Bare feet come running down the stairs and
Then they run right through the screen door bursting
Onto the front porch stopping only briefly
To look at me and smile – then Zeke plants
Those feet once again as he runs and jumps into my lap.
The church bells begin playing their toll while
This beautiful 8 year old gift bounces back and forth
Chanting – Happy Birthday to Me – Happy Birthday to Me.

On the walkway out front a half dozen people pass all
In their Sunday best as Zeke waves to them still
Singing himself his birthday song.
None of the six wave back – all toting their Bibles
Shaking their heads ignoring Zeke - and me as well.
“How come you don’t go to church?” Zeke asks turning
Those bright blue eyes up toward mine while scratching
His right foot and with a small lock of hair across his left eye.

“Let’s see, you just graduated the second grade, did you not?”
I asked already knowing the answer pushing the hair out of his eye.
“Yep,” he replied - “Teacher says that I’m now a third grader and
She told Mom that she was going to see if the board would let
Me skip the third grade because she thinks it would be a waste for me.”
“That’s great Zeke,” But what do you think about that,” I ask?
“I don’t know, I try not to think about it – I don’t want to lose my friends,”
Zeke said with that small, sweet childish voice that makes everything understood.

“It’s OK Zeke, it’s OK to be frightened of the unknown – hey – you being
Almost a fourth grader – how well can you read now,” I asked?
Quickly he turned and grabbed my paper saying, “I can read anything, Grandpa.”
With that he read the headline on the small town gazette.
“Supreme Court Upholds Ban on Ten Commandments Abolished from Courthouse,”
And then he continues on with the rest of the article.
It’s clear to me that he knows the words but does he grasp their meaning?
I let him read the entire article aloud and when he finishes, “How was that,” he asks?

“That was great Zeke, really good reading,” taking away the paper from him.
“Now tell me what you read, what did you learn?’'
“Umm, the court said that the town cannot put the – the commands on the walls
Of the cord house,” he said confidently.
Knowing this little man did his job as best he could
I patted him on the head in approval saying, “Very Good, real good.”
“But why don’t you go to church Grandpa,” he asked again?
“Do you now where I keep the Bible,” I asked him back?

“Sure, it’s that big book on the coffee table, isn’t it,” he stated
While pointing to the adjacent living room wall.
“Yep, that’s it – why don’t you go get it and bring it out here?”
Without saying a word he was back on the porch floor with
Those quick feet headed to the screen door – patta-pat-patta-pat
Inside – then he rewinds the effort as he comes back to me
With the large 5 pound Bible in hand.
Handing me the Bible he climbs back in my lap.

I scrunch him up under my arm with his legs and feet out straight
Placing the Bible in his lap and opening it to Matthew 19:23-26.
Pointing at verse 23 - I ask Zeke to read the verse.
“I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of 'the' needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, “Who then can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”
Zeke laughed - “A camel cannot go through the eye of 'a' needle,” he said.

“Not so fast Zeke,” I said questioning his reasoning, “Are you sure that you know
What is being said?”
Zeke looked at the good book, “I think so?”
“OK, look at it from Jesus’s point of view.
In Jesus’s time there were 12 gates to Jerusalem and
One of those gates was so small that they called that gate
The Eye of The Needle and it is this gate that Jesus was
Referring to – Now does the verse make more sense?”

He leaned back into me saying, “Yes – now it makes sense -
Jesus was talking about a gate that was hard to get a camel through.”
“Good Zeke, so now you see that it is important to understand
The meaning of every word and of every phrase – otherwise - your
Mouth is just spitting out meaningless words and if you do
That often enough other people learn to do the same thing.”
“But how do you know this grandpa?”
He turned those blue inquisitive eyes upward to me.

“Because I’ve seen the remnants of the Eye of The Needle, Son.”
We sat there on the porch all morning – him asking –
Me trying to explain things – when all at once he turned the pages
Back to the parable of the Eye of The Needle and he pointed
At the scripture saying, “I see why you don’t go to church, Grandpa.”
He reread aloud, “Who then can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said,
“With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”
He looked at me while pointing to the verse.

“No man can save us can he grandpa?”
'Happy Birthday, Zeke,' I said smiling as we rocked away in our own harmony.

In my most quiet of moments
I stir my heart.
The mixture it generates swells
Throughout my extremities coalescing
In this page, another finger painted start.
It contradicts that which is allways of mind.
It conjures up something yet defined.
Splattered words on the kettle’s crest
They fill the void with more or less.
Tinkering on a balance beam,
The right words jostle to be redeemed.

I could say they were me – my own gentle art -
But are they? Or are they just mine to take the part?
For they come from where I cannot see
And sometimes they go to where I cannot be.
They drive me around in an uncovered plea
Straight up to the heart of me.
Yet it is here in these pages that I belong
Found between the lines – how could I be wrong?
If I were to dismantle my heart here before your eyes
Would you understand its dissected replies?
I think I surely would if I thought that you could
Trace the lines inside of me – all the way to understood.

In this one place I take leave of myself
Pulling out everything from off the shelf.
Scattered on the floor – oh what is left?
With my hand I pick up another piece of myself.
Placing it here, covertly from right to left.
Could you ever know of such a scattered line?
If you could it would be the real me defined.
Yes, in my most quiet of moments
I stir my heart.
In the mix it regenerates me -
The real me -
**eeS oT uoY roF

Is ever what is at one’s center
Not that which flies to the extremes?
But are we not victims of some injustice
Mounted in concentric rings
Flying up the stairs to meet?

The longer I look up the staircase
The stronger they do weave
Themselves into my brain.
Any other would run up the steps
Without the slightest solicitation.

But do I have the authority
To take each step forward while
Weighing the equaling step backwards?
For this is true of myself,
Each step forward was placed

There to slow my accent allowing
Me to gain a better perspective
As I climb.
But is the author ever out of rule
If his conjectures are not easily read?

But 'IS' the author ever out of rule
When the pen strikes the paper
Pounding out the movements in time
Within his heart’s blessed beat?
Present, past and future all intertwined.

Or is it the reader who passes on
The least insinuation which moves the pen
Toward the reader’s direction?
Taking another step upward - are not
Hearts undressed in a begging plea

That no garment could ever
Cover that which is weak about each?
I know not how to throw the garment on.
Tis a written account of the journey
Of the heart in pursuit of the affections

That rise out of Love.
The most perplexing thing in life
Being the effort of telling
Anyone who I am.
For it seems that only to myself
Can I give a fair account.
Simplicity being of great measure
One should be able to describe one’s
Own self with in a 'single' word.

If I measure myself with one word
With my heart in my pen
Explaining all the efforts engaged
While looking up to the next step
That one word has to be ... I am

Yours...

Am I somewhere betwixt the many worlds?
What is real – what is not?
Am I a fornication of my imagination?
Or am I simply a puncturing of a place in time?
I confess – nowhere – nowhere is where I’d rather be.

There, these earthly sediments fall to my feet,
Aged ballast no longer holding me to the past.
Thoughts traveling at light speed
Covering the vastness of my universe.
And in solemn slumber - reality does orbit me.

One thousand times the speed of light
Is possible to us taking up the flight.
A new journey beyond the scenes of the past,
Conjoined with others finding similar tasks.
First level, second level – the remembering goes on.

Without any struggle we are to understand
What God has created within a single hand.
This universe – this inverted reality in its form –
With us – the living – on the inside – trapped
By the never ending boundaries but warned.

There we must find that we are the masters
Of our heaven and earth – for ‘tis
Up to each of us to figure our own worth.
If one dies without believing in himself his soul
Remains separate but still worth retrieving.

Yes – because we are the creators – our light lives unchained
By the boundaries that we call space and time.
We can pass over to the other side –
To the other side of the inversion.
There we learn the true meaning of the diversion.

Walking as we may looking back into the
Inverted universe we become one with our dreams.
For ‘tis in life that we test our souls – yes –
It is in the singular act of living that we opportune with giving.
One pair of hands – they can remind so many….

Alive, one voice is all that is any,
In his image, our thoughts are of what he is within.
Those everlasting thoughts creating the future of light.
Freeing ourselves from the illusion of the endless night.
Finding our places on this side of the inversion.

Where do you remember the line of your being?
Must you depend only upon seeing?
Listen - to - one - who - has - seen - the - inversion.
Live life giving – make no diversion.
The beauty is that it is your choice to make.

What will you create?
Darkness – or light – or – something in between?
Don’t wait too late ….

The universe awaits.

On my evening walk about town
I passed by all the usual places.
Martini’s to my left, Betty’s cap and gown
Hap’s store on the right, the new salon called Faces.
Oh there are many more but turning the corner
Of Second and Elm I noticed an old goat following me.

He must have belonged to someone,
He seemed clean and well feed.
But no matter where I turned
He just kept following me.
Amused I was and solidly delighted.
So I led him back through town at a brisk pace
Hoping that somebody would claim him.

I came up to parson Bill and he said,
“Hey that’s a nice goat you have there.”
“Oh he’s not my goat,
It’s just my turn to walk him,” I explained
As we headed down Main Street.
Crossing a side street Officer Don was
Sitting in his patrol car, “Hey Will,
Where did you get the old goat?” he yelled.
“Oh he’s not mine, it’s the town goat -
Haven’t you heard, it’s just my turn to walk him.”

And so we went, me and this old goat bumping
Into just about everyone that was anyone.
As I made my way back across Elm Street,
My street, I met Hap, Betty, Don, Bill, Martini,
the new owner of Faces and 12 other people
All waiting for their turn.

Yep, he’s the town goat everyone now knows.
They walk him, they pet him, they feed him, they just love him -
You know
That sure is one **** smart old goat….

Here is something that I read in the headlines today
And I AM OUTRAGED… (Just kidding guys...)
It goes like this;

“An ex-communicable hubbub broke out in the halls
Of the church today as a certain group proposed
That a super God named Sofia created God
While depicting images of the feminine deity.”

(Can you imagine such a thing?)

The article went on -

“The conflict is over the lefts’ constant barrage of
Attacks to modify references of a male being the
Supreme deity by pointing out that God also has” -
And I quote, “Motherly qualities.”

What an awful a thing - I just don’t know how these
People get off the bus without knowing they are on
The Lunatic Fringe – who do they think we are?
(Again I’m being sarcastic here.)

Back to the article;

“United Methodist leader, Dado do dis do dat said
At the annual conference of the 12 tribes of Brooklyn
That no comparable words of heresy had been spoken
In the last 15 centuries and that just when the church
Begins to lose its grip on powers and principalities,
Weird sort of things like this start to happen.
He went further stating that these ideas must be
Eradicated from Christian thinking.”

Or what? Or these women are taking over?

“Bishop Dado do dis do dat continued – We wanted
Woman speakers who could carry on the Christian
Tradition – but look what happened.”

(You haven’t heard anything yet.)

“The women, who were venerating Sofia as a Goddess
Used ****** images to express the divine and held a
Workshop on belly dancing.”

(All right -)

“And went on further stating that the woman claimed
That with their hot wombs they give formula
To life and with the nectar between their thighs -
We women create the world as we know it.”

(LoL… go Sofia… )

(This was a real article in a real paper.)

The point here is this.

We are in the age of Aquarius and
The Aquarian age is a feminine age.
And that’s what we are experiencing.
There are those who will, for their own
Reasoning, exaggerate both sides of the issue -
Jesus said it this way, “It’s just birthing pains.”
Before the child is born there is a lot of difficulty.
But the child that is being born into this age
Is a beautiful thing.
Move over Dado do dis do dat,
There’s a new sheriff in town
And she ain’t likely to put up with
Your crap any longer.

Names changed to protect the guilty...

A constant companion that I know all to well,
No shadows following wherever I go.
No other life to show and tell.
It is with me
Though no one I see.
Where do I put this thing called lonely?
Who do I share when it is me only?

It follows me around
Wherever I go,
It makes not a sound
And it weighs on me so.
The God I know is always with me
But he has not a breath
And even though he does give comfort, you see,
He is God, in a way as lonely as me.

Isn’t that why creation, is not that why you and I?
He turned nothing into something
And if you ask him why
He will say it was in the name of love.
I question not the reasoning
When he says it was lonely above.
But not one breath can I create –
I am not God.
So must I trust it to fate?
This seems so odd.

Through the long lonely night the lonely shares my pillow.
Always there
Somewhere between a heart that is shallow
And another one that is where?
Does anyone understand what this is all about?
Does anyone care enough to stand up and shout?
I don't even know how to begin
When these walls have sunk so far within.
The walls keeping the lonely in ahead
Of everything else instead?

But from the depths of the shadows of my soul
I rise above the darkness that follows
And look back through the old
And feel it within me - what could have been
If only life had a chance to begin.
But these things, are not meant to be.

For it's just me and the lonely.
That's all I can see.