The Divinity of Time

 With the difficulty in life that time brings, what is the purpose of time?

What if time was a necessity to perfect love within our imperfect hearts?

Where fear meets wonder,

And sorrows blend with joy,

Time holds a mystery,

For all who will contemplate,

Seeing clearly without the eyes,

Hearing clear the vision of sound.

For time may be a realm of passage,

The untouchable forth dimension,

Through which imagination sees heroes,

Traversing the unthinkable,

For the sake of love,

A force much greater than life.

Yet time may be an energy force,

Stemming from an undiscovered source,

Manifesting in particles and waves,

Causing hours to pass like minutes,

While people are born,

And trees bear their fruit.

Time conveys burdens of sorrow,

With the appearance of illness,

The weakening of the body,

And the separation of souls,

When a loved one departs,

Never leaving our hearts.

We look upon the mystery in tears,

Raising our cries to the Most High,

Our fists clenched in anxiety,

As our heads lower to the Earth,

In all appearance of defeat.

For why must time be?

If we can only be for a time,

Entering into life with a breath,

Breathing out our soul into space,

The Undiscovered Country on horizon,

Containing more than we ever knew.

Time must exist because of love,

Growing in our imperfect hearts,

Challenges and tragedy to surmount,

Redefining boundaries and definition of life,

Becoming the energy making eternity real,

Returning us perfected unto Love.

The Weight of Thought

“The eye can never free what is real, from the throbbing of human time.”

- St. John Paul II from his poem, “Proper Weight”.

Within each person,

Resides something shapeless,

Without form or color,

With all colors and forms,

Loud within its silence,

Without measure in simplicity.

This is something,

Beginning from nothing,

Becoming all things,

The thought residing in us,

Becoming life from us,

Melting light into truth.

Nothing captures this immensity,

Which each soul faces alone,

While trying to express in words,

Exposing glimpses with shards of light,

And all of the colors of the world,

Form a fraction of the palette of thought.

Thought is formed of energy,

As rock is only energy,

Two opposing wills of force,

Resisting blows received,

Until the fire of the heart,

Bends the rock beneath the mind.

Yet the rock is but an image,

Seeming solid in its strength,

Simplicity bonded in energy,

Which yields to the human hand,

As the image within the mind,
Grapples further with the soul.

And yet the rock is one of many,

Among an ocean of human souls,

Forming currents upon this rock,

Warmed in space of the circling sun,

Spinning accurately through the infinite,

Of a thought within God’s mind.

Thought is only energy,

As energy is mass in motion,

Mass in motion carries weight,

Weight deepens wells of perspective,

Drawing the soul within the solitude,

That we may find ourselves.

The Sound of Light

The following poem is dedicated to Carthy.

The light of God's glory is beyond human comprehension.

We will know the true scope of it when we see Him.

Can you hear over the light?

The immense sound of the light,

Like singing, thunder, and wind,

Drowning out all other sound,

All that remains is the heartbeat of life,

And the beautiful sound of light.

Can you feel the light?

The unspeakable beauty of light?

Without words it touches the heart,

With fingers soft upon the skin,

Yet sharp as blades upon the mind,

For it reaches out to the soul,

Light is through the heart to the soul.

Can you see the sound?

Beyond words or notes of music,

Overcoming all with silence,

A silence beyond words,

Seen through the eyes of the heart,

Expressed in the motion of love,

Love defined by the infinite truth.

Can you feel the sound?

For all the seconds of the infinite,

Are the particles of energy,

Forming all the fields of  matter,

Mattering to the mind,

Changing through eternity,

And here but for a moment,

While we travel back to the start.

The Tenth Die

 

In his hands the dice were rolled,

Seemingly random as if a game,

Each die taking shape of thought,

Every one rolling its will unto His,

Dimensions in His hands cast forth,

Three were rolled for the physical world,

Another three for Heaven's perfect realm,

And also another place taking form,

The only place without Him,

Freedom within the physical,

Creating creation in the game given,

Walking to and from without thinking,

Walking without realizing the unseen,

Stepping through the same space as others,

Others stepping through us unseen,

The tenth die was lost for a time,

Lost until sin entered into the world,

And at that time He released time,

Thrown from His hand into ours,

A gift released to us in love,

As the tenth die once lost was thrown,

And as it was meant to be,

The tenth die will be taken up.

Bombay Beach

Kokomo, of musical fame, does not exist.

Bombay Beach is real.

Marked upon a map,

Beside a sea of salt,

The binocular symbol beckons,

As a beacon unto travelers,

About the place to see,

Along this desert sea.

A colorful sign presents,

As you take your turn to tell,

And telling signs in the distance,

Show pictures of the past,

Abandoned boarded homes,

With cars parked anew.

You find a place to enter there,

Quietly exiting your car,

Entering reluctant into the heat,

On a white beach of sand,

A sand that crunches strangely,

The way that snow does not.

In the distance over the waters,

The very still waters reflecting,

The sounds of birds deflecting,

Calling out with whispered voices,

“Aaaayyeeee!”

“Aaayyeeee!”

And now the gazes appear,

The strange gazes of the silent,

Looking at you without blinking,

Looking at you in the heat,

Staring at you in your heartbeat,

While they do not even sweat.

As fear creeps inside you,

With a quiet stilling of the heart,

You run towards the storefront abandoned,

Trying the locked door before you,

Seeing nothing but darkness within,

As something is banging to get out.

Back to the beachfront you run,

For a clear safe vision around you,

Then noticing the faces in white,

Amidst the tiny bones of sand,

Eyeless and withered mouths open,

As their voices whisper, “Staaayyyee…”

Grasping the map from your pocket,

To see where indeed you have come,

The binocular marked scenic view,

With both circles now U’s turned over,

Now clearly marks “Silenced View”,

As the sun’s rays weaken your stance.

The silent strangers observe you,

Never blinking as the sun whitens,

While their baby in bassinet brightens,

Slowly turning in steady stare,

Smile slowly spreading on his lips,

As the sun bleaches out your view.

As the brightness fades back to vision,

You have a clear vision of the sea,

Clearly seeing your rust eaten car,

As you are standing as one with the strangers,

While the sun sets into still waters,

With the sea rising over your smile.

Goodnight, Sweet Souls

Technology creates tools, but sometimes the tool creates dependency.

As the obsessive habit of taking selfies became identified as a mental disorder

by a panel of psychologists, we have further scientific studies revealing that children

using smartphones become less able to identify human emotional expression as time 

goes by.  Meanwhile, as data transference replaces learning, one must wonder if we 

are advancing as a species or beginning to regress.

We are gathered together,

Faces of a feather,

Embracing our world,

Through screens filtered,

Shaking cyber hands,

Speaking in text,

Replacing what is learned,

With data transferred,

And then lost,

With such a cost,

As we loose the way,

To converse,

Knowing expression,

Inflection,

Embraces,

And warmth,

We are people,

Loosing our way.

People,

All sorts,

Different ways,

Different thoughts,

Beliefs,

Unto anger,

On to peace,

On through love,

Relief,

For the masses,

Where they pass,

Through life,

Away from strife,

Peace,

Out in the noise,

Electric toys,

Screens of data,

Glass of illusions,

Mirages,

We seek our way,

On through the fray,

Within the storm,

Tattered and worn,

Tired,

Lost ever faster,

Serving our master,

Though name unknown,

Seen through a phone,

Fired,

Our hearts ablaze,

Love is the way,

For hearts can see,

What is to be,

Freedom,

We find our way,

God’s heart to say,

We seek His plan,

With outstretched hand,

And so we live,

With much to give,

In love.

Winds of Time

I just wrote this sitting here waiting for my wife so we can commute home together.  What is the title?  Breath of Life?  Breath of Time?  The Silence of Music?

The breath of life,

From the lips of wisdom,

Began the winds of time,

One heart beat first,

A fiery hearth,

Of intellect and love,

Below,

Around,

And above,

Uncontained,

Beyond limits,

Beyond imagination,

And beyond scope,

Bringing Creation to being,

Just for delight,

Bringing stars to mark,

The endless dead of night,

Bringing spirals of light,

From beneath the midnight sea,

Bringing the world to birth,

So He could bring you to me.

All of creation is a mirror,

Just a looking glass,

We are only aware of apparent,

Seen through the blindness of our eyes,

Barely beyond the skies,

For the limitless lies within,

Space upon space,

In infinitely smaller size,

For there is no small,

There is no size,

And in the Continuum of Love,

Creation is the joy,

Universes on Universes,

Within the same space,

Ourselves overlapping existence,

Standing in the same place,

Actions separated by time,

Time being just an illusion,

We perceive reality in slices,

To make sense of it all,

Rising since the fall,

God’s hand stretched out in love,

As we reach up to Him