09 February 2016

Just Cry



God must just cry.


Cleansing tears are preparation be-
tween contemplation and action, but
still we are just learning to love.

Love demands justice, which makes us mar-
vel how seldom we help love to flow.
We pick flowers, but don’t help them grow.

How did “just” come from the word “justice”
deflating the meaning to “only”
when creating “what is just” is all?

Two roots conflate in similar sounds:
the distance between “just crying” 
and "a just cry" is revolution.

Radical loving builds past sorrow
uproots the causes of fear and then
nurtures justice seeded by truth's friends.



Copyright © 2016 Susan L. Chast




08 February 2016

Carrying Things


Iroquois Creation Myth



Did Jesus own a bag or lug a sack?
How many possessions did he pack?
A snack of some trail mix? A change of clothes?   
A handkerchief to wipe his brow or nose?

I pose these important questions and more
when I contemplate walking out my door
to live a life open, faithful and free
to answer God's calling to me.

****************************************

I considered the lilies in the fields
who neither toil nor spin but live to give,
I want roots like them and a fine home 
in community I can call my own.

I would choose root over seed anytime,
I'd rather stay at home where peace is mine
than say goodbye to family and friends
and face discord that never seems to end.

Yet I discern a call and my heart responds
so I will pack my community bonds.
Then spirit, love and kindness will be 
how I feed and seed God's call to me.





Copyright © 2016 Susan L. Chast




04 February 2016

River of Mystery


At home in the river of mystery,
I float and look over my body,
surprised that I still have legs
and not a mermaid’s powerful tail.

Buoyant and discrete in the water,
breath light and unlabored,
I move with freedom from pain
I could not imagine.

Once, in trying to hold this image
I lost it.  Now I release worry-head 
and open the door to surprise in-
stead to stay here a longer while.

Surprises don’t kill me as I had feared
given suspense thrillers—sharks here
avoid non-nurturing entangle-
ments and avoid human legs.

My smile releases tiny tickling bubbles
as if all the pores in the river join in
which makes me smile more and
enjoy the sensual release and sharing.

Oh, to be able to stay home here!
and not have to go to work, not
have to drag the river, dredging for
the unity that I know is real.

And out there the sharks and jets
think they are real and concepts
play the field, compete to win,
shout over each other to be heard.

Ohhhhh!  Worry-head lifts me ashore.
I catch glimpses of the river even here
and meet with support groups who say
they do too.  The river of mystery exists.

I know I have seen each earth-being
in the river before and will again;
but I want them to bring the river
here with them as a way to be.

I am not alone in longing.  It is in the eyes 
of neighbors, dogs and potatoes, in the
skin of buildings and trees.  It is the Light
we hold when the river seems not there.




Copyright © 2016  Susan L. Chast





03 February 2016

Spark


Hand of God reaching out to Adam who receives it
Detail of the Creation of Adam


In solitude we uncover
the spark in us divine;
we finally crawl out from roles
linear time bestows.

What more could we desire
than be what we were meant to be?
So flowers know they’re plants
and open wide to feed the bee.


Inspired by Sumana's prompt

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Identity



Copyright © 2016  Susan L. Chast



02 February 2016

Walking Eggshells, Part 5


source



Back when we took apart our toys to see
inside, should we have sensed their mysteries
with closed-eyed meditation and prayer?
Let us mourn Humpty-Dumpty and move on.

Let’s fall into love’s open hands and move
in step with spirit’s lead once more before
forgetting how to nurse a rhyme or two—
And let’s mourn Humpty-Dumpty and move on.



Copyright © 2016  Susan L. Chast




Walking Eggshells, Part 4



Like baby turtles and birds, we boldly
exit our nests, letting the screen door slam
as we scatter and then instinctively
breathe in mystery and experience.

Those who escape the predators and reach
the seas of water, air and land ahead 
find sanctuaries of both grace and love 
not yet entombed in books and museums

where they’re taught and admired and regretted
but not lived, as if walking on eggshells
would satisfy for much longer our deep
hunger for grounded whole relationships.

Do you pretend not to understand me?
You who arrived with questions and wonder?
You who peel back the facades to find seeds;
You who are truly planter and planted.




Copyright © 2016  Susan L. Chast