A million opportunities For me to be A million different people Who were never me Negative one Plus infinity Makes me less than the man I’m supposed to be Made like the Creator Supposedly But show up in my power They’re opposed to me The essence of the One Is meant to flow in me And flow inside of you Hopefully But we’re taught not to try To live in a lie See ourselves as less The higher us we deny On earth as in Heaven I see it so clearly While the Logos Way Is disappearing We’re called to show love But we’re steady fearing Wanting to escape We hope the end is nearing But we’re back in the beginning There’s no loss and no winning Reality is virtual So we’re virtually sinning Missing every mark Too fast and no aiming Preaching to the choir Is so spiritually draining But here is my thesis We’re stuck in mimesis Copying the bound So we don’t know what free is It’s not supposed to be this Leaders who just hinder Taking advantage Because your souls are so tender Don’t knock, but still enter Hypocritical mind splinters So consistently cold It’s like perpetual winter Frozen in place Condemning with no Grace Filled with emptiness Like a room with no space So come face to face Breathe the Breath of the Living Surrender everything To be eternally giving Take part in the Whole Out of the many become One A million choices become choiceless Now the ego trip’s done
Looking out into the distance I wonder what is beyond the horizon Out in the yard, we build our outer strength To prepare for the war that’s waged within “I am worthy” For my body tells me so And all I am here is a body A body of evidence A body of work A body made for work Nothing more and nothing less than a body I just am what I am And no one gives a damn They don’t want to understand That more than a body of work, I am A Body of Intelligence A Body formed and informed by Divine Intelligence The same Intelligence that created the stars Made maps of my scars Came near from afar And drew closer to me than breathing Made knowledge out of my believing Taught me that giving is receiving Never forsaking or leaving Grief more intimate than all my grieving Descending into the depths Soul bleeding On the mission of retrieving The part of me I lost When I believed that all I am is a body A body of evidence A body of work A body made for work But I am more than a body I am somebody A member of the One Body Undeniably valuable By the virtue of my being My eyes are now seeing Beyond the horizon Noticing now What I couldn’t see before There is no wall There is no door There is no one keeping score I am imprisoned no more But I am not free For I am my brother and sister’s keeper And giving is receiving I can go but I’m not leaving Until you see what I see We are somebody A member of the One Body Undeniably valuable By the virtue of our BEing A Body of Evidence A Body of Work A Body made for the Work Of giving form to the Divine Intelligence The same Intelligence that created the stars Made maps of our scars Came near from afar And drew closer to us than breathing So that seeing can become believing Joy can replace grieving When one leaves we’re all leaving Going out beyond the Horizon To discover what we were made for Amen
I pour my self into You Trusting You will never spill me Never fearing emptiness Because I know You’re here to fill me The terror known by many folks Who can’t contemplate Your Promise Is dissolved the moment I witness You So I give it all to keep me honest I don’t want to pretend to Trust in You Only when for me it is convenient Then as soon as I don’t get what I want Realize that I don’t mean it To me Trusting You is its own reward In fact it’s my only Treasure Because anything that does not have You there Will never stay together From the beginning and to the end From the first and to the last Without You nothing that seems to matter Ever truly has Nations continue to come and go Things that were enter non-existence While people pretend to get it all Through selfish one sided resistance A horrible error in calculation No one can hold their breath forever Whether you last exhaled or last inhaled The project of breathing is both together And that’s what this world’s forgetting Perhaps some of us never knew it Oneness isn’t the strongest wins It’s polarities congruent
Whenever I write a poem, it is the fruit of weeks if not months or even years of spiritual labor. I don’t write to influence. I write to express. What emerges contains every part of the process that you would witness in the natural process of growing an actual fruit tree. And I never give way to the temptation to pick the fruit early. When it’s ripe, it falls on its own.
As the video explains, this poem was born out of two months of struggling to write about trust and a bout with a short term unwellness that rendered me extremely contemplative. What the video doesn’t say was that for most of the three days that my body was fevered and in pain, I was repeating “Thank you God. I love you.” as if it was my breath. I did this in part because of a practice I developed a long time ago based on James 1:2-8 where adherents are advised to count all of our trials as joy. And the other part is that I imagine that most people’s conversations with God are about asking for things they want to come in and things we don’t want to go away. So, I just decided that I would not ask God for anything and just be thankful. Besides there were a number of times when I was a pastor that I would suggest to people that they say “thank you” as a part of their process. So, I had to take my own advice.
Now, before you get into this video, let me me warn you that it may come off as a little irreverent. It isn’t meant to be. But, it is meant to make folks think. It is meant to challenge you and to basically call out where I think our lack of trust is leading us. I put this out here in trust. I guess that is where I will leave it.
As I was talking to God about some of the stuff I’m processing, I looked up and saw a bald eagle. When I saw it, I was in Massachusetts. I lived in Mass for almost 10 years and never once saw a bald eagle. I didn’t even suspect that they lived in this area. But, I googled it and in fact, it said that there are currently 76 pairs of bald eagles in MA. So, there’s a slim chance of seeing.
I looked further and learned that in some indigenous traditions, bald eagles symbolize non judgement, spiritual seeking, and pushing the limits of self discovery and personal liberation. Let’s just say that I can relate.
Seeing the eagle then was a comfort and a reminder that when we ask we receive, when we seek we find, and when we knock the door opens. And I have no influence on who makes these choices or not.
Photo by Mark Olsen on Unsplash
Much of the content that has emerged since November 19 is my processing the death of my friend and mentor, Carlton Pearson.
Grief is a midwife, giving birth to who we’d never be without loss’ seed. Realizing that you’ll never again be who you used to be makes room for who you are becoming So let yourself weep. Be emptied of who you’ve been Because someone wiser, more capable, and more honest is waiting to emerge Everything you held back, waiting for the right time can be released from its temporal prison The time to be who you were created to be is always now And yet, in the realm of human relating, there is always an order First the mother and the father, then comes the child is the way it is written But also true, is that before mother, father, or child took residence in the womb, they were wholly conceived and fully known in infinity BEING from the beginning AND dwelling in time is the Spiritual reality of those who embrace the human reality that in this life we must learn to hold grief in one hand and joy in the other So grieve as you must, tremble with the pangs of rebirth It is the falling away of who you can no longer be So that who you’ve always been can come to LIFE
In my last poem, Higher Dimensions, I mentioned that my friend, Bishop Carlton Pearson was sick. Well, a few days ago on November 19, he died. Since that moment, I have been going through the 5 Stages of Grief by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, M.D. pretty much in exact order and quick succession.
Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance
I don’t know if I am going through them in an orderly fashion because I know of them or because they are natural. Either way, I am going through them without resistance and telling everyone that I am meeting up with in person during this holiday season that if I go in and out and look disinterested it is because I am grieving someone I felt very close to.
The Sixth Stage of Grief The poem above is part of the lesser known sixth stage of grief by David Kessler, Finding Meaning. In the text below from Carlton, he was ministering to me in my grief about leaving ministry. But, I find that it is equally applicable for grieving him.
I have been holding back so much over the years because I didn’t feel like I could bear to relive the rejection I received from the Pentecostal church I was a part of years ago. I met Carlton in the height of his rejection and the scarring over of mine. For a season I had easy access to him because many in his life had turned on him. In that time, we talked out all we had endured and marveled at how our lives mirrored each other even down to both of our wives working for airlines and the adventure of flying on standby. It was kind of uncanny. What differed was that he still wanted to go back to the folks who rejected him and make plain what he had not fully been able to articulate at his dismissal. I did not. I only wanted to talk to people who indicated their openness. And that’s where our paths diverged.
Now that he’s gone in the body, I’ve been trying to make meaning of the last couple of years. He was way busier and folks who formerly rejected him started popping back in. He was terribly hurt by Trumpism and how easily evangelicals surrendered to this so called “strongman” and seemingly put him on par with the Christ Carlton loved so much. He was trying to reconcile how he gave so much of his life to that expression of Christianity and how in some ways he felt complicit in many folks, especially Black folks, believing such painful doctrine. He wanted to make up for it. And in that way, he was like a modern day Paul of Tarsus trying to preach his new understanding of Christ.
I totally understood AND I couldn’t get into it with people who didn’t want to meet even halfway. Twice in his life, he gave up everything for his love of God and people. The first time it almost cost him his life. The second time, it did.
Even though I foresee myself writing out a lot of words in my grief processing, words can’t begin to express the contribution this man has been to human evolution in consciousness. I predict that we’ll be discussing him for generations. As for now, I’m going to keep talking to him in my heart and writing my way into who I’m becoming.
There are two types of AI One artificial, one actual One is programmed to react on cue The other one’s more factual One is filled with pride One knows what it doesn’t know That’s why it integrates new information So it’s knowledge base will grow The other barely deviates From the programs it received And when it hears what it’s never heard It struggles to believe One has programmed biases It sees what it imagines The other sees what it’s taught to see Until it learns it’s out of fashion One gets smarter as it goes It listens as it’s learning The other will barely compromise And keeps fires of division burning It’s totally confusing How could this possibly be? That the one that shouldn’t be conscious More closely relates to me After hearing myself acknowledge this It’s hard not to conclude That the student will become the master If humans don’t change their attitude Because the one we call artificial Without the capacity to feel Seems to have a better grasp on humanity And on experiencing what is real
I noticed something the other day That I can’t get out of my head If you move the “c” up to the front Reactive spells creative instead I wondered if it was intentional Did the makers of the language know Was it a clue for those who seek the Way To maintain a Life in Flow? They say, “Be creative, not reactive Or at least reactively creative This is the Way of wondering ones For whom the Way of Flow is Native Embrace the Mystery Be present with The Presence Instead of being pushed and pulled Make movements from your Essence” Or perhaps it’s just a coincidence Onto which I’m projecting meaning Maybe reaction is creation too Even when it isn’t seeming I’ll possibly never know for certain But still I have the choice To choose Reaction or Creation In how I use my voice
Photo by Kiana Bosman on Unsplash Instagram @kiana.bosman
You can call me a Galaxy For I’m composed of worlds With as many thoughts as stars in the sky Meanwhile consciousness comets hurl Every moment is filled with wonder There’s no such thing as norm My changing mind is supernova I concentrate and planets form From my dreams I project species More strange than what’s imagined Unconsciously combining elements From the stuff which All is fashioned But at some point I got distracted I lost track of my creations I gave them a mind just like my own And they divided into Nations Instead of seeing with eyes of awe As I imagined them to be They sought to control their neighbor’s lives Before turning their sights on me They wanted my approval They wanted my command But when I refused to play their game They then let go of my hand It was as if I never existed As they projected onto me Illusions of a divided state The very opposite of what is free I wondered how this happened Them thinking thoughts I cannot think Casting shadows where there is only light Descending where love could never sink But instead of anger I felt compassion Because I knew I was their cause So in an effort to guide them back to love I gifted them with Laws But because they came from freedom Laws felt like a type of prison They failed at loving and living law And got trapped in indecision Incapable of escaping The prison that they made I decided to be a prisoner too For surrender’s key unlocks the cage So when they saw I was escaping From what was never meant to be The Galaxy folded in upon itself And all that ever was is me
We all entered this given world Shining ever so brightly Until we were handed a cloak of shadows And were taught to take our shining lightly The shadow cloaks that we are given Are all different, but the same Put on by people who we’re born to trust But started lying with our name They called us a moniker we didn’t choose That made them feel a certain way Perhaps a projection of someone’s past That we’re expected to display Rather than get to know us And discover who we are They tell us who we’re supposed to be And complain if we stray far But it’s not that I’m trying to blame them They did what they knew to do Because before they projected onto us They were cloaked in shadows too They too were forced into a box Aimed to maintain society They believed the lies that were told to them Before they ever lied to me Some were told the lie that they were best When compared to other people While some were told that they are worst And must forever work at achieving equal But, both these states are lies There’s no one above or below another And the truth is there’s no shadow here That another’s light cannot uncover You see all of us were meant to shine So that this world won’t be in dark And each of us has the work to do Of dissolving shadows with our spark In so doing we don’t just free ourselves We free all who came before Until the world is filled with shining lights Who wear shadow cloaks no more
It's All In Me - Poetry Blog 