Three Winter Stanzas
In my house, I wait for winter to pass.
I was talking to the dog.
He did not answer,
only stared, wagged the tail,
happy to be acknowledged.
A man carried a cross of mahogany and polished brass.
His red hair has gone white
where it hasn't gone altogether.
Today his cross is repaired.
Tomorrow it breaks,
He will take it home.
The economics of maple trees
call for water, sunlight, and winter.
With taps, pails, and fire
sweet soul of the soil is released
steaming down to its slush-crystal essence.
Hope
These stanzas are offered to ease our longing for spring. We dance between Imbolc and Ostara, between Brigid and Christ, with a joyful tip of the hat to both of them. If their memory causes us to to sit down together in love, to remember those who have passed, greet and feast new friends and grandbabies, I will raise a glass and say Amen.
When I admitted to myself that I was an atheist, I knew that it wouldn't make for any great lifestyle changes. The face of Christ I always sought would always be in the same places I saw it before. I just stopped worrying about heaven and hell. Around that time I had been pondering the words of Theresa of Avila:
Christ Has No Body
Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.
Teresa of Avila (1515–1582)
The Christ I first met as a Catholic schoolboy, in the Gospel of Matthew is still real. I see him all the time, I meet her everywhere I go.
Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.
Jesus of Nazareth
I wrote these words a few years ago, they are still true for me and give me more hope and sustenance than any magic or tales of pie in the sky.:
There's a picture-perfect Jesus made of gilded plaster. He eats beeswax and incense. Peace be unto him and farewell. I believe in the Christ I can see. I see the pain that pours out of blue eyes and green eyes and brown. I see the boxes and bags lined up at the food pantry. I see ladies walking up to the visitor's entrance at the prison. I see people walking picket lines out in the wind and the rain. They're having a Rolling Jubilee. They're standing out on an overpass with lights in the darkness. They're being arrested for singing in the State Capitol. They are kind to small animals.
Their hearts are not pure. Their courage falters and at times they give in to despair. Some of their treasures are not stored up in heaven. They sin and swear and forget to feed the dog. They are sad, sorry bastards and I am learning to love them with all my heart.
Many of you are aware that I'm going through some problems with my health. Your messages and kind words are a great comfort to me.
Kossack Sara R & Co. have been making a quilt to wrap my around my tattered hide. When it arrives, I will curl up in it with Lucky Angus MacPup and write a poem. I see the face of Christ in a lot of Kossacks, many of whom I have never met in person. I hope the atheists among them are not terribly chagrined to reflect that visage.
I never lost my sense of the sacred but I've gained a truer grasp of hope for my self and my fellow pilgrims on the cosmic continuum. The arrangement of atoms known to you as ruleoflaw will dissipate and fall away into other arrangements of matter and energy forever.
This time of year, I recall my days in the boys choir, and serving Good Friday masses. This melody always made my chest hurt and in a very good way, sometimes it still does.
Your boy ruleoflaw wishes that you may have a pleasant spring, a joyous Easter, a Passover filled with love, and perhaps a season filled with rebirth and hope.