The totality of each moment is available,

Not just a need of remembrance and recollection,

But re-experienced, not relived.

It just happened again, right now.

 

Not a movie experience, or just three dimensions,

But the colors, the temperature, the weather, humidity, smells, dispositions, moods, all perfectly reimagined.

Only the dialog is missing, which somehow seems irrelevant.

The Day of Judgment is now each day; awaiting the recall request, at whatever instant.

 

So here we are; ready to relive whatever … ever happened,

The past erased, only now is left and the rush request which got me there.

Here to savor, or ask for forgiveness, either way.

The true importance of all intentions turning into meaning.

 

For me and all others whom I know, or have known.

It is not distraction,

Getting pulled out of the everyday,

Wanting to retreat from the many demands of a life filled with tasks,

Commitments, needs of others, needs of me.

 

It’s not distraction,

To be continually disabled by inner peace,

Seeing the meaning in all,

The world in four dimensions, making me look again and again.

 

It’s not distraction,

To be thinking of what that person thinks of me,

All those years on, after the hurt I made,

Or the good I did for them.

 

It’s not distraction,

To want to do what I need for the inner good,

Sustaining my inner peace, the relationship with God,

It is what is needed.

 

As I walk towards the door which is light. Where God awaits me.

 

The old Norman Church calls out from the Belltower,

Into the black night, the graveyard listening intently to each peel coming from above,

And nearby through the open door.

The symbol of the invitation.

 

Can I be an open door,

Not discerning who can enter,

Keeping a light on, guiding others towards a place I will keep ready;

Somewhere warm, with food and hospitality, waiting patiently, with an agenda.
For whoever needs it.

You are there when I need you,

To remind me when I need reminding,

To comfort me in my sadness,

To advise me when I am troubled.

 

Most of all you are the voice of God,

Not just words on a page,

Or music in a song, you are all that as well.

But a psalm touches my heart as well as mind.

 

As if you wrote it just for me. Which you did.

 

“God helps those who helps themselves”

I hear my mother proclaim for the umpteenth time,

In this case a faint, but noticeable voice from the kitchen corridor,

As I made my exit avoiding the call.

 

Others can help us in our discernment,

Even if we have a rebel thought to auto-reject,

Like the change going into the parking machine,

From times gone by, before ATMs serviced our every need.

 

Listening for the small, still voice is a mode I try and stay tuned to,

But sometimes it’s a strong, resonating voice, coming from another body,

Someone who cares about us, sees us through God’s eyes,

Who calls us to inaction, from a deep sleep, induced by indecision not discernment.

 

Perhaps even laziness. For when does discernment become inaction I ask myself