And Here Below

Apronhead

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Clouds scud across an aquamarine sky, bullied by westerlies, unsure of their destination, but determined to get there. And here below

my stationary stance

seems insignificant to the grandeur of heavenly motion; and even

my sure stance

is planted on a revolving world in its wild orbital trek. So it seems I am nothing much in the large scheme of things—and even this thinking part, a futile exercise for one so small,

so temporary.

Would I have more peace if I didn’t think

and just let this moment pass unmolested by a prying mind that seeks purpose and certainty in a war zone where beauty and design seek fragile balance to malevolence’s dark designs?

Might it not be better to go to oblivion oblivious, than wrestle with the mess of you unwinding my carnal threads to use in your grand tapestry. I have to wonder at a love so big…

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When I Was Young . . .

When I was young, I dreamed big dreams of earth and sky,

of progress and promise.

Context was safety, and I was so safe as to not know what real danger even looked like.

Though it would not have been right to stay in that cocoon of love and acceptance,

I often wonder

if that young girl had known what was really afoot in the wide, wide world,

the wild, wild real world,

would she have dared to traipse beyond the green fields,

the treehouses, and sandy riverbanks,

the hot-breath Holsteins, the feral cats made tame,

the safety of happiness, of home?

Would she have dared to sling a Harmony archtop guitar over her shoulder and run headlong into the unknown,

to explore the more complicated

and often darker underbelly of the world.

Probably.

But can I go back home now?

A Place to Belong

Apronhead

For GG 113

Maybe community as a group doesn’t exist. Is there

a place to belong, to breathe deep without fear of regulation and restraint—

to be who I am and am becoming in safety—

knowing and being known,

accepted?

Maybe community as a group doesn’t exist.

Maybe community comes in ones and twos, bits and snatches

of love and connection.

Maybe it comes in those broken times when my fear and doubt, that in some eyes would threaten the stability of all Christendom, is rather met

with understanding and the ah-ha’s that underscore I am not alone in my loss and alienation.

Maybe community is found in the stumbling along, the leaning on, the my picking you up and the your picking me up stuff of life,

not in the largeness, and the rightness of group but

in the ones and twos,

fellowship of the weak.

*******************

“We now have this light…

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