brain. I can leave—leave this dream world. Return to the world of sound waves and solid-state matter; of people discussing philosophy of mind and debating the ecological ethics involved in purchasing eggs from caged versus free-range hens. Return to the “real” world, the world that matters, the world that determines whether I will earn enough money to purchase meals for the rest of my life; the world of apologetics and theological debates and church-splits over doctrinal disputes; the world in which religions simultaneously delineate and obfuscate life and death. Some within that world—perhaps many within that world—would disapprove of this room. Disapprove of the man sitting in it with me. Disapprove of what I am doing here. With him. In my head.

“No wonder you’re tired,” I hear him say.

I open my eyes again and look directly into his. I am silent for many seconds, trying to prevent any thoughts from forming in my mind. Pointless.

“I don’t know if I should be talking to you,” I finally say.

He vanishes instantly.

I stare at the empty chair.

“But I thought it would be better than nothing.” It is only a whisper floating through the air.

***

I glance at the corner of my computer screen. 12:15 pm. I’ve been wasting my morning, I think, angrily to myself. It is nearly lunch time and I’ve done no work!