02212015 - Poem: Andean Fire

Andean Fire

there is a large

magnificent stone fireplace,

and a grate

and a bed of ashes.

i have placed the two small logs

in the grate, and

in between

a small tower of highly flammable stuff

with a wick.

i place two other heavier logs

beside the others

to create more pressure

and hold the soon-to-be fireball

in place.

then I build a pyramid.

i light the fuel

and light the wick

and on top i place

a flat dry piece of wood.

it takes awhile, but

the heat builds

and soon flames

are licking around the edges of the sticks.

the flames grow, they spread.

soon, a steady, even fire is burning.

when it gets hot enough,

i add a large log which

is not totally seasoned.

often things are not ready to

burn in the fire of living.

i tend it …

that is the very nature of fires.

a whole Life is encapsulated

in an evening of fire.

i move things just a bit,

opening passages for air,

adding dry sticks,

positioning differently.

i am aware that i am

a servant of the fire,

not taking away its freedom,

but assisting it towards

its destiny, its end.

under the grate,

multicoloured hot coals gather;

they are what remains

when the dross has been consumed,

what remains when the fuller’s fire

leaves only the transfigured reality

fierce and glistering.

the heavy, sodden log 

lies leaden, threatening

to kill the fire.

I must add dry sticks, 

they ignite, they flare.

I sit; I ponder;

i formulate mysteries,

philosophies, 

systems, structures of Being.

i wonder if my living

has added to the beauty of the universe.

the fire i have created

implodes.

i go to bed,

screening so that

in its dying,

it destroys no hapless thing.

in the morning

all is ash;

it is ash wednesday

and I remember

those haunting, freeing,

grounding words 

from that liturgy i so long offered

as a priest of the universe:

“you are dust

and to dust you shall return”.

in the morning,

all is ash ….

but for that heavy unburnt remainder,

awaiting me, you, 

the liver of the fire,

to include it in 

tomorrow’s taking up

of each day’s invitation

to renew the andean fire.

forever the transfiguring fire

will renew

until the end …

if there be such.

Fire is metaphor …

as is all.

i know what the fire

says to me.

it is unnecessary

that i should 

impose upon you

the metaphor

of the fire.

you are that amazingness

of you.

you too know.

what builds?

what holds?

what sustains?

what tends?

what feeds?

what ignites?

what is that which

will not be transfigured

by the fire?

will you hold it,

love it,

until one morning

you come to look, and

it too is finally, 

fully, 

welcomed

and you are whole?

do not worry:

there is always 

another unignitable log

to tend.

it is not for me

to tell you the meaning

of the metaphor.

I do not know it.

you know it.

we each have our own.

could there be

anything 

more beautiful?

Feb 21, 2015

Cotacachi, Ecuador

012615 - Poem: "Olives of all the Greens of the Evening Sea"

Olives of all the Greens of the Evening Sea

is it harder to see

beauty

in the world today?

harder to slide into

the ecstatic moment?

harder to be overwhelmed

with utter amazement at

what is?

is the World any different

than it has always been?

in kind, I mean?

what do we have today?

poverty … where soon

the 1% will own more 

than the rest of the 99%.

one sixth of american kids hungry

and dying of no health care.

patriarchalists 

driven by the religions of the book

oppressing women and gays

and those who don’t conform,

so-called christians promoting hate,

religious extremists creating deities

who then justify their callous, mean inhumanity,

fascists in capitalist clothing 

destroying lives 

with no sense of compassion

that central virtue of the buddha and the christ,

israelis cut adrift from yahweh’s hesed

committing genocide 

against people 

on the basis of a false history they fabricated

to justify their murderousness,

racist “white” americans

killing black americans 

with power and weapons 

driven by their fear

of a people they enslaved

and dehumanized

and who now terrify them

from out of the accumulated horror 

and the utter bestiality

they used to perpetrate cruelty

in god’s name.

i could go on

the list is endless in this world

of the heartlessness

raging at the core of human existence.

the suffering that is destroying

of us all.

i am old now.

i can withdraw

and try to live

out of kindness

out of respect

out of acceptance

out of a wonder

at the beauty of being.

the world must be left

to others.

i am now free

to see myself

in those who bring

light and dark

on my daily simple path.

i choose to believe

in the utter amazement 

of what is.

i have seen it.

it shall be my guide

to all of the olives

of all of the greens

of the evening sea. 

* Title from Elizabeth David's Italian Food, location 437