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If you endure it well, you’ll find
That the places, the times, When you sacrificed the most Are the most endearing to your memory.
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4:30 am
Sitting in my van, And I hear coughing. I gaze out the window Toward the McDonalds And see the silhouette of a man Step, step, cough, cough, cough Step, cough, cough, step cough Homeless. The shelter is nearby And they are all over around here. And I wonder as I cough, cough, type cough, And pretend I do not see, What can be done? 3 hot meals a day A block away. A bed for some. But it is more than that, Demons that the benevolent cannot touch, Death that works its way into the heart, the lungs. And I think as we cough, cough, type, step That we are connected. And yet I notice him. And he doesn’t notice me. What does that mean? Nothing perhaps. Or not. When I work an ordinary job,
I cannot observe the natural rhythms That I have been discussing in the last few posts. And perhaps that is why I struggle with ordinary jobs. I wonder how many people struggle like me. Pittas are good at working long hours. They probably fair best with the 9-5, Or the 7-7, as the case may be. But then again, Kaphas are steady. They may fair best with 9-5. And the ambitious Pittas press on into the night. 10pm - 2am is also Pitta time. That’s when people say That they get their second wind. We all do our best, I suppose. Different energies, different styles. And we’re all needed. So grateful for that. They say that each person favors a particular energy.
Some are Vatas, some Kaphas, and some Pittas. I am definitely a Vata - dreamy, Thin, moody, creative. And I believe that is why The afternoons are so vexatious to me If I am not doing something creative. Pittas, on the other hand, Can get a lot done. They are very productive people. Kaphas are steady, calm, loving, and large. Just another way to look at the world, I suppose. Another way to categorize people And to know ourselves A little better Perhaps. Pitta time is from 10am-2pm.
Pitta is the third type of energy According to the Ayurvedic tradition. They say that Pitta time is the most productive time. It is the time when you are most likely To push through on a project. And I have found that to be true myself. Ten to two is my get-things-done time. But I must be careful not to press past two. Or it will become vexatious to me. But I think that is because I am a Vata person. Tonight, I will go to bed at 8:00 pm
Which is right in the middle of Kapha Time According to the Ayurvedics. Kapha energy is heavy, earthy, homey. It helps you relax and get ready for bed. When you think Kapha, think dim lights, Warm cups of tea, good books, and family. Because I am geared toward the early morning, This means that my evening starts early. It starts in the afternoon. And if I go to bed too late, I will resent my wake-up call. I will lie in bed and wish That I was not awake. Isn’t that strange? And ungrateful I suppose. I am so glad to be writing in the afternoon.
It feels like writing time. It feels dreamy. The Ayurvedic tradition says that 2-6 pm is Vata time. Vata is the etheric energy, The creative energy. The other Vata time is from 2-6 am in the morning. That’s why people often rise early To work on creative pursuits. It is charged with otherworldly energy. It is full of unexpected insights, and movement. It seems like you can always get more done In these early hours before the sun comes up, Not because you’re working harder, But because it comes easier. It is early morning dark
And ten runners just ran by my van. They didn’t notice that I live here. Did they hear the bark, bark of my puppy And wonder where it came from? If so, I doubt that they cared. And neither do I. Ten runners, A club of runners. And I and Joey - just two contemplatives Musing in the early morning dark And wondering what to write. I had a strangely soothing thought today:
What if I were dead? I suppose that only those Who have suffered great loss will understand. While you’re alive, There is always the possibility That you might do something more To change the outcome. But once you’re dead, That’s the end of it. Once you’re dead, You must accept that what you were is enough. And there is great comfort in that. Not only that, But once you’re dead, You lose the ability to change things through your words, your actions. Prayer and spiritual connection Becomes your only link To this world. So for one Who hasn’t given up on this world But who has been estranged from those he loves It might help to accept the inevitable early. There is too much stuff
And too little space. I press out. I shift. I purchase a car top carrier. Aahhhh….better… What luxury! What spacious indulgence! How grateful I am that my life and problems are small! Rain drips down and I don’t notice.
I am caught by a thought, And captive to a song. And the rain drizzles down Around and wets my top. And I don’t care. Rain on. Rain on. I am safe within my thoughts. You cannot wet me ‘nough To drown the muse. So sweet The perfect thread That rolls out line by line And cares not for the drip, the drop. I am safe, am safe, within the perfect thought, The willing captive to a canopy of song. People...families with children...
I watch them as if from far away And say, oh yeah, I remember that. It’s hard to write
And I don’t know quite why At least it’s hard to write that story. But this is easy I write the way I think. And one line flows into another. But in the world of my story, it gets all bound up. I am not sure how to make that more like this. In the coming years
Understanding will blossom While the world of the self-righteous Is steeped in war. And that war will end all wars. Though I can’t really call it war. Mere killing is more accurate. And the world will devolve into chaos. And men will kill each other In one wave of carnage Followed by another. And at the same time will rise The banner of a new nation Which is not of this world. Its citizens will not take up the sword But will sue for peace. They will put away their differences And love one another. And eventually, When the wicked have killed the wicked, And there is no soul left to convince of any cause, The world will be at peace. There is shade not too far away.
So don’t look far away. Stay close. Don’t move too much Or you’ll waste the day searching. I stand alone somewhere far, far away
From all that I see here. I do not reside in this place only. And the gray clouds roll overhead As the waves lap up upon the sacred beach. And I feel the cool sand under my naked feet. And for as far as I can see There is no one to speak No one to laugh Or peep. I am alone. What comfort to know When the world forsakes me That somewhere in the mystic sea of existence, I am truly untouched by all that seems so terrible. When you’re young
The world seems young Because your eyes are on the young. And it’s hard to imagine that one day you’ll be old. And when you’re young The world appears beautiful Whether you are beautiful or not Because your eyes are ever fixed upon the beautiful. Our culture wants it this way Because money can be made By selling the illusion of youth and beauty. And because of that, even many of the old Still pretend that the world is youth and beauty. Their eyes are on the cover of the magazine. And their lives are mostly wasted chasing youth and beauty. But that is not the truth you’ll see When you look up from the magazine. Most people are, in fact, a little old and a little ugly, Or at best, kind of plain before they put on their makeup. And I find that kind of beautiful in its own way. There is a generation coming
That will forsake this modern culture in its entirety. And the culture will forsake them as well. They will be the new dissenters The peaceful rebels, Traitors to all that man has aspired to be. But they will rejoice to do without. And they will put their whole trust in the Great Unseen. For they will have no other choice. And He will be to them All that the culture promised to be. But unlike the culture, He will deliver. They said it was impossible.
But she did it anyway. She walked away. And she knew that she was not fit to face the world, And that if she left she would end up on the street. And that the street would eat her up. But she did it anyway. She walked away. And the doctors threw up their hands in disbelief. She’s gone mad, some said. She was already mad, said others. But she did it anyway. She walked away. And now she spends her days here and there - Dirty, unkempt, and mad. But she feels the breeze She sweats out in the heat And dips her hands into the pool And pulls the water to her face So as to feel the coolness on her cheeks. And laughs. She laughs and laughs. And talks to her imaginary friends. And sometimes she is very scared. And sometimes very sad. But, she says, in her most coherent moments. At least it’s real. At least I am the thing I am. I’ve experienced infatuation.
I have fallen in love to the wrong person And had the heavens disapprove. So I know that love can blind. But this is not that. There is no virtue in moving on From a thing that’s right. There is no virtue In letting faith die. Better to die yourself Than to move on In your heart From a thing that’s right. I come to it late in life:
A renouncement to the road. But I have travelled before. I have lived on faith And thrived, Trived, that is, In the poverty way one thrives. But now I prepare to make it my profession. And I discover that it is just as much work as anything else. And to do it right, I must throw myself all in. And trust that God will provide. Nonetheless, at the end of the day, it is a job. And I embrace the work. I am nothing.
And I never thought It would sound so sweet. Nothing now but to lay it down, Nothing now but to lay it down. How many times can a man die? A few, it seems. And the master wields the knife, The master wields the knife. How many times can this man die? Again it seems. Again it seems. And the master wields the knife, Not long now. Oh, not long now. But the master wields the knife. I lay it down. And it matters not Because the master wields the knife. I never thought it could sound so sweet But with empty hands and naked feet I approach on hallowed ground And bear my tender flesh For the end, it seems, Is coming ‘round. And I never thought That it could be this way, but it is. I have always had a hard time sticking to things.
And yet I have published here Over 200 days straight. Grateful. And I am holding my feet to the fire When it comes to the story I am working on: One project - one thing at a time. And the goal is to finish by the end of the quarter: One more month. And I keep at it day after day. Yet I am tempted to work on other things. But I must finish one thing before I start another. I think that is the key. I lay down my life.
But what does that mean? I don’t know. Or perhaps I do. That I let go of all that I had hoped…again… Which is all that He has promised, At least my hope of receiving it in this world. And in that, He says, there is hope That it will surely come When I am gone. What a surprise? And I feel it in my chest. The promise that I haven’t long. And so I baby this old frame. I treat it gently With the hope that I can get it all down before I go. Work, work, work. Writing down the words That are etched upon this flesh. And I hear the sound ring out from the unseen place. I hear the call of Him whom I serve. “Work, work,” he says, “Waste out what’s left of your life And let me be the thing that you desire.” Put the knife away, I say.
Put the knife away. Go back home And humbly pray For faith to win the day. There is no battle left to win No struggle yet untried Except the battle in man’s heart To grapple with the lie, The lie that we inherited From fathers brave and true, Fathers who believed that they Could make the choice for you, Who hoped that if they gave their lives That they could make us free. But don’t you see, nobody’s free, Not in the way you think. Because it doesn’t come that way. And yet, there's One, A hallowed Son The Man of Liberty. He did not fight to save his life Yet set the captives free. And we must fight To be like Him. To turn the other cheek. We must fight to own the right To walk among the meek. Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloke also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away. Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven… Matthew 5: 38-45 |
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