Dark Clouds

Dark clouds talk forebodingly,  

of a future calamity,

wet and windy,

to destroy all.

But then, they clear.

Showing a New Jerusalem.

Inviting, golden—gates thrown open.



“The cloud overshadowed their camp; and out of what had before been water, dry land was seen emerging:”

Book of Wisdom

The Lottery of The Heart

I have already won; the lottery of the heart

My family, my wife, past lovers, friends, enemies,

All those movies of old, now so real.

Because they are.


So why do I continue to look for toys,



Will they love me better if I give them money?

Think more of me?


Or will they know already what is in my heart.

The soul quietly praying for me,

Even when I do bad, or speak evil of others.

Reminding me of what is really there.



So my lottery is just a game of desire

Fueled by greed and possessions

To create this magnanimous false self

Never satisfied, but seemingly unloved

A love only satisfied by money.



Love Is

Love is not …

A glowing fire on a cold winter night,

Kiss from a loved one,

Making love for the first time,

The face of your newborn baby.

Love is not …

The sound of birds on a summer morn,

Snow melting on a warm spring afternoon,


Knowing a new best friend.




Love is not …

The new home,

A first grandchild,

Your birthday celebration.

Love is not the blessings showering our lives.


Love is

Clearing out the corners,

Full of dirt and despair,

When we help because the response is natural,

Not contrived, or reward seeking.

Love is

Doing the least rewarding,

Least expected.

Stepping out, and seeing a self,

We need to be, not the one we are.

The self of humility,

The non-seeking self that dwells within,

Deeply hidden behind all the curtains,

And facades, faces, clothes, possessions, airs, the perfume of disguise.

The one behind all,

Our heart revealed to ourselves and to God,

Sacrificial, forgiving, tender, vulnerable, loving.

All of the time.


Love is not

To be measured,

But radiated;

At certain times only,

But forever. Always.



May I love today without agenda,

A pure spirit, devoid of myself,

And full of you.

Alone. Where peace will return.





The Opposite of Love

The Opposite of Love

The exploration is unique,

there can be no other, at least physical encounter which provides such depth,

either momentary or long term,

which affects our being our reason.


The urge to reproduce mixes with others like a drug-induced stupor.

Competing lots of vices and virtues few can separate. 

At best charity and love for a spouse,

sacrificial and submissive,

giving and receiving,

giving thanks and praise

all at once.



At worst,

the perversion of love,

ecstasy of control, slavery,

vilification of the greatest gift of god,

the gift of creation itself warped into something evil,

of huge proportions.


One to slay mankind with lust, greed and envy.

The cup of death spreading disease,

mostly legally,

in a pornographic movie moves from the screen to reality,

from reality to the screen,

in a pendulum of objectification,  

mesmerizing those in its path in hypnotizing array of images.


All changing and additive,

the beauty of God’s creation gradually becomes a product.

Not one you can buy,

but one to taste,


the forbidden fruit not of the tree of knowledge,

but a forest of temptation.


Limitless in its offerings,

except in satisfaction,

it turns those closest into brands to be test-driven at race tracks labeled love;

and could not be more misleading.

Driving high-speed decisions forcing only return visits and velocity.

The path of Circus Maximus with no termination point,

save entry again to more laps …

something more outrageous.