Mac, Author at Mindful Hours

Mac

Some Goodbyes Are Hard To Do

Dec 242005

Some goodbyes are hard to do.
Some are easy — even sought.
My hardest was losing you
and the awful pain it brought.

It has been a very long goodbye,
nor is it almost over yet.
As, you see, I still ask why
in fear I shall too soon forget.

This sad house is not a home
since you left and took your
noises and your scents to be alone
with your promise of evermore.

It is such an unkind building now,
for you still call from hollow rooms
so clearly, if asked, I would vow
I’ll surely see you here again, soon!

December 24, 2005

Sweet Mary

Dec 212005

Sweet Mary had a madman for a boyfriend.
He was crazy like in nuts, mean like in dangerous.
Mary loved him.

Mary was sweet and gentle and soft of voice.
Donald, her boyfriend, was coarse, crude, loud, and evil.
It happens.

Dangerous Donald viciously attacked innocent people
and took whatever he wanted from them.
Mary knew.

Donald, night or day, mugged tired, weak old ladies.
He spent their money on booze, drugs, and other women.
Mary thought she could change him.

Dangerous Donny went home to Sweet Mary most days.
To eat, he went, and to sleep. He was less than a creep.
Mary fed him and slept him.

Mary and Donald were young and getting old fast.
Mary had a sense of time. Donald never thought about it.
Mary knew it might run out.

Drugged up Dangerous Donald came home one soft night
and bludgeoned Sweet Mary to death as she slept.
Mary would not have been surprised.

December 21, 2005

there's a place
beyond which
i cannot go
where mind stretches taut
to Know
    to pierce the God walls
      that entomb the Truth
        the Answer …
         or something
          more important
           … and final

celestial mental minders
cling to my thoughts
like jealous cats
guarding secret mouse lairs
locking, blocking, stopping
Thought Processes,
forbidding entry to the
Fruit of Final Knowledge
on penalty of …

something more is intuited
without the thinnest edge
of reason to justify pursuit

nothing cannot exist
sayeth the little mind of man
to its Self
in its dream
or His,
or Hers,
or theirs,
or …

there is no sense to this
only nagging, fleeting innuendo
teasing my highest faculties,
taunting me to follow, to wonder,
to ponder, to surrender to
    … nothing
        where nothing lives or dies,
        or laughs
        … or cries

wrecked on deadly shoals
off sealess shores
I scratch futilely
on the immutable wall-face
of Forbidden Knowledge
to gain entry,
which
never
comes

where are the Gods
they speak of
when our fears
reassemble our eternal atoms
     into adversarial
         random
patterns
               of chaos?

the illusion of well being
evaporates for one terrifying
moment of truth and
we see …

if there's a hell, said daddy,
this is it
and at least that's
… something

if it is
hell or not
not allowed are we
to know anything
… important

December 20, 2005

John Offenbacher

Dec 202005

John Offenbacher
played soccer
everyday he could
in his childhood.
Didn’t do much else at all
but kick a ball
until he met a girl
named Shirl.
That changed everything,
even made him sing.
He didn’t do it well
but he couldn’t tell
and Shirl didn’t care.
She liked his hair.
They got hitched
and now they’re rich
with a little boy Offenbacher
who plays soccer.

That’s all …

December 20, 2005

The Oddest Thing of All

Dec 202005

What to make of this thing we call Life?

Some offer answers from the Book they
say is “God’s” while others assert and insist
it’s all a matter of random odds. Perhaps
we’re in a dream not ours—but of the
One Complete. Yet if this be so, I wonder
more at His troubled sleep.

The oddest thing of all is that I find it odd
at all, absent a memory of what …
another life? If this is all I’ve known,
what other world could I divine? What mad
notion compels me to entertain something
more sublime?

Then too, perhaps the dream is mine alone
to write and play as I may choose, with
schemes and scenes and lesser dreams for
others to consider thus. If that, then have I
the Gods designed? Is my self-deception
so complete? Is such genius stuff in me so
devised to lay great Mysteries at my own feet?

December 20, 2005

The Silence

Dec 202005

The Silence moves through a boundless sea of manifest energy, its inexorable principle proceeds unfettered always and forever beyond comprehension to be seen by those who see without eyes, hear without ears, touch without hands. It is here, there, outside, inside, nowhere, everywhere. We are in it and of it.

The Silence is without measure. Its reach is beyond all, its grasp complete. Its emptiness is full, its silent voice compelling as it whispers through creation like an omnipresent cantor informing the eternities wherein Gods share Forever stories and shape new worlds from ageless cosmic Stuff!

Listen to it! Be quiet and listen! Be still and You shall hear Your voice among the voices of the Gods. You shall hear the startling, glorious music of the Universe—the eternal One Song. With the Gods, You shall joyously dance the Dance of Eternal Life … Danse de la vie éternelle.

You shall witness the ineffable Force as you voyage through the infinite dimensions of the Process! Be still and know. Be fastened in Your moment of Truth and know the glory of Your completeness, Your oneness, Your was, is, and shall-be-ness.

Oh, listen, my Dear One, please listen. Without ears to hear nor eyes to see, nor any senses five of Yours, You shall attend the School of Knowledge, of All There Is, Was and Shall Be. Listen to the Silence wherein All shall be proclaimed to You.

Discover Your Self among the rest with which you are One. Listen without listening and all things shall come to You as You wish, in the order of Your wishes. You shall dream the dreams of Gods, witness Their schemes and know the Truth which shall set you free! You shall Create as They created You.

Just be perfectly still … My Dearest One.

December 20, 2005

Make Love to Life

Dec 202005

Live lightly with the wind and sun
and the seasons of the earth.

Move softly with the thoughts of life,
the sense of life, the landscapes of life.
Make love to life when love needs a place
to be and see what you have done there.

Steady and straight toward the truth of life
is the way, dear friend. There is no other
path is so honored. When Survival begs
your Soul to hear its Song of Death, trust
that which speaks from within your Heart.

Abide within the house of Love and travel
on the road of Wonder else you miss the
landmarks of your journey—the promise of
your life.

Do not be blind and dumb to the wondrous
light outside your inner night. Listen closely
to your primal memories, to the lessons of
the ages, the wisdom of the sages.

Make love to life when love needs a place
to be and see what you have done there.

December 20, 2005

Mind Gardens

Dec 192005

Great varieties of strange
and wondrous musings
germinate, grow, and mutate
midst the hackneyed
weed-thoughts in the
gardens of my mind.

December 19, 2005

Hound Dog’s Bark

Dec 192005

Have you ever heard hound dogs bark?
It sounds like they’re putting you on, or
their ancestors caught a cold on the Ark!

But they are quite serious, you know.
While doing their impressive nose-work,
they put on a pretty marvelous show.

December 19, 2005

The Humor of The Gods

Dec 192005

Laugh heartily at the humor of the Gods  who built the stage and wrote the scripts  and cast the plays of Life in which we  play our self-important parts.

Smile broadly at the Irony they made for us to see.

Grin oddly at the mystery hidden from our view, and wonder at their motives—of which we have no clue.

Scream loudly at the horror of the wars we’re made to fight, at the dimness of our sight and the fullness of our fright.

Then quietly, softly, deeply …

weep for us all.

December 19, 2005

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