The Ideality of the Literary Object Michael Bolerjack

The Ideality of the Literary Object 2012 Michael Bolerjack

For MARINELA We kept making love as the house burned down MB

Say that Jerusalem is

Perhaps my words disturb your prayer. Perhaps you, the mystic, need no points for meditation. But I speak of him to Him for you, while you simply pray. Eternity bounds, does not hem, limit us, rule us, give direction, up, then, into His storm, His eye, His calm interference in the mundane. With and without words: we must choose, be chosen. Both. To say little with so much, or speaking, innumerable, yet still say one thing necessary. Out of the many complexes, neuroses, psychoses, metastases, sees, out of all disease and disaster, stands one to come. And standing points above. I think I feel, feel something inside me, bower or brain, coming, about the turn, ever turning to, in myriads, ways without whys, lines drawn over our ignorances, hidden in, neither obscure nor occult, light rather, in light. Him. He is.

You know it. A story has begun.

You know, now, things fade, colors on cloth, even evenings fail into night, which is coming, still stars branch, and in the skull-cap of a thousand year we enroot our seed, between never-endings lay the middle, plications, sin, sun, son sing, song signed, not to fail or fade, would be story, would be tolled, full, filled, meant. Not to fail, not to fade, truth we know, for we are known, are stretched, fixed by means. If we mean to. But you, you did not, did both mean to fall but not to fail, and in falling your way, we but succeed you, without second.

He did not really speak, did you, you saw and shone, bright, dark, hiding, back-minded, earlodged, thought-lost, hest just but standing, no jest, no pose, no to impose, but you were the exposed. You stood out from. Time. Is.

The wound you were did not heal. Signatories. Numbers. Out of time. You appropriated, all, for but one thing. Making. Truth. Is. And you said, ever. Knowledge, knotted-hopes, full striven, in your arms storming, learn.

They say you had no foundation in essence, but traces, echoes, parts only, assemblers, without wholes, spirited words, yet spirit is, is that not a word? Problem of near-belief, teachers had not a key. Versions, only. Foundation riven, you, reft, logical, truthed, passed words, un-pasted, unposted, past juxtaposed. Cut. Words cut through you. Destroyed description and explanation, neither declared, but disclosed your wound, the wound of the word himself. Discard, forfeit. Utter. You behind the words. The logic bit. You bit back. Grapplers. You took our place.

For in all logic, if you can say that Jerusalem is, if we can say, still that Jerusalem is, the place required by logic is yet, and can be found, the assertion of faith, eternity of concern. You, truth and logic became, stripped, meaning. Not to say I have grasped, but in the struggle with truth, your victory was to be grasped. That this too is, is beyond doubt. Proven, in borders of scripture, commentaries, that do not explain the words, but enact them exactly, by being exposed. This is. If this is, subsist, without which truth-less, for accidentals, for appearances, no place to hide. A snow of illegibility, ran the wound, rain wind, ward, cover your words, sposed, desire as if to say the text itself, we only fall from a height, and now we are falling, and have

become so profound, because without foundation, catch us pall as we fall. Poems are snow, whiter words, virgins, martyrs, gentle, contoured by holiness, by logos, by logic without demand but to be true, faithful, snow-part of time, winter answer, dead, wait. The logic that strips away all but what is, strips seeming and opinion, even the nothing, to be the one, immovable, it is. Is it. Is it eternity. Is it snow set bounds in winter. Innumerable snow, unrepeatable words. Universal, singular, unparticular snows, how do you interpret snow or simplify the place. Snow did not extend, but bound, the form, by sheer material, prime, stuff of dreams. You. Glory of the snows, high reflectivity, light without heat, sheer blinding, purity, as if God to Abraham in winter, yours will be as the snows on highest ridged mountains, always. Will be, Jerusalem is. If you wake, wake to this. Snow regal, snow regard, but be regaled. In pieces of paper whiter witness not blank a testimony text, you found you, and said it. Is. Sheer holiness, is. Present, a heart-word, is.

We, snow-parts, perhaps, holding places, scattered yet gathered, drifted, yet still for a time, temporary words, tempting snows, we fell, like you, measurable by adversity, verses, that this is, still is for you, neither symbol nor transport, neither hidden nor shown, but snown, north of the future, where snow ever is. You offered often, eternity, a turn, a word with six sides, snowed, like stars of David, like Jerusalem is. Is, was, will be, has been, will have been, to be. Snowed, starred, scarred, worded, sonned, deepened. Depend. Deeper in snow is he to be. Yea. Not to be, never to be, but always still, is. Pall of snow.

An Icon for the Church on the Mercy of God

You be like you ever, my beautiful one, my beloved, my Sabbath, my peace, my way to break the circle of God and Church and World, icon makers not iconoclasts, not idol worshippers, but in the twilight of the idols at high noon, in the midst of an error, we stood single, you and I, and did break it, did break the text, did step back, not out of the word, but out of all implication, by the prayer of the supplicate, the tare torn, debt cancelled, the call of tessera, pieces of a sweet life we loved it crazy, but not so: we did but live it. You were ripe and I was ready and we arrived, later. We heard our callings and we responded, choose us Lord, yes be taken. O my peace, yet you could not rest, and looked beyond, while I, a solitaire, a promontory, looked at you and saw the sadness of late tales, of tombs, of toil, of the undone. You were the passage, not the goal of it, and I passed through you, like the poet said, and I saw through you, not with you, and did arrive beside you, not as if to be. The icons came down, so that one could be built, strange, I did not know. I did not destroy them, but despite the theory of contradiction, when the thing denied itself, I denied it too. An icon now is, and you in it, and others too, if they will break the deadlock, and allow in their gratuity a freedom to God, to affirm all. Effracting God-Church-World, a system made on the bones of the infinite, by limit stand, ever, and be like you, come the Sabbath. I speak to you and to the world and to God all at the same time, and so make no sense to anyone, I ever the incomprehensible. And yes, not yet, even you, you did not understand, and the world I contradicted must not understand, or else I was wrong, but as long as God alone understands, the icon was not in vain, and I did not falter, pulled down vanity in myself first of all, and put back more than I took. God gave all, all must be returned. I give you all, for all of you.

At Harvest Time

I lay down my weary tune beside you sleeping As you stirred and turned and almost not quite Opened your eyes and almost not quite heard Me whisper: I finished, I finished. By the banks of Marinela, by the sound of many Sleeping, I did not hang up my heart, but sang it.

In memory of a forgotten Pope That God can thunder, And that God can whisper, That God can speak as a friend, Or as a stern Father, But that the beatific vision Is not so much the vision of God, That we see Him, But that He sees us, Always and everywhere, We may draw the deduction That we must go and do likewise, Which means not in reciprocity As one might think, With God or with each other, But speak to myself, View myself, As God does, And care.

All Souls Day My Lord, I would sing Thee, Of Your grace I would sing, Of mercy and love and kindness, And of the chastisement that Heals after correction. Of Thee I sing. Corrected, completed, Of Thee I sing. My Love, My Life, Yes, I did sing Thee. There was be-bop and hip-hop, And rock and soul between, And country and blues and gospel, All along the way, And many who sang, And many who knew not the words, Without sometimes a tune at all, Yet in the end You were sung, By one and all, Even when we knew it not. And amazing to me, Was the grace I found, Not only, that while I sang of Thee, yet, Lord, yes, You sang me.

Moral Epilogue It is better to feel a desolation than a false consolation, but to receive true consolation is the mercy and grace of God.

Remains: The Perfect Number God Alone Is Good. God Alone Is. God Alone. God.

Fame of the Frame We became en-framed by an other writtenness, but in the tradition of the same, we became the frame-breakers. This witness of the time of the King, was not counterfeited, But counter-fitted, to join, to unite, to marry, to one. If we suffer into truth, and if this frame is the cadaver of France, Then over graves and over men and over lords we triumphed. It is not the value for life which decides, nor death instincts, But love alone, the body of God, what matters, His form. The gibberish and jibbers of the solicitation of delights remind Me of the conversion of Odilon Redon and his signatures, Which dispersed darkness into light, and scattered light into My darkness, so that at the point of no return, I turned. Therefore, gold, yet silver, and every precious stone throne, Cannot take the place of the dear little ones growing in you; Words and things do not suffice, and we fall back on feeling, And guess our way to freedoms opening, gracious and given.

Nietzschean The more we masked ourselves, the less we mastered, and enslaved, Became an indefinable role, The ones given lines To stand in, not for Recitation.

Brother Jacques His: Entombing, Engraving, Enframing Enflaming: Derrida did not die in vain, For I remain: In session.

The Difference Between Judgment and Criticism If we will stand, Well stand corrected.

Recovery They asked my father, then, if your son kills, will you cover for him? And my Father replied, not only cover, but recover, I for him. Therefore, love is my alibi.

Critique Epicriticism was not the separation of sheep from goats Among the writers, But the discernment of the touch of truth In the feel of words and the heat of intent.

PM Meta and Para made a map Of all we could have been, But for the territory.

The Seer Little things to say, Little time to say them, No great thing left undone.

Thrown That, nothing will have taken place but the place (itself) is the good of the tomb that fell to Derrida.

Noble Truths That, things fall apart is Gravitys Law, not mine, for I have sakes yet, and suns to come.

The Path Realization is, then, to make real? No. It is to be made real. So, You cannot realize yourself. If you realize that, You may yet be realized.

Liturgicam Authenticam Kings kept keys, Keepers kindly kept, Keeping-in and Keeping-out, While Peter yet recoiled. Where are you going? he still asked. To take your place, God still replied.

Bunches Views and reviews, visions and revisions, And all you did for me: Flowers, for the asking never entered my mind.

Therese A thousand violins, No thing left to say: Music in our minds, Hearts I hear today.

Abstract French He said, And therefore there was one flower left unseen, One flower yet to see, That can never be seen By any eye Which still remains, The still, Lifes abstract Florid bouquet, Which was not, Is not, Will never have been, But ideally, Which was your reality and the nothingness, Which yet said yes to thee.

Starred Perhaps, A constellation, A scattered pattern, Of lights and sighs, A million-million miles away, Perceived they say by our deception, Yet revealed at night, Alone, Without celebrity, In utter clarity, Higher than known, Gods poetic utterance, A throwing and a throne Shone.

Roman Holiday God gives us saints And they give us Him. In the catholic economy, Institutes rise and fall, Rates fluctuate, And coin becomes debased, Yet His light reign Gives us increase, As Himself bestowed.

Scripture Words and blows, Less even lines, Cried utterance To the uttermost, Deliberation Liberating, Delimitation Known.

Confessors Deconstruction dispelled The incantatory escheatment of the Versus, like: In Freuds lingered error, Where it was, there I shall be: Where it was, where will I be? But to get to God, Alone. It mattered. Did we think the act a stolen show? Did we think it but a pair of dice thrown? Back, back, back! Our witness was a whiteness, Testified, Fired, smoked, ashed, Cinders sent. Yes! Taints unsecreted, Religion did not become us, But the tomb.

Gift of Knowledge Love of God and love for neighbor. Life and all we meant. To do, to be, to have, to make, Was still but to be lent.

Kid Boiled in his mothers milk, Broiled by his fathers sun, The child took arms against. Never, never, never: Go back again. Sisters resume, consume, exhume, exhale. Brothers beheld, belied. Be: trails, happy trials, be: Let be: Yes, yet, still we will be: Silence was not the rest, Nor yet the play, But the thing that works Between.

The Virgin Martyrs

To do more than one can do Is a flat contradiction, So it must not be I that did. While you smoke the cigarette, The cigarette smokes you, Almost not without a fire. Joan of Arc amid her voices, Telling her what to do; yet It was Joan, Joan, ever Joaned, Ever sainted, ever crowned, Every girl who ever was, A virgin to her wedded day.

Peace

God did not start, God did not cease, Yet the work is done. Ye bastards: Save it for your wives. Rough bests the worst, And to sea would I ride. I have not yet begun, I have already done, For God in me still hides. The birds will sing, The night will chant, As you and I abide.

Oppositions

The opposite of illumination Is not darkness But opinion. The opposite of enlightenment Is not ignorance But insincerity. The opposite of the good Is not evil But hypocrisy. The opposite of being Is not nothingness But seeming-to-be. The opposite of the finite Is not the infinite But the indeterminate. The opposite of theism Is not atheism But money. The opposite of life Is not death But sleep. Be or not be. Do not seem to be. Because of the triangularity Of existence, the way is not clear. Lost in the delusion, We see neither light nor dark. Desire is delusion, Delusion desires itself. All self-direction, All other-direction, Is polarized, misses the mark. Yet, one must shoot.

Flores de Monterrey Once I said, I knew not why, Petals to dirt, Stem to sky.

Pi Critic is Me

We, wilderness-wed, wail-rode, form-finding, neither deferred nor deterred, denying death, and dying to desire, a way kings realized, along aside a brides productionshe, all innocence, all absolutes, all wise, in relativity, he but blinded in the still blessing, allowing consciences benediction, she altogether really real and he but idealized, in the nihilistics, came the ring of grace, came death knells and kneeling at altars, given temptation, given grace, the mystery not known yet not to be denied, under the procession of the triumph of life, became the precession, the return, the shift of an axis or axle, bedded, abetted, but we connected, all in the whirl of turnings time, that is, of times stand still, still standing as the time arrived.

If he crowned you

If he crowned you, If he made you an Everlasting imperishable sign, I would still read to you And need you as I do, Speaking poverty To holiness, Artless, Poetic.

Praise

Praising God And finding you.

When I Look Into Your Eyes

When I look into your eyes I see glaciers falling, light sparring, momentum gathered, earth at her zenith, no dejection. The fire in you rises, your clothes loose in the wind, a breath of God on your hair, and stars around to abet your half-smiling lips, now serious, now laughing. In your transitions is abiding, a certainty next to durable unknowns, that make the thorns of the heart easier to bleed, the tears not awkward to drop.

You, knowing the place Of my demise, the sending And the dismissal, Look to the North and find the Unexpected future is. Here, out of nowhere, The place that poets, roaming Where the time is right, In true north they have concurred. Anselm and Ancel agree. Eternity is, And cannot be taken from Poets and others Who find in the writtenness Witness for the Lord of Hosts. He and I, we write, Truth to tell, in prophecy, Neither pale nor glare, Not to pass, but shatter on, To decontrol the light is.

If you are catching, Catch me in the way you can, Pray as you can and Not as you cant, as you said. Find the door and knock, keeping To the path we will be found. We will but found it, Our arrival is assured, At least we hope. But He cannot be untrue. Yet Between the yes and the no There is nothing there, That between, that waiting, The space, the place of The apocalypse is come. There is that word yet to come. What logic reigns here? He said seven times, To the church, to churches go, Send a message, write it down, You must change and do it now.

Seven times, he asked. No, seven times seventy. The abundance is clear. The life we live is no life, Still we have that abundance. Beauty and truth are, And are convertible, yet Not the same at all. Ancel mistrusts beauty, others Mistrust truth, but we seek life, One who was always And is and always will be. He is beautiful and true And good, and cannot not be. He is simply forever. In apocalypse The great salvation is come, To not be misled By those who say he will come Only for those who are good.

Do not let the good Keep you from perfection. Do not let settle. Going for the one is more, An effortless grace is come. Do not let the bad Keep you from what you will be And are already, Despite the things done to sin In your name, though you know not. Do not let knowing Not keep you too from loving. Without knowing much, Much is accomplished to be The you you will be as you. Do not hurry. Bless. At times we come, and we will Not wait in vain for Vanity, for there is age In that wound you call your name.

That name of yours is Nothing but a wound, bound tight To keep you, free you. Yet yes be free: sign the name. But know the meaning it has. It may be you there Not known secretly As futurity, Or futility, or sign That cannot be converted. Meaning explicate By experience, so that In what you find out As living in your name is The sign of the times we live. What are we really? Language and time, signatures Apocalypse is. We mean more than we can know. Find the time in who you are.

Here on advents eve, With the evening of my life, I still look forward To the time of his coming, Neither impatient, nor with Any hope but of him. The one who is comes At an hour unexpected: Be ready sober. I cannot remember things To say, but say only him. He is all in all. His agony provokes our Agon with the Antichrist he is today. Do we struggle with ourselves? For now we must stop. Deny, renounce and Lift the crosses following, It is the path he made us. No, there is no other way.

If he becomes me And I leave all for loving, What becomes of this? Do not count the cost, crossing The way, surrender it all. Abandonment feared, The attachments call me back, But he gave me this. On trial, hoping acquittal, No one left to accuse me now. Not because I am Innocent, but that He rescued me, raised me up, Lifted me from the abyss To this place I may be yet Someday at home, and Even now I, least I sense, a turning promised, The breaking of the closure, End of the indefinite.

The white is not just Nor is merely erasure, The space without name, But in his strong bright truth he Erased for us all the whites, And every space was Annihilation, meaning Apocalypse is. Finding you white on white on White you did not let it fade, But came on the one, Eternal virginity, That is most proper. In the white of snows and of Sheets and of the kingdom come, She will be light by The one light without a lamp And without a sun, Her colors will shine in that Light made pure by excellence, The perfection of Hymens enfolded by The clarity of That name of glory, white ones, Her glory is all other.

Ages of sages And of suffering ones still, Yet we will abide The horrors of the time and Know a riper time for love. The time is now, right With little left to foretell, With common heartbreaks And the compound fractures Of bodies on lifes wheel, Yet we would love, yes, As so many have done, yes, Loving in the tolled, To rings sometime, but once, as Well know, since it was our lives. O tell me, of times And where they go when theyre done, And how the wheel of Life keeps turning, as we learn Out of control and out of Time we would love, yes, And without ceasing turn the Wheel over again For us and for those we love, As the house we once lived in. You, so high above, Do you wander as we call? Wonder at the praise? Tremble at your turning too? I perish the thought of it.

Oh, the little ones, To be called away from tasks, To play at loves and Follow in the way of truth, And the one which is not play, For finding our love We saw at last not playing But living, not just Pleasing, as if we could, But some thankful promised end That life on earth is To pretend and more than that, To more than actors Given again, and to More than comprehend.

Marinela song, Intoxicating song of Bright dark eyes, truthful And dearer by their darkness, Stronger than lightning, her eyes, Her song, her minds hum, To ecstasies tune belong, Bring, gather not to scatter, Finding singing her music, Rhyming, wanting, and waiting. O Marinela, That soul of music may be, And you, yet you know It not, yes you will sing as A woman theyll wonder at. O my little one, Sing your song to the one in Me but more in God And most of all in her, who Waiting for you is pure patience, An immaculate And true white graceful space of Possibility, So that where she is we may Sing too the songs pure, Lose the sin, and in Her love is relief, as I Who composed himself For you, found relief in my Wish to foretell our Heaven.

She was my one true Sentinel, my guardian, Loves embodiment Of duty and faith and work With out end, world without end, Words without end, but enough! She became my one Limit and limitation, And in her precincts I did thrive and grow in truth, Grow in Christ and him in me. What else is there but To thank and bless her in her Uncomplicated, Graceful, simple, entire, Perfectly, completely, and Without a stammer The complete that I have found And without which I Would have been incomplete, and God does not like incompletes. She has more than one Name and her number unknown Yet knowable, still She is not a summation, She is not a citation, A little one, she, And more to me by what she Made here in words that Seem to be mine, but are in The sovereignties she is.

Meaning and Experience, Part 1

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; and I am greatly pleased with my inheritance. Psalm 16: 6

I dedicated Myself to God though I did Delay: Lord forgive.

I dedicate this Work to the priests I have known And to another:

This book is for a Teacher: A sister in God: Paula Jean Miller.

In the end I did Not avoid the truth you taught And you still believe.

I believed: Therefore I spoke: Tell all the truth but Tell it slant: in this

I could tell all my Truth and nothing but the Truth: As you helped me God.

Texts are woven things: This was a coat of many Colors: as given.

So be thankful for The colors given and His Light by which we see.

Pure mind and pure heart: An old man limping laughing Sees the tree at dusk.

Four sisters and I Standing in the lake alone: What is covenant?

Neither monk nor lay A man went this way living Life in His presence.

Flowers drooping heads In dryness await the rain Without meaning to.

Meaning is absent But experience is known By presence itself.

The experience And the meaning come apart In silence not known.

Interpretations Always miss the mark; always Miss experience.

The fact of the light: More than words can say: empties Me of self and sense.

Silence and meaning Are not part of a system But are not opposed.

The mystic moment Misunderstood passed me by As I read a book.

[envois] and heavy [envois] Men in cities avoid truth In their neighbors eyes.

Around the table We discussed meaning and life Despite our heartbeats.

The pain of living And the joy of finding out Push and pull again.

I could not keep it But silence knew what to do And this bubbled up.

No reconstruction As I stand beneath the sky: Just the light in air.

No birds trace the way: Trackless expanse of Heaven Unstained and unfeigned.

Quiet nights and peace: Afternoons playing at sums: Balance in my hand.

Young men chase each thing Across the green yard of life: Feeling faces lit.

Without knowing how And without meaning to know Yet life too chose me.

Under stars without I stood and pointed to one Inventing meaning.

The reinvention That happens naturally Is the best of all.

Supernatural The battle for the faith: Wrinkles in my flesh.

Look over and see Beyond yonder wall the man Who died just to be.

Gracious and godly The opening in me yawned But did not swallow.

They gauge the outcome But all matter is a way To experience.

Without leaving: still The distant married lands came And shone silent love.

The tree itself void Of meaning offers endless views For watching sunset.

At night without art Without catching a thing I Turn to you in sleep.

The leaf seeks not ground Nor attachment to the tree branch But simply abides.

Who am i? I ask Not knowing the master plan: The really Real.

Separate from me Reality dwells apart But within me yet.

Men and women cross Themselves in hope of finding A child between them.

The mountain abides Yet there is peace in the vale And heights cause a fall.

Stumbling level ground: Step after step following: The walker crosses.

Neither height nor depth Nor any other thing stands Between You and I.

Behind us nothing: Between us everything else: We communicate.

Summer Autumn Spring All delight but bare Winter Lies secret within.

The emptiness here Where I once was: now not I But peace perfect peace.

If you choose or not Yet you are chosen: Abide In Him and be It.

To be free of this: To this be free here and now: There is no secret.

Words about words fail But the peace of light reaches Filling the darkness.

Light itself empties Yet fills all things not knowing And without intent.

Simply breathing air Is what he did: also this: Some rose and some fell.

The impossible Is the only thing worth our Attempt: Yes we can.

Forget all structure Because form is not the One: When you as you are.

If the tree could see He would see not light but the Other trees nearby.

Lacking sight not light The blindness of men is this: They looked away.

They say peace someday: But I say peace if you will: Be yourself right now.

Shadows do not hide But we hide in them because We want to forget.

When you awake Everything is beautiful: Even homely words.

Too much instruction: We sign and we sign without Our feet on the ground.

Universities Created the meaning but For a mundane love.

If you could touch me I would neither indicate Nor express meaning.

After the heart breaks We learn to sing the blues out Yet the wound remains.

Almost out of breath I ran to meet you smiling With disheveled hair.

Cross yourself again And find your directions in The silent imprint.

Neither cold nor wet I am yet the hungry dog Standing at your door.

I met you at church And what we became was more Than that: Life itself.

Yesterday I drank And you filled me with travel Taking me away.

In joyful wisdom Neither rational nor not: Whiskey and Women.

If music were words It would lose its emptiness And begin to mean.

The heart must empty Before it can fill with blood: In rhythms we live.

Crossing the river I saw an island in mist Without being there.

The dry: The empty: The desert full of wisdom: The place of testing.

It doesnt matter What color her eyes or skin: But can she forget?

If I stayed longer It would be to love you more: Without fear or care.

If I care too much I will not let you ascend To where you must be.

He showed me the way And we placed our crosses In Jerusalem.

A city I see Unlike any other one: If only love builds.

Remember me then Once or twice in the wake Till we meet again.

Not understanding I loved I knew not what yet Love itself was true.

I loved you without Concepts ideas or things But in the living.

Meaningful research Does not combine others words In new arrangements.

My father appeared: Traveled everywhere he went: In ashes he blew.

My wife came so far: So far from her home seeking For something somewhere.

Our city ruined We rebuilt with trowel and Sword: our two arms full.

I always loved you For you were with me before In the dream I had.

Only yesterday I had a glimpse of life and knew Without meaning.

To carry something For somebody: Charity Brings unending Grace.

What is past is past And yet without forgetting We invent our life.

In discovery Without searching or meaning We will love again.

Too much straitening Causes order to structure Chaos completely.

If I could sing you Without words or intention Then you would love me.

Lived experience Escapes meaning giving thanks Morning and evening.

Lovers and deamers And madmen like I speak No image: one Word.

Without cognition: To be the substance itself Is finding Truth.

Without losing hope Yet without expectation: Wait and wait again.

Nothing behind us: Nothing is what it seems and You already are.

I fell into Grace The only way I knew how: By being broken.

Light absolutely Breaks and scatters the darkness We are despite love.

If I try to be I am not: but sitting still He found me alone.

A dark night ordeal I could not count the [envois] so Black in my own mind.

Salvation saw me Sitting still beneath a tree And He called to me.

He empties Himself And shows a way that cannot Make sense to the world.

He sang his own song Yet given from above InComprehensible.

Touch me in pity: Find a heart beneath my mind: Now: without passion.

In breathing I am In all things respiring in Him and He in me.

When not if He comes He will find faith in cities That we did not burn.

When not if He comes Only His words will matter: Not our constructions.

When not if He comes Every Buddha will clap hands While sinners rejoice.

Mindful without thought Children play and old men dream: Life itself goes on.

Victory is not Simple assertion and yet It must be disclosed.

I learned despite not Knowing and I gained more than An education.

After I was shot It took 20 years to die But now I can live.

A man all in black Said very well and fine but What do you do now?

The compass caught north And despite direction lost The future beyond.

Put your right shoe on First and the rest will follow Of its own accord.

She found the water Without a bucket or well: Life itself happened.

He said keep dancing To your own drummer so I went on my way.

If you cant sit still You must run until you walk: Then you will allow.

Allowance found me Alone on my bed without Expecting a thing.

I lived on sheer faith Climbing the cliff face without Any skill but hope.

O little children If I could only free you: But you must free yourselves.

O men of eighty If I could restore your life: You would not let me.

Women O Women: You and you and you: without Your knowing I died.

Keep alive the dream Especially while awake: Let your feet not stray.

Will your love survive Without understanding why? I say better yet.

The double-edge sword Cuts this way and that slicing The knot of knowledge.

If I could be you I would still be me only Without the desire.

Language fails because It means too much: the Truth is Still and in stillness.

I had a feeling There was literature here But could not find it.

Without a purpose The tradition is taught you While you inform it.

Educationless To the nth degree I read Life backwards fading.

Some people work in The Church while others pray for A Kingdom to come.

I will come with you: Wherever you go I will Be there before you.

Without certainty Universities will fail: Yet You are the Truth.

The light that breaks us Is more than we could have hoped: Every knee will bend.

I have spent more time I have wasted more money Than [envois].

Forgive me for this It is not to be allowed: I almost told you.

Out of the depths cry Words that indicate without Expressing the truth.

All we can do is All we can do and not much: Will it be enough?

With fear and trembling And in joy and hope we live: With what will we die?

Is bad love better Than no love at all? It seems That time of season.

I was always wrong But turning left one more time I arrived at peace.

Vain is all seeking And yet when He finds you then You are truly found.

Look not here nor there Still less within: if He knocks Do not be afraid.

Stranger in the night Announced again and again: Still He surprised me.

Pierced to the marrow: My heart was ready for death And even for Him.

The sun will come up On us tomorrow always: God willing it so.

I saw an old friend And exclaimed at the species: One in a million.

All are lost but so That all may be found: we are One in salvation.

Good and evil were My limits but without them I reached out to you.

Without meaning to Means I cannot make a claim: I am what I am.

I intend no thing: Neither play nor purpose nor Approximation.

Becoming simpler Is not simple but involves A winding detour.

In our labyrinths In our selves we lose the way Till it shows itself.

The Revelation Who God is and who you are: Inseparable.

Nobody knows why But we stumble trip fall and Find it anyway.

Felix culpa is The great truth of life because Humility is.

Pure mind and pure heart: To love the Good without guile: How simple: How hard:

Pure mind and pure heart: To forget yourself for love: How necessary.

Unbecoming mind: Mindfulness without grasping: Hard the narrow way.

My wife and I climbed Kilimanjaro today And touched butterflies.

After the poem Has been interpreted what Remains of silence?

Structurality Must be grounded in something Autrement: Freedom.

Meaning plus music Allows freedom that mere play Can never afford.

The deconstruction Cannot deconstruct silence: Mystic effraction.

Circular meanings Implicate endlessly but The silence escapes.

Neither expression Nor indication: music And silence vibrate.

The crisis passes: Minds allow each other more Than bodies can know.

Without conventions: Neither seize nor know the day: Simply release it.

Poets cannot know Anything but write their verses Any way to live.

Writers write: fish swim: Some people cook their food and Some eat their food raw.

To get at the thing You must uncover it and In this words can help.

The blue butterfly (for instance) in his pathless Flight lit on my hand.

I eternally hold A hand at no striving [envois] And yet it happens.

It did not mean to And I did not know meaning Itself afterwards.

Angela the saint Suffered me in the holy Creativity.

To be there with it Beneath sky-high waterfalls Was without meaning.

But it had event Written in it and a hand Greeting not grasping.

Explanation Will not do and description Never tells the truth.

Alain Badiou Wrote the truth is like saying Keep going forward!

To adequate Christ And Buddha: Empty within: Everything is grace.

The way is of Christ And we all walk on that way Though some walk away.

Dharma way also Is Christian: Buddha made no Claim against the Truth.

One way all [envois] But no one is the actor: Deny yourself: Yes.

He did not mean you Must suffer but meant you must Die: Unless a seed

But we suffer though We need not: because of love. Compassionate One!

Christ nailed to the tree: Buddha meditating on Suffering beneath.

Both take on and put Off perishibility: Both arise awake.

Buddha in glory: Jesus ran His race well: In both completion.

Resurrection is: I must decrease: He is here: No actor: All: All.

God is all in all So He had to die to be Completed in us.

Not that God Himself Needed to be completed: It was for our sakes.

Subjectless without Object there is no is-ness But simply presence.

I am not present Nor can I be shown in your Representations.

What is not present Cannot be shown to you in Representations.

Representations Are not: images are not: You and I are not.

God is all in all: Without structure or being: He is this movement.

It is a hard thing To deny yourself for Him: Yes: He is: not I.

I am not I AM: I am does not anymore: He abundantly.

The cross is in this: Realization consists Of denying self.

I mean that I am: Experience is other: I AM does not mean.

Meaningful research Into self reveals nothing At bottom but God.

I am illusion: Whatever depends is not: He is in my hand.

I cannot be me But there is nothing else but To be me here now.

What is here and how In denying self empties Itself into Him.

Neither I am nor That thou art: but even less Solipsistic sense.

Meaning always means I am but in self denied Experience is.

The cleavage is real: Paradoxically real: Reality IS.

God is not only The Most Real but the only One Who IS: despite:

Despite language games: Philosophizing reasons: Desires: Lusts: Pleasures.

Sense is not non-sense: Reality exceeds both: The absolute IS.

Awareness is real: Jesus as man felt the pain For our pain was His.

He was at the point And broke through all suffering In contradiction.

Buddhas in ascent: Christ descended into hell: All is redemption.

The teacher instructs By various ways and means To light up our minds.

Lamps unto our feet Guides to our paths: meaningful To the moral faith.

But experience Of Buddha and Christ is not Found in their meanings.

God is undefined: No propositions in God: De-limit the mind.

Find the beginning: Where I end is where He is: I must decrease.

Words are not yet Him And writers neither lose Him nor Find His meaning.

The writer seeks not Meaning not expression but An experience.

The trap of writing Is that it is illusion And does not mirror.

Referring to self It fails: but we are not it: The Lord uses us.

On the battleground Minds are lost and won and more Won in the losing.

When you fail you know: You know you do not know and Must stop trying to.

Desks are poor things full Of papers and ambition: Here I sit not-I.

Old boy what seek ye? Truth is not illusion but Knowing is just that.

Truth cannot be known: Truth is then when I am not: How can it be known?

I allow (lets say) By emptiness a space for Truth to emerge in.

Detached: dismantled: Words are the last delusion: He did not SAY it.

He did not tell us Repeat after me but this: Deny: and: Follow.

Following does not Mean anything: it is the Act of walking with.

In walking with Him We have sympathy and in This is understanding.

Many have told us What He meant: What did He do? He emptied Himself.

Vessels of light are Not full but empty so that The light may fill them.

The blind do not know The light despite accurate Explanation: Because:

The experience Of light itself acts like light: Light has no meaning.

What makes meaning is The thing that is like the sun: Was Derrida right?

Poverty dumbstruck: Meaninglessness rather than All these useless words.

Abide: dwell: silent: Avoid speaking vanity Of all the vain things.

We are: already: Useful words are words that use Themselves for climbing.

Do not rebuild it: Let it lie: release it; Gone: Lovers: in love forgetting.

Reconcile yourself To Him in forgetting that Once I was I AM.

HE WHO IS is that Absolutely: vanity To replace His place.

Literature is Still the tower of babble: Brick on brick on brick.

God did not do it: He does not but is beyond Our little towers.

Not analogy: But He will substantiate: Transcendent in us.

Not even being: That is interpretation: Withdrawal of self.

Meaning is order: To experience again My meaninglessness.

However much I I seem to persist: My will Meaning intention.

At some point the thing Approaches in silent notes And music happens.

We walked up and down: We roamed the butterfly fields At the mountains edge.

The butterflies seem Erratic: wandering: not Lost: but Bliss is Bliss.

No point than to live: Till then my hand there appeared: Another moment.

I meant nothing: say It was not my intention: Say something happened.

It was as she wished: We went somewhere and we did Something: yet did not.

We believe all things: We rejoice in the day of The Lord: we are glad.

That night I awoke: I said there is something that Is outside of me.

[envois]

There is something there Outside of me and allowing Myself the stillness.

The butterfly IS: A hand was extended and Then something happened.

What? I cannot say Because it cannot be said Without a meaning.

If I seem to say It is only an illusion: I have not said IT.

Buddha and Jesus Lived IT: said words to be heard More real by witness.

Light and all shadow Approximate the seasons: Jesus died in Spring.

I trust in this fact: The Promise: He will come take Us soon to Heaven.

We too with Buddhas In glory and Christ in light To resound in song.

God sings Himself in Us: through us: for us: and we Give Him instruments.

Truth asks nothing more Than that it be sung: I say Even these stones sing.

Even my mountain Cries out and will not let still: Harmony allows.

Allow Jesus to Sing His song in you: never A song of myself.

In absolute peace The greatest songs are silent: Becoming seemless.

Jesus died in Spring: Look at the flowers around And see Him growing.

Without deception Following butterflies Will also lead you.

They sing the same song Without words without knowing Without notation.

The meaning (again) Impose suppose interpret: The butterfly IS.

It is we who mean And we who sing but not the Butterflies who fly.

Each blue dash and dart Simply was and I was not: And yet I may be.

A billion writers With their streaming meanings still Cannot make you fly.

If you do you will Do so by your love: a Love without knowing.

Neither hand will know The exchange of self for God Or when you took flight.

The dignity of Us is in our willing not Our own but others.

To take flight cannot Mean anything until you Fly: less even then.

Stable but shifting: The words mean something but a Butterfly wants more.

Simple clarity And words about what happened: Discernment required.

The paradox IS: We efface ourselves when we Realize ourselves.

Never imitate: Dont just sit there and stare at Him: See the truth: He IS.

Never imitate: Be: when you are yourselves then You no longer are.

One above behind Us all behind all signs and Things makes us: Believe.

In belief hearts are In sacrifice of self torn That we give the gift.

All I have is yours: When you give yourself to Him How can you remain?

Neither I and I Nor Every Other even But beyond all that.

I will never know: When I know I will then cease To exist as I.

No mystery: Then Why so few reach for knowledge Knowing they will cease.

We will destruction Of the world rather than this: Let God be you now.

And we would rather Speak a streaming discourse: I: than not be I.

Yet I will not be: Why not now? Why not by Him? We say by His grace.

Even without [envois] Or effort at the right time It simply happens.

Though trials there to be And the fight of ceaseless war The peace is: still IS.

And the war is won Not by surrender but [envois] By coming onslaught.

Just be the peace and See: no will: no mind: no one: Radiant presence.

Still dismantle me As talk continues to be: Continues to see.

Talk now less and less As monks learn to teach an all Through whelming silence.

Poor butterflies: rich In poverty taking no Thing but simple flight.

I saw them make love: In natural attraction With us by their side.

But they (who can say Why) flew away leaving us To interpret them.

Butterfly lovers: Us and them: in all we are: And in love finding.

For compassion IS: To give a home and blessing: To find the right time.

To not dwell alone: Neither dwell without meaning: We finding outside.

When I am not-I Then suddenly there is THIS: A world surrounding.

Jacques said the context Is the meaning: Nothing can Carry it: but be.

We absent ourselves [envois] Until transformation.

Stepping outward bound We are almost are that Glory: Yet not us alone.

Glory means nothing If I glorify myself: Give glory to God!

He the essential: I the passing: memories Will not be mounting.

On the one mountain There is but glory alone: Let it be: enough.

Versification Is the conversion of I Into the not-I.

Experience is Not this: Experience is Forgetting to mean.

Buddha on his side And Jesus on the cross died: Yet they did not die.

Buddhas mindfulness And Christian suffering are Not polarities.

Experience first After suffering before Teaching us the way.

Experience last Through suffering in order To teach us the way.

Truth is the only Thing left to see: Whatever Is not is not real.

Life is a vector Moving in a direction Without [envois].

Associations: Come together fall apart: Particularly words.

Mirrors of the real They are not real but seem: True propositions.

Neither description Nor explanation will do: I am not an I.

If language distorts: Vehicles of metaphor: Words are not useless.

Convey your belief: We are separate and so We still try to say.

Just this separateness Falls into the signs of what Plato called the Gap.

Between the ideal And the real is the shadow Which cannot be said.

We lovers till then: Love us by separation: To jump the abyss.

Love is our meaning Yet in our experience We find what love is.

Not only feeling But in the ground of being: Love creates our need.

Pounding out the hours We would set sail out of love: For love: toward love.

And we stand still Stranded on the shore waiting For better relief.

There is one to come And He wipes away all tears In our dark sainthood.

And we climb the steps: We shake off the need of pride For the one virtue.

What IS simply IS: When you become you will be: But we always wait.

The kingdom is now: When we realize it we Show ourselves kingship.

He is still within: Find after your I am the I AM THAT I AM.

I am not: He IS: My I am is an echo Of the great I AM.

Imagination Is the fool of time [envois] To good and evil.

Knowledge must be: Yet In the Phantasm we know Nothing but ourselves.

Dont let me be proud: Lord make me an instrument Steady in your hand.

Death will not hold us If we submit to Your will: Lord make me humble.

God is my shepherd: I have wanted nothing but Needed discipline.

My Lord and My God! I did it all for God and For her: for she IS.

For God and for her: For in perfect wisdom the Virgins know God best.

In my unknowing I wandered from the way and Almost lost my faith.

Yet Gods gifts and His Call are irrevocable: He did not let me.

These shards of meaning Professing experience Miss the mark of Him.

He is the Most High: Where others thought ideas Of infinity:

Indefinitely Exposing the word to their Criticism-shame.

The truth about that thing Called deconstruction is the Fact men loved a lie.

They loved a lie and Worshipped themselves rather than The creator God.

Glory is but sight Cleansed of what I cannot be: The I I am not.

In perfect vision Behold the man where He stands Bleeding in judgment.

Then He gave glory: Crucified and Glorified: Him who died for you.

Overcome evil with Good in peace with great patience: Despite the minds thoughts.

Do not be afraid: All beings attend on you: Salvation is near.

He saved me drowning: Some rise and some fall: amazed The abyss buoys.

Buddha walked a lot As did Christ to His crossing: Their words still travel.

By example they Set out the better truths like Plato immortal.

On one above we Depend: return to the source: Be not dismantled.

For surely He comes: Be neither afraid nor doubt His voice calling you.

Once again build up: Let yourself in uprightness Bow low before Him.

When you came apart You still saw the meanings that Were meant to save you.

They were not words to The deaf but eyesight to the Blind in His Blessing.

[envois]

Both stand in the truth: One speaks IT the other IS: Christ thy name is Love.

I am not my own Light and I cannot see you Without Him my lamp.

If we could see Him In one another how could We cease believing?

There are directions And if you follow them you Will not fall away.

Stay on the path and Walk more surely than before And gospel yourself.

They once said that we Un do: let go: that truth is Always already.

But I say hold on And never give up nor yet Give in to release.

Atonement is not Imagination which Is but I the Fool.

If I had known the Truth sooner I would have must Have written elsewhere.

The really Real can Be seen in the weather: But Experience Him.

Find the one you know Who opens the clouds without Any force but light.

Buddha said look past Me: but Pilate said Behold The Man: Jesus Christ.

Truth will never stray: Truth returns to the place of Illumination.

There is but one light: We all see by that one fire: We all shine with it.

Words take on the dark: But how white the pages and Smooth their reception.

You must be that page: Allow the inscrutable To inscribe itself.

Pages of marvel That turn to ash easily: Yet His words remain.

[envois]

Persist! Then: Persist! There is no happiness but In overcoming.

Since He opened you You cannot close again but Sometimes you still try.

God is the one who Teaches: His reign is rain: Soak Me with all Your Truth.

Once I sat still and Waited on the arrival: It seemed forever.

More! More butterflies! More mountains to climb! Without Memory to see them.

Words are more and less And the truth is in meaning But we lack the means.

Or do we? He gives His Word unfailing and He Must be spoken through.

Do not see me write: Do not imagine the scene: You already write.

You are my event And I am your pretext for Good criticism.

Dissolution is The acid word of the man Who deconstructs you.

Let yourself shine then: By the light: not in a dark Night of this writing

But in the dark night Of the soul embraced by God Who is your Author.

You are not the thing Itself and cannot know it: But it has always

Known you and me in Our medicine and artless: Our pretty sinning.

Alone to alone: But never alone I heard Him call me by name.

Relationship is Not false in itself because We are all in Him.

Did you think that you Could lose yourself without then Losing Him as well?

Mortal blindness! Fool! I am that very man that You are without Him.

Once I did seem real But got over it after The enlightenment.

Enlightenment is Without a doubt and yet Not what people think.

Patience (the great thing) Means only you hold what you Have been given: Gifts

From above because Despite what you have been told: You cannot save you.

The gift of presence Simply is experience: The meaning of life.

For instance I say: Birds sing despite our sighing And do not let up.

After your heart breaks You must still sing like the birds: Never letting up.

There is no middle Way but a narrow one that Hurts: still you must sing!

I once sang a song Knowing not what but it was Noise and weariness.

What you are you are But do not ignore the law Written thou shall not.

Know thyself its said And it is still good to learn: But only in Him.

After descent to Your vilest depth look up and See Christ in Glory.

Only by knowing The difference will I know The truth of my world.

There is an ancient Enemy without and one Within: Guard yourself!

I was never for Hire and did not earn a days Wage: may God forgive.

I hope: I hope He Will forgive my ignorance Thinking that I knew.

Jesus went into The desert in order to Be tempted! And win!

You have been given Temptations in order to Secure victory.

Not for fun nor for Punishment are you tempted But to overcome.

The experience Or meaning of the waste land Is not metaphor.

You must live it for Yourself if you will conquer The evil and sin.

As well as that of Living without the knowledge Of the truth He is.

Like anyone else I must climb from ignorance To understanding.

I must learn to fight: Myself and all that stands in The way of my goal.

If the world writes me Badly I will rewrite the Script and improvise.

Truth is His stillness But also truth calls to me From the very storm.

Truth does not cease in Pursuit of me though I still Run the other way.

It is a good thing God loves us so much and that He never gives up.

Abandon ourselves To God and we will not fail To arrive on time.

It was not in vain I once read of the Buddha Because [envois].

My journey to the East was over and I came Around to my truth.

Do not mistake the Finger pointing at the moon For the moon itself.

But neither should i Fail to read the signs of the Times I am living.

There is something loose In the world the world does not Know: the antichrist.

We think we know it But we have no idea of What it means to do.

I said it once And I will say it again: Yet Christ will abide.

If I may return: The argument of the text Is: just simply be.

Coming to be and Passing away are the truth Buddha would escape.

Do not fight your own Suffering but do not look Away to avoid.

In poverty I Found meaning did not mean to: I am not empty.

But only Francis And a few others loved Her; Lady Poverty.

The kingdom is not Of meaning nor is it a Senselessness: it IS.

The word means more than Meaning as a concept contains; A Sheer Abundance

That chose poverty Instead in order to be With us forever.

To live as we live: To take our meaninglessness And give us what IS.

But we stick with a Meaning that amounts to our Own deconstruction.

There is more to say But what IS always takes time: Even the eternal.

I wont look into The abyss too long since I looked into you.

The book lay open: No one there to read the signs: The means fell away.

Trees grow toward light But find in the black earth the Other half of life.

I grew toward Him Out of sinful soil and love For the Autrement.

But turning away From my bad beginning, I Look toward what I found.

Waterfall above: Butterfly at hand: You stood Too: essentially ajar.

Neither this nor that Life is not [envois] Nor is it a thing itself.

To descry meaning Once more in the name of life Is simply senseless.

The scatter pattern: Butterflies and the little Flower remind me.

Is enlightenment Life without meaning or the Experience of

Meaninglessness that Is still a reason to believe Despite the nonsense?

God still gives to us Meanings never lost again But asks our catching.

If I look for that I will never find that: Thou art not That when

That is the lie of Eden: that you are Gods and That I made myself.

Through enlightenment The darkest deconstruction! Am I the measure?

I think I will yet Empty myself of conceit And write for the Lord.

Then without knowing: With a hand trained to obey Discover His truth.

Anticipation And His fullness may yet be My own completion.

The Buddha said he Was always at beginning And so too am I

He would save the worlds From suffering by killing Passions and desires.

Whether there is an End to suffering or not Is not the issue:

I risk pain for love: I must affirm life as IS And love it anyway.

The experience Of pain may not have meaning But accessing love.

An experience Buddha thought was meaningless Is the means to love.

Christ chose it Himself Out of love, not to buy back, But drink it all down.

And to show me how I can love too both because And despite the pain.

Even though the Buddha Did not die and stopped the wheel Yet the world still turns.

And churches come and Churches go in the name of Christ But no kingdom come.

They did not live in Vain but their lives are not yet Understood by me.

Perhaps so I might Someday understand when I Have learned how to love.

I suffer to love And almost love to suffer As priests tell us to.

Forget not Buddha Neither Christ nor what was their One experience:

Complete emptiness: The way up and the way down Are one and the same.

The obedience Of love is greater than faith And love can also

Empty you of self: Only empty of self can I Carry the abyss.

If I could love you I would find in you the way To experience.

And yes: the meaning: The one word of harmony: My reason to be.

Something more I see In the truth of the person That you are likely:

Another Buddha, Beneath the tree: or asking Christ the cross relieve

Our sins so we may love To forget our meaningless Lived experience.

I think I too thirst Like Christ though I am no saint And need not freedom:

For freedom is not The one thing necessary: So then why not love?

Judgment in the way Of the way we would love to: Choice desire indicts.

All religions are One: to choose between them is Admission of guilt.

Guilty of the lack Of love based on judging truth Without acceptance.

Do not choose what to Believe: election requires Your being chosen.

Just try not to hurt People on the way to where You are going to.

Am I bothersome? I am too full of advice: But I think I know.

The impossible God does the impossible: Made me so poor rich.

That I would give Him: Paying attention is my Way to pray in thanks.

To write the meaning Of meaninglessness is To exemplify.

In paradox I write: For I cannot say what the Butterfly would say:

If wings were words and She traced sentences in the Air instead of beauty.

Meaning is judgment But experience beauty Without copula.

If you have much to Give then give it all away From exuberance.

May God help me speak Without judgment though I think I have seen the worst.

Let no false love nor Parody of Catholic Theology reign.

I wrote poetry Thinking I was in [envois] But love was not yet there

For otherwise why Not stay on the mountain with The blue butterfly?

Searching: possessing Lies I thought were truth I was Leading her away.

I could not say I Experimented with her Beauty as Nietzsche

Did with the old truths: And at least experience Called out a warning.

The life is passing: For a moment it is there and then it is forever:

Gone: a memory: Is that what butterflies are To become for you?

But I did not know how To love the blue butterfly: She could have been God.

Missing the meaning I held to experience Trapped in my own self.

Contradictions are Sometimes true but why did I Make it my arche?

I was but a text And caught in my own writing Effortlessly drowned.

Until He called halt! I turned and became aware Of what I was not.

Which is simply put Everything: everything else: The world I am not.

My dream of something Outside of me was just the Leading vision seen.

Oh to write truly Of the plainest things I once Did not care about

And not lose His love In self-absorbed exhaustion And in the ceaseless

Search to say what I Could never say any way I Might have tried: that is:

Let me not feign a Meaning while at the same time Saying there is none.

Why not become Light? There is only one story: It is not about me.

The clever boy is Lost in the meaning of his Meaning not knowing.

The clever boy is Obscured by the brilliance that Others meant to say.

Another boy would Wait and not forget: patient Longing yet without

Rushing past the signs Of love which all have meaning To Him who made them.

God is good: God alone Is good: what does this mean now Seen from another

Point of view? It means: At least I can say this much: I know God is Good.

To know something is Different from not knowing: I said I did not

And I really did Not: but I thought that I did: I was a burden.

I am not the light That I must experience In order to know.

I said light does not Mean anything and yet by It we know all things.

But I know that light Is good: I know it: that light Is the light of men.

The darkness cannot Comprehend it and I was In complete darkness

Yet I was writing Of my own enlightenment: Could I be more wrong?

The light is glory: The very thing called into Question by darkness.

I did not know how Complicit was my blindness With what I held true.

The glory of God: Deconstruction and roman Deconsecration seek

Their own glory in An anticipation of Antichrists to come.

They will use any Means to erase meaning: the Simulation of.

I did not see that Meaning and experience Are not opposed but

Complement: they are Not absence against presence But ways of knowing

Truth: by their fruits you Shall know them: the meaning Of experience

For a catholic Is simply the sacraments: But does God need them?

Who benefits from the Catholic economy? Only Catholics.

I loved that little Blue butterfly that landed On my fingertip

And had the very Experience in itself But missed the meaning.

He was a signal: A messenger: the way that God said I love you.

I turned his sign of Love inside-out and said it Had no meaning as such:

That the event did Not respire with a meaning Because there is none:

No meaning as such But that the butterfly IS And to be is not

To mean but to be Another kind of higher Emptiness: the Void.

And now the Roman Church is to be made void and With it the world too.

Both of these abysses Of the deconstruction and The deconsecration

Are places that light will Not reach: deepest darkest Hell: black but on fire.

These terrible things Still mean something: they are rich: Because they ruin truth.

Without truth there will Be no more spiritual World, and without it:

No more world of the Material either: for [envois]

Not just the world that Followed the deconstruction And deconsecration:

But no more worlds to Follow: more void than Buddhas Realm: kingdom undone.

So I look back on The world of the time I touched The blue butterfly.

How much I did not Know of things to come when that World would seem a dream

And dwell with the God In unapproachable light: While the context of

The blue butterfly That gives to experience The meaning divine

Was to be torn in Two and beauty truth love all Lost in delusion.

I had thought my own Error so damnable in Not giving meaning:

But they do far worse: They will say the fine thing but They will not mean it.

Neither Buddha nor The catholic line satisfies But the Christ alone.

Seventeen in a Stanza stands in the Q and Strikes against antichrist.

A spanner in the Works between the sixteen and The eighteen so that

John Paul II and his False prophet cannot connect The magic number.

Call me in the queue: Call me edge of seventeen: Continuum called

Q: as a question: As a philosophical Response to dogma.

Independence is Not in error because the Pope isnt honest.

More catholic than The Pope is the church of Q: Sans benediction.

The independent Thinker in freedom and in Isolation from

The one and only Lie that hinders salvation: The papal blessing.

He has not any Idea of God: but the Person of God is

True and the Pope may Not even know what he is In compensation:

For in the spirit Of psychology the mind Contains both sides of

The coin: Icons Of Christ and the debased on The dark side of Him:

Benedict in His Shadow completes the Christ but Woe to the man who

Misunderstands Him: Who chooses judgment when love Was the wheat to find:

And judgment the tare To be torn: leave them not till The end but remove:

Remove: tear judgment Up by its roots and let it Begin in Peter.

The wolves and the sheep: Meaning and experience: The wheat and the tares:

Buddha and the Christ: Benighted Benedict Blesses in reverse.

Let Shostakovitch Lead my quartet by a string From peace to war and

Back again: to the Time of the blue butterfly: Neither bought nor sold.

I said (for instance) That truth is spoken despite Us: yet it is said.

In irony our Words echo back to us as Derridas laughter.

I will offend then A selection of the work In question below:

No gain: ever lose: Further fall: flower she fell: [envois]

They would have us turn To chase it up ahead or Look into the past:

Do neither: be here: Discern: in the timeliness: A temporal shut:

Use your illusion: Yet you are that though: to be: Weary spectacles:

And so on and so Forth: we are witnesses to The truth not against:

Yet truth must be the Thing against itself to be True to itself: so:

The pope (God bless him): Benighted Benedict: Enlightened no one:

And over him rose The thorn of contradiction: The nobody rose:

O care of the soul: Benediction petrified: Peters blessing stone:

To the prophecy Of Celan and in dialogue With Derrida and

Two infinities: That the poet saw the pope And the end of him.

Rams: beasts: petrified: He would raise the rock to strike The flock and scatter:

Uninterrupted: Derrida too foresaw the One to come but hidden in

His text were the keys Of the abyss: as always Already he said:

Such is the law of The text: to hide the hest from Every first comer:

However oblique In approach: even from the Envois on he came

To re veal the lamb Not quite as serious as The pope: for the text

Would ever contain The evil which was the real Reason for writing.

As the mind in two The janus faced coin of an Exergue to come:

Psyche and spirit: Inseparable: heaven Is in your mind and

The simulacrum Of the text is a way to Decontaminate.

My life will therefore Have been a scandal to them Who judge it to be:

But Christ himself was So and a sign to contradict The acting pope said.

The acting pope of The coup, as the church rolled dice At the foot of the

Cross and gambled for His Vestments and investiture: Antinomians.

And in mystic fashion Described fascist projection: A transmutation

Of the sacred to The transubstantiation Of the golden Christ

Into basest coin: Defaced the icons: profaned The sanctuary:

If life is Christ then Sacramental grace is here When we truly live:

Sacraments give life: Presence: God amid His Church: Now surely elsewhere:

Where grace is lasting: Arise: trust in the Lord: take Up your mat and walk:

Your faith will save you: Leave the church and sin no more: Do not look back but

Carry light salt seed In order to scatter the Others in: to God.

Late have I left thee O Ecclesia: but not Too late I still pray.

One startling serene Still one remained just for me Among the roses.

She I say but one: No other: neither word nor Fragment: She: Woman:

Say untouched by time Until a small voice whispered Get and go: See.

Destiny in it: She went and me she continued In what we didnt say.

If they say she wore Black and I wore red theyd be Half-right: we revolt.

She will always be Further than the East, like Sins flung far away:

He knows me better But she could not help but sign The blank I left blank:

I waited and she Came: out of time: without the Least direction: straight:

A rebel though she Knew it not and ready to Build back the torn down.

Almost not quite just Barely yonder: the way come Passing over all:

When you find me say He did not know his way yet Arrived after all.

In the dialectic Of fascism are three moments: Nietzsche: Hitler: and

Joseph Ratzinger: His name says it all: O rats! The Thesis of the

Nietzschean seemed to Reach fruition in the reich: But antithesis

Is never enough: The synthetic matrix in Deconsecration

Suspends the body Of Christ in an illusion Of the pious fraud:

And Jewish rapture Left behind only the Church Militant to blame.

The weird news is this: Closure is trying to take Place: with only Q

Between: the hated Number of Pythagoras: The most random one:

Between the added Two of the beast and the false Prophets sixteen stands

The seventeenth to Keep closure from occurring As Ulysses said:

For the point is yet: And indicated: where? Here: Just before MB

And the nightlong song That may yet end in a Yes: Yet not affirmation:

For after the yes What took place in the text of Joyce but the wake that

Is the funeral Of the world: in the text mind You: every word counts:

Ultrastructure is: And there is nothing else but: The Ultrastructure.

The Q if you would Describes a circle effracted: A line laid across:

The economy Must be broken: the meaning Of the catholic

Church exposed inside And out for revelation: It will be released.

To be said: a new Direction when I spoke of Augustine: Arrive.

The circle as such Cannot arrive as it is Forever turning:

But if it closes It will trap those in it in an Economic Hell.

Effraction is now. Disclosure of the fact is Enough in theory:

Symbolic therefore Real: the ideality of literature:

The line being laid Against the antichrist ties The sovereignties.

To save the Church will Require true discernment for This we pray O Lord.

I broke the Church Open and exposed its heart: Now let me repair:

Let is not be dashed Against the cornerstone but Built upon the rock:

A new and better Than Peter is in ruins Of a truth I loved.

O Christ you are true And faithful and so I write The line that must be

The sole arbiter Of meaning: my fixed point of Reference: my all.

By crossing his orb With a line of reference I shatter the globe:

The impossible: If the pope refuses to stand In the queue like the

Rest of us, then he Will find certain Q and A: A question for the

Antichrist: Answer: Where are the miracles Ben? Are they yet hidden?

Something in the bread And wine? Show me miracles Benedict: Show me.

A church without truth: A church without miracles: So a line is laid.

For it knows of me And what I am doing since The archive has no

Corner in which to Hide: so: if the circle of circular letters:

The encyclical Of the Marian Dogma Has been prevented

By prevenient Grace: the circle at eighteen Is inachevee:

The antichrist is Incomplete: on the other Hand he may force it:

And attempt closure At any rate: But truth stands In the way of it.

Truth stands in the Q: Batailles story of rats and Deconsecration:

The impossible: God works in mysterious Ways: The text abides.

Heraclitus said The most beautiful thing is Just this pile of junk.

Peter opposed His hierarchy to it: But Peter will fall:

To democracy: To the freedom of the text: To the witnesses:

Only by keeping Everything out of his pure Fraud could he succeed.

Even denying The words of the Lord by Interpretation.

The salt has lost its Savor though: and the savior Tramples under foot.

The secret archive Of the Vatican opens To disclose nothing.

Ashes to ashes And dust to dust: they forged the Claim: Usurpation.

They cannot forge the Blue butterfly or take the Hand I held away.

For there is in the Chance occurrence a sign of The one mind; One Face:

Types and symbols of Eternity: as we cross The circle and break

The chain that would bind The sovereignties: All moving as one.

We are already past The point of the watershed: Down the mountain then:

For she awaits us: Shall I say Jerusalem? She is no Roman:

We will all descend Together now to the vale Of the decision:

Armagiddeon Time is not told by the clock But tolled in a text.

Meaning and Experience, Part 2

The story of the Blue butterfly and my search Has been a twisted path.

It has been about Meaning and experience, But a whole lot more.

To make sense of my Place in the world and what I Believe to be real,

What I call really Real, God, or the ultimate, Is not easy.

I have tried to say It is an event, like the Moment of contact

Between my finger And the butterfly, which was A sort of lucky

Break, or else it was A predestined moment known In eternity.

It was either chance, Or part of Gods plan and how Is one to discern?

Is it possible? Does it matter why or how The beauty happens?

Is that to look for The dreaded meaning behind Sheer experience,

An unwarranted Posit or explanation That actually

Hinders living life To the full, trapping me in My own opinion?

And yet I feel that Experience without Meaning is lacking,

Something animals Have, for instance, so humans To play their part must,

Though it is a task, Not simply erase their minds Like a good Buddha.

Neither do I feel I should become entangled In endless moral

Wrangling about the Theological and the Metaphysical.

Neither consciousness Nor conscience are sufficient For my paradigm.

On the same page of My dictionary appears Along with these words

Connectivity. The blue butterfly and I Made a connection.

This simple insight Matches so much in the world You already know.

But its been said, dont Overlook the obvious. If in what comes next,

I make connections Between many different Things, its in order

To say something not About connectivity, But what it connotes.

There is the one mind And there is the mind of Christ. They are not the same.

There is another Which is evident in the History of thought,

The conceptual Itself, you might say, or the Philosophic mind.

It is so widely Distributed throughout our World it seems to be

Necessary, but It is only one way of Thinking, not without

Its adherents and Proofs of utility in Argumentations,

Such as making war, Making money, buying votes And condemning sinners.

However, the one To come, in apocalypse, Will displace the mind

Of mammon with the Mind of Christ, a thinking so Different from the way

It is commonly Conceived, because it resists The concept as such.

I will approach its Disclosure in an oblique Way, through catholic

Theology, which I have found conceals more than It reveals of Christ.

Herewith a twisted Path made straight for Gods glory, And not for my own.

The butterfly does Sometimes sit still, but never Long. Arise and go.

I did not intend, But attention came to be. The mind at rest works.

There is a truth in The gift of experience. Receive the giving.

A what does it mean? Always falls short of the thing Which abides alone.

A person emerges From out of nowhere like a Sudden thunderclap.

He came and he saw And he conquered sin and death So that we might live.

Let us live for Him In Spirit and in truth as He said wed worship.

Engaged to the groom Who waits at the altar in His supreme patience.

O the patience Hes Shown in the centuries since The time of the cross.

Repent and believe Is what he said to us then. We must turn around.

Before I am through I will have described that turn, And a further one.

Lord Jesus my truth And the truth of these stanzas Which desire but you,

Help me know and serve Unceasingly the salvation In your very Mind,

The wonderful things Youve done for all your creatures Out of your one love.

Things new and old show Forth, yet who am I to take Truth upon my lips?

Cleanse me for your truth, As a prophet would be cleansed To be your vessel,

And let these words be True but also sometimes let Them be beautiful.

There is no greater Word in the scriptures than The word of your truth.

So, let us not be Fearful of things present or Past or things to come,

For all of these things You have willed in the one act Of the creation.

Let us be patient Humble of mind and in heart And wait on your Word,

Which your Spirit, I Pray may reveal today for Its accomplishment,

Your purpose in this Work, which I hope you will bless And accept. Amen.

Peppered with prayer, Salted with fire: Grace and truth Came by Jesus Christ.

Let me do no less And yet no more than you will: Not a mere poem

May this be, but in Time and eternity, a Way of your break through.

A witness to grace And to the transformation, The once and future.

May saints help me here To allow you to take place In me and the work.

May Mary your mother Give birth to me and the mind You want me to have.

For the time is now: The night is advanced and day Approaches. Salvation

Is more than the church Can bear, so let the human Mind itself bring forth.

So long awaited And yet almost prevented By Christianity,

Is it not time we Die rather than not allow The coming glory?

This all consuming Renewal resurrection Will no longer wait.

What would Jesus do? You would show us how to be The first to arrive.

Let me pick up bits Of text, obeying not them, but Whatever you will.

To have excluded The academic middle Is a very song.

The suffocation Of the discursive need not Limit mindfulness.

To pronounce a name Is not to know a thing but Perhaps to invoke

You, O Lord, my word Which reaches all through language, Though my selection

And reception of The truth available lacks The great attunement.

Perhaps our teachers Warned us of this, of the trials Attending knowledge.

It is in the names Of things that they have their Being, as defined,

And so it is with Us, we exist in a net Of fateful signing.

For revelation Needs revealability. Language is this and

Not this alone but The mystical way that you Contain all being

In a writing and Reading, which is why we were Given the scriptures.

Theology known As the via negativa Is not negative

But surrender to That which is greater than our Definitions stand.

Scripture cannot be Set aside may mean not that It is inerrant

In particulars But that that the paradigm Of the Bible is.

In this I would then Be mistaken to erase All meaningfulness,

To reach nirvana, Which may yet be attained though Despite contradiction.

The negative way Says we really cant know God, While the example

Of scripture suggests That God communicates God To us, not just laws,

And the goal of the Void, means erasure of self, Individual

Identity, and I think all of this coheres, In the Mind of Christ.

As I am I will Not know God, who contains all Like the Bible does,

So excessive is He that I must be changed to Contain, not control,

Him. In decontrol I will decontaminate, And in connection,

The ensemble of The immortals hitherto Confined to Heaven,

At the limits of Experience, will break Forth not as madness,

Or as the reserve Of saints, but as God With Us, Divinization.

We have seen what this Looks like in a few at times, Now it will engulf

All, in the great And terrible day, not of Judgment but of peace.

War will end, that day, No one will be able to Think it anymore.

Swords will become plow Shares and God will wipe away Every tear and trace.

The transformation Seen in the brain by science, In technology,

In the connections Between people, are signs of What is taking place.

We will give up all We know and have and are, so That God may be here,

For He loves so much That He wants us completely. He brooks no rival.

Contemporary Culture presents foreboding Futures of our end.

And so it seems, to That which has held sway in the Mind, hitherto, now

Desperate at change That it fought so long and hard, But which must be pitched

Into the abyss And chained for the coming of The Kingdom of Christ.

The change I believe In is not a candidates Promise or slogan.

It will end power, It will end world politics, It will save our souls.

It will happen at Once, at a day and hour we Know not. Be ready.

The destruction of The church is almost complete, As Daniel foretold.

When it is total, The end will not be long, and The way to it clear.

Yet some will refuse, As John says, saying they must Go back for something.

When so much awaits, What could possibly keep us From our wedding day?

In the hour of the Decision you must have then Already lived it.

Meaning and Experience, Part 3

The gifts of God are All of them good, and so She, too, came to me.

All human being Absorbed in righteousness shines With the Face of Christ.

O Little Flower, You loved and worshipped the Child And His Holy Face.

I Worship on a Mountain that may yet pass. Mountains pass slowly,

Though not all pass in That way, and this mountain needs Your flower: Remain.

There was a sister, Teresa Benedicta Of the Cross, a Saint.

Every flake of snow Falls in one declination Despite buffeting.

Saints are like snowflakes, Unique, undefiled, falling Into Gods embrace.

Mirrors in mirrors, We shine from our origin: Endless, trackless, light.

Snow mirrors light, white On white on white, though sometimes Saints are like sunsets,

Red, bathed in fire and Having a purity wrought In violence, yet

Inviolate, though Murdered, still unprofaned, and Having redemption.

Even as death takes Us away, without shadow Of semblance remained,

Why not far rather The void or bliss in heaven To lose oneself in?

If I realize I am nothing already, Without transition,

Then I need not the Turn or reversal to come As I approach her.

All in all, to be, Lost in Him, for as long as I am He is not.

Already naked, She bows a little to hide In beautys shadow,

Just as between the Inside and the outside pure Virginity reigns.

Nothing as humble As a virgin made to stand Awaiting darkness.

She let her love come Unbound, and so did flourish. Bridges of crossing,

To bridge the cross of The see of troubles not yet Seen in our ending,

To be our reproach To the entanglement of The imbroglio,

The imbrications Of a time that did not seal The concealment of.

Form itself is not, Nor the merely assembled, But beauty and want

Make these visions seem The telos of destiny. But what stands behind?

The unshaped shapes shape: Which is why He must be InComprehensible,

And why they who have Not seen but believe are blessed, As He said theyd be.

They thought they saw her, But she was seen by God in In eternity.

In His vision she Was holy, but they did not Recognize the Saint.

She fit with Him and He drew with her a drawing Divinely figured.

In a bracketing Of the idea of Sensuality,

Experience is, And allows the vision seen Not only by Him.

She became vision. We can only accuse the Owning in her light.

As she arrived, she Not only told it so, but Neither turning, showed.

Her means were not void, Though her experience meant Death, as if to mean

Almost more than she Could mean, and almost more than Meaning could allow.

She is not a text. She interprets us, and shapes Us to time to come,

Because grasped closer And held more tightly, she is Impressed with His skill

At making martyrs Witness before and after He has let them go,

In abandonment, Not to providence, but to A great emptiness,

A Christ in person, Already breaking through veils Then, now, everywhere.

Neither religious, Nor political, nor yet Philosophical,

But personally Was the pain inflicted, as She stood first in line.

Light and dark reject Knowledge so bestowed on one Who, having known them,

Was led to a place Where they do not make sense and Never will again.

Not in this life, or In the next, where there are no Need of sun or moon,

Nor will the gates be Ever shut, as all light is Like Hers, held within.

I do not think she Had a quarrel with dying, Or with the killers.

It is a question Whether we do, or should, or Whether to forgive.

What happened then is Happening again, larger In scope and hidden.

They do not kill our Bodies now but steal our souls, Or make as if to.

Already raptured, The good is gone. We await Appropriation,

The promised advent Of what is said to be screened By being is near.

And the Janus face Of the gate of the Roman God stands at the door.

But it is not his Beginning, almost over, That is occurring.

The fait accompli Was thought to be a machine To engulf the world.

The fateful meeting Of man and technology, Greatness inherent,

Now can just be heard, In a very quiet place Where we go to pray.

She did not know of This, but was the first to go, When the time had come.

How could she see the Complicity of horror With their holiness?

Five have reigned, one now Is, and the one to come will Last but a brief span.

The first of seven Ascended as holocaust Dawned in damnation.

Now by projection From another time the last Tiger regales.

The martyrs that were, Pray for the martyrs to be. And they witness them.

We recall the deaths They endured but we do not Feel it as we die.

Perhaps all is lost, In a certain circle where Things cannot be squared.

But God does the thing That is impossible, like Raise the dead to life.

Though our sins be as Scarlet, yet they will be white As wool, forgiven,

Even though the sin Was doing what we were told, Then looking away.

There are parallels From history, not that Long ago, not that

Far from the meaning Of the death of Edith Stein, Whom we remember.

An emptiness in Heart has the clean fulfillment Of wisdom in love.

Only vessels of Devotion are already So clean, so empty.

The Lord said to clean The inside of the cup where The filth lies hidden.

When He entered His Capital, He first cleansed the Temple of money.

Some say the world is A mass of seething power, Some see only sex,

And the desire that Acquires pleasure, property, And the skill of use.

Even beauty is priced, And is a form of exchange, Without penalty.

But the rewarding To come is for the hidden, Not open, beauty.

Could we find beauty At Auschwitz? If we pray with Edith Stein, we will.

It is said the Church Is watered by the blood of Martyrs, but the Blood

Of Christ was a fount For cleansing, so Edith Steins Blood, too serves the Church,

A prevenient Witness to holy peril And times of testing.

Meaning and Experience, Part 4

STANZAS FOR MARINELA

We perhaps will play Until our last breath, but we Did something for Him.

We learned how to give: How to Create: and how to Find: The Gift of Love.

God is good: and He Is the giver of good gifts: You are one for me.

MB

THE ONE HUNDRED STANZAS

Mysterious is The coming and going of Life in all its parts.

The most beautiful Part of my life was lived in My embrace by grace.

The gifts of God are All of them good as you are For me: but we sought

Something more than love Between a man and wife and Found our end in Him.

He suffered in His Waiting for us: We played like Children and fought like

Wild ones against our Calling: the vocation He Intended: Our peace.

Mysterious was The way God moved us in love: Attraction did not

Become distraction: The fate of many couples: Ever we will love.

But we love because Not despite virtue: because Our affair joined His.

Stay: linger with me: Tarry yet awhile: He calls Us to meditate.

We are still hungry For one another and for Him: the source: the first

Principle of love: We became a little less Full and more empty

As time went on in What we found to be the best Part of our marriage.

We: no longer young: And having loved in our great Decade look back on

A gradual light Ascending among us and Within us: the Call.

We have not fully Answered: yet we do not search For more than meaning:

Our response is: Yes Lord: simply that: Yes Lord: Whatever You say.

Cease all your searching: You have the secret in Him: He is here with us.

I have seen you in Desire: and with the eyes of Peace: it is better.

Yet: I still love you: Do not wish for freedom but To serve: to arrive.

I have seen the fire Rise and watched the incense burn Trailing smoke like gifts

Sent up to Him in Prayer: our love became more: Holy: as He said:

Be you therefore like Me for I am holy: if We would love we must.

It is Him we will Meet when we meet on our way: To vigil we come.

Our love alone could Not be sure if not for Him: In Spirit we love.

Grace and truth must be: Despite our bodies failing: He is now our health.

Oh: my Bride: my Love: Do not forget the path I Took to reach this place.

I am getting nearer: To you: to Him: completion Of the race draws close.

There is no telling What truth will take me away: Where I go from here.

But I trust in Him: It must be beautiful: for I have the Promise.

We await alone: Strip: strip: strip: meanings away: God is so much more.

Our love past telling: With each other: but for Him: Not for us alone.

Our love foretelling: If we could: how we reached this Place of no return.

Please Lord protect the Integrity of the work You Are working in us.

We: when we work: must: Work not for ourselves alone: But for Your glory.

You: I believe: Glory In our poverty and find Emptiness better

Than we imagine: Where we would desire more You Want us to have less.

But yet: no decrease: Not of love: but of desire: Which is all too rich.

You chose poverty In order to give us so Much more than mammon.

Let our striving cease And rest: we have enough: let Him decide our path.

All glory honor Praise power: to Him: Our King: Our religion is.

It is not the failed Romance: it is fulfillment: In Him we arrive

With each other: But More: we have become His: His Instruments of love.

Love is so much more: More than the mind or heart can Grasp: let Him hold us.

Cantos on chaos: The love stories of our time: We had something more.

To be poor in things: Strip: strip: strip: make us naked: Lovers in love.

No love outside Him: Without Him we never were: He brought us: as His.

I would not love you: No: I could not: if you were Not the one He sent.

The gift from God came: I saw you and recognized You: and His kindness.

Not without judgment: But more in mercy for my Weakness and my faults.

But God forgave me And sent me you so we found Life and lived: for Love.

Not just to survive But to create something more Than we could alone.

You are His not mine; And I am more His than I Know: Lord take me in.

Oh we little ones: We played and took ourselves so Seriously then.

In abandonment: In surrender: in peaceful Prayer we became.

We took on our lives And lived for holiness and For a kind of life

We had been too young To realize at the start: We looked to Heaven

And we found the saints: How happy and serene they Are after their lives.

They did not lose God To gain their lives but lost their Lives to gain the death

Of all desiring But the desire which is Him: He is theirs: deathless.

We have yet to die: But we can begin for Him: A small matter to

Choose life: but His life Means our deaths and to give our Lives in sacrifice.

You are like my God In that you my Love live for Others not yourself.

Lord protect my soul And lead me on: a little Further now: lead on.

The end of my life: It is not death but life: my End is my rebirth.

But to arrive there I must die to self and be Born anew today:

Not waiting for time To pass: not just passing time. All time is passing.

The past is all but Gone and the mystic sages They are telling us:

Get wisdom: seek her: Find the woman of your dreams: Her truth: fulfillment.

And You: You love her: You show and tell the secret: The moral beauty.

Beautiful lady! She is: she is in Him: love Of our God for us.

She led us to Him: Each by our own path: with her: But only for Him.

God is good. Never Alone. He gave His life but Death did not hold Him.

We will see Him then And then we will arrive: yet Life is eternal.

Is always in truth And knowing truth eternal: We have His life now.

The Teresas tell Us so: told us in words and Deeds: in a shower

Of roses: became You those roses: in loving We bloomed late: arrived.

We hope for so much: And great the promises: great The life together.

No: we did not let The scattering of our time Occur: we gathered.

Gathered together In our little church: became A church: but little.

Small sanctuary Of a life: place of repose: In the peace of Christ.

There was storm and stress: Enough: but passing the rocks: In harbor: we arrive.

I fought myself Not you: you helped me win: win The battle for love.

For love of Him is: Will always be truth: our truth In the church we made.

We made a little World within the world: for Him And for her wisdom.

Shower of roses You received in our little World: I prayed for you.

And you lived for me. Grateful I watch you in your Task of life: you hope:

You wait patiently: For Him: for her: for what will Come: hoped for heaven.

We were strangers when We kissed: not now: I lost my Strangeness out of love.

Love me still: little One: pour on me your shouting: Oh that I could hear!

There was no other: No other one: no other Way: but we for Him.

Follow then: follow: And listen to me: follow Him: where I may be.

Summer is over: Day declines: we are older: Yet we are still near:

Nearer to the one: And dearer to each other: Abiding awaiting

No greater love than What we knew in our decade: We lived and moved and

Had our being in A marriage made by Him: yes We were made by Him.

Believe all things: yes Believe in love: believe in Our arrival in Him.

Not for us alone Did we become a city On a hill: still love

Decides what we will Be: we will let go later: Loves say we remain:

And in remaining Days of our love: making one Perfect place for Him.

The Virgin She Was the Whitest Winter

By the way you hold yourself I see Someone that comes to life simply, Yet hard, the way you climb those Mountains where butterflies dwell.

By the way you talk I hear wonder And awe at the things that God did For us from the beginning of Time, And still does today, especially as

We know it not, His secrets of His Grace hidden in the folds of a word That means more than it can mean, Means by number and not by mark,

Means by a fine articulation of your Sensibility, by the differences you Say and see and feel when things I Do make you think of the Creation

That is His and we are just words He says in the one pure act of His Meaning, all love, all embrace, all The time telling us He loves us all.

This world of ours is not what it is. It is something else, something He Knows and shares with us at times When we see into the life of things

And sense some sublime wonder a Little just beyond what we can see Or grasp, think or say, but that we Have known at times in our loving

And in conversations without end, In the joy of being near each other And in the peaceful fall of sleep: Am I a dream you had once upon?

Brilliant in your shining eyes Bright dark / unfathomed hue By yourself you star-out skies As moons ken and swim-awry.

Let us begin again little one, I am but a writer, and you say That I reach you from there to There, but I say I cannot reach

You anywhere but elsewheres Reality, the really Real, in God You became more for me from The way you prayed your word

Of simple prayer to Maria: The Virgin fills your soul when you Know it not, and knots your fine Heart with mothers love for the

Son we share but never had, but Once at His coming we shared in His love together forever: Let us Stay a little while in our churchs

Afterthoughts of answers and the Request for love never denied, as We never turn away for once and For all, but turn face to face from

The one embrace of Him to each Other, finding ways to Him with Our laughter and our ascensions To tears and falls in our meeting

Half way across an angry prides Scream or bitterness, He is nearer Then when in pain we try the path Of thorns and sharp rocks that cut

Us to each other and together feel The pain of ones about to lose the Thing we hold most dear: we two. Are you ready to walk with Mary?

And with me to see Him face of his Face, gaze of His gaze, hear voices Assurance that you didnt wither or Didnt turn back, but in trusting so

Like a little flower following Him? He led you where you did not want To go, closer to glory, but far from Home, far from the thing you knew

To be the easier part of life, simple Family with a simple way to gather At holiday in a past prolonged, not Yet the eternal present future time

Of Christ in Heaven. O wait longer, Yet we would wait no longer from Today to the Opening of the High Gate of Heaven: swing wide doors

And touch the grace of His throne: Longing for the pure glass and air And water and light: then let us be Clear in our disclosure. Love is too.

If I were to tell your story, with What would I begin? Your birth In Mexico, baptism at the basilica Of the Virgin, with your ancestors

Or with your accomplishments for A life lived in the country you took For your home just before you met Me and forever changed my song?

No, I think I would start with your Great desire, your hope, your long Awaited hope: for Justice, Mercy, A dream of a better place than now

Where we live in the corruption of The city of the falling and the felled. Your dream is so big, very big, that Nothing can hold it but the Heaven.

Heaven is that place you dream of In love, in hopes that will never be Denied, but how long you wait for What you cannot know in this life.

Only Heaven can compare with The dream of life you hold in a Heart that too cannot be held by This earthly life: and so you are

Suspended between one world and The next, being at home neither in This country nor your own, waiting For your true home in Heaven high

Above, you almost float there by a Force of habit, hardly touching the Ground, one foot, barely, you are Only just barely here with me now.

I hope you reach the aim, the goal, The place where you over all others I think must belong, for Him and For Her, for Them you belong too.

I lived a love with you, and you Gave me all of you, everyday of our Lives together, telling me youd do It all over again. Perhaps we will.

Saints and angels adore you my One little holy sweetheart, pure and Filled with the light of no darkness, Only hopes and dreams of the great

Things to come on that future day. On that great day, day of eternity, Day of your wedding with Him, I Will say goodbye and give away

The one I loved without ever once Stopping to ask why, I did not, not Once, but took you as you were in All simplicity and grace and truth.

All you are to me is my one world, And there is no other world apart From you, except flickering fading Images on screens, and cars that fly

Past our window in the nighttime On their way to some point off the Map, because the map of my world Has only one direction, homeward.

With you, simple one, who cooks And cleans and makes me feel so Ensconced in the places we have Lived out our days, in patience and

In tribulation, you have blessed me Time and time again, and bless me Yet as you sleep, softly breathing In the bed beside the writer writing

His few lines that seem to not and Can never catch the meaning of so Great a thing as a human being full Of love and longing and littleness.

O the guardian of my feelings, O The one guardian of the love I had For you and you alone, O watcher Of my skies, and kenning of my

Untrue art, O the sentinel of souls, O the stayer of my staggering, my One and sole support, O mistress Of my heart, O the keeper of my

Trials and secrets, O the one who Did not walk away, did not turn From me, but came and came again With full knowledge though I did

Not know, and could not know the Passage to the place you dwell in, O the littleness of the things you Are, and O the terribleness of what

You are not, and O had I the time And the words to tell, the soul to Climb where you are, O so high so Far beyond my mistakes and base

Fantasies, images and words without A stopping, O you! You caught me! You broke my fall, you never had a Way to know, but it was you, you

Who kept me from the darkness of The life I once called a life, but was No life without you, for you gave Me more than I had ever known or

Thought that I could know, some Thing completely unexpected and Utterly unimaginable: You gave me You, in all of you, every single time.

If words could say it, we would Say it once, and that once would be Enough, wed understand the thing Itself that we had intended to say.

But words only point at it, what We want to get at, that thing we Know not what that will fulfill the Desires we feel, the need for love.

If words were enough we would Not need to touch each other in the Way we do, or gaze upon anothers Smile, or see the majesty of faces.

If words could only disclose and Not just declare and describe, if Words could be like light from the Sun that not only illuminates the

Visible, but warms and gives us the Pleasure of the heat of life, if my Words could shine radiance on the One I love, then words would do.

These things, these letters, sent to My sentinel, they aim true but can They find you in the place you live, Far from any language but feeling?

You! You are my subject, but not Mine, not mine. You are not my Subject because you are not my Object, you elude that binary gap

Of thought and en-own me with a Love past telling, a love unrelated To space and time and relativities, That knows only one relation in

Life, a field of loves that spread on The level way that the Lord makes For you to call out and not finding, Yet still you love to call loves call.

The objects in my life consume me Instead of me taking them, but you, You do not take me but far rather Give me a newer self than the one

That I had before, having made me All over, in that you are what God Intended, the love made flesh, the Body of desire, neither subject nor

Object, but the desirability of the Love itself seen in the shining of The light, and in the quiet of silent Night, most in the peaceful repose.

You are all these things but most of All you are the salt that can never Lose its sabor, that despite the Labors of love does not lose itself,

Does not abandon the truth for a lie And does not speak except as the Voice of one in her own wilderness And wildnesses, crying to be heard.

O! The worlds you could enlighten And the grace you would bestow on Men and women, who having their Hearts hardened, cant comprehend.

O! The fastness of your guard and The sureness of your sentence, O! The charm of your song and the Voice of you, prophetess of love.

And in all the sweetness of your Call, you also rail at the unjust and Those in power, but do not see the Corruption in those around you, too.

The lie is the way the people live, but Not you, you who live a truth without Telling, in the desire for a story and The need for the epilogue, the action

Of the completion of the tale told. Life is in this, you see, our story Ends in Heaven, and God gives all Other names in the end and you

Then become in truth what I said You were to me, the princess of my Passage, and in His eyes you are Already the one that men speak of.

That women dream we all should Know, but of what they dream no Man can tell, and so it is here with Me tonight, not knowing your very

Dreams, the place where you live Free and still and enjoy yourself in Complete care and regard, but also In abandon and with a shout of Yes!

Yes! The victory over the things of This world and the prescient hold You take on the things to come as You dream and sleep in the heart.

There is no better place for you Than the center of your being, so Remain a while in that better place And let me imagine its goodness.

The good does not leave us if we Do not wish for itt to go, and you, Tenacious one, hold it with both of Your hands and tightly you draw it.,

Even if you must let me go, even if You have to, do not let go of that Thing you hold in your heart past All telling, wordless, truthful, real.

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A love foretold past all telling, you The prophetess of the dream I had, You the truth in the night of false Hopes, false starts, blind dates and

My miracle madness, youre the one That waited for me without knowing Whom I might be, O! sure raceme of, O! surety of the avalanche, I too in my

Way waiting wait-less for the coming Perfection and what we now call grace, Though of a time I only thought I knew Not whence nor ever why but without

Warrant except your smile and Your invitation to marry if we Could but love, my life would Never wait so long again, so long

As I am with you, my principal you Said, or was it principle? Our reason Or your all in all? In faith we hope, In charity we find, and you giving,

Gave all to me and gave me a reason And the princess storied, light for my Nights, rest for my aching, sheltering For my soul, in words without whys.

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The unity of truth and goodness And beauty is a moral quality I find In you: I told them so, if theyd but Hear, of the thesis and theme of

My song, the tomb of it I build And with you we dig it and we Build it, the foundation sure and The time full but almost never

Enough, we look to each other and See Him in ourselves, where He Does not hide, but can be seen by The things he has made, our love,

Our home, and the works of love That we hope one day will teach us To hold truth more gently, touch Beauty but grazing it just so and

See with eyes of peace and desire Mingled the joys of life together, Of our communing, of our summer Late and winter near, of our snows

And the warmth we found despite The cold of December the year I Began again and answered His call, Because he said become who I am.

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In our little way we abide, stay Close, wait, watch, become the Ones who sentinel for others, I see You keeping faith in Him and me.

If we but keep it, though, what will Become of that faith, must not we Make it grow? And so the stream Of life would take our faith away.

Share it, give freely of your faith And whatever else is asked of you, As if the Beloved asks you Himself For the things He knows you can.

There is no other truth to the world Than our being obliged to love one Another, to seek arrival, to shine Light, to show beauty, to act well.

13

The flower she sent she sent for You, because I asked, but it was For you, because you are a one that Is littler, very small and close to

The truth that God loves the little Things in life, that He does not Appreciate success, but sees us try Despite our failures and gives the

Very things we cannot live without Like love and light and the life of Which we could not give ourselves A day if it were not for His giving.

Turn then like a flower to that One And find in Him what she found, a Hope to bring her out of despair, And a large, calm, bright pleasure.

14

O! How you look in your pale Greens and pretty pinks and in Your lazurous purples, in shades of Red, and in the blacks and blues.

O! How you sound, so small, the Little one, and yet how you can tell Off the high and mighty and pull The wrathful princes from thrones

That do not suit the men of great Aggrandizement today, moneyed And eyeful, driving desire ninety Miles an hour to hell all in a hurry.

O! How you sleep the sleep of White snows and princess beauties, Of little girls, of fragility and deep, Deep peace, as a world unto Him.

15

Sing the solemnity, sing the grace, Sing the procession to the basilica Of Guadalupe, the site of your dear Baptism, singular moment of your

Consecration, of your en-ownment By Him, of your making to Her Your first profession, and knowing Thereafter only what she wanted You to know. O! Sing solemnity!

16

You added the salsa, you added the Salt, you added the spice and sabor To me, salted me in love and then Peppered me with kisses and hope.

You put me up there in the stars And did not let me fall to earth, You said tell me the moon, so I told You, and when you asked, I did it

Again, told the moon to you, but Not for show but because you had Said that if I told you the moon You would tell me my own star.

That star you showed me a day Ago, near your moon, which shines Brighter, but by which it lays a line Of constellation with all the Heaven.

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O! Solemn the muse, but not too Somber, death cannot hold us, and There is joy in our solemnity with Her, the one who brought us here.

O! If you would! Tell all and tell All yet again and leave nothing that Is unsaid, leave nothing to chance And nothing to fate, but freely sing

Of the grace of ones above and Even with us here as we speak and Spell and tell the story of a love That has no other, and thus has all.

If truth be told, it remains true, but The truth untold is a fiction good For nothing. So say what you can, But sing the rest, singing for Her.

Sing to Her and of Her and do not Worry what others think, for there Are no others outside the circle of The church which she is building for

Those who would kneel, nay, must Kneel before crosses and altars and Before the image of one whom God Chose before time began to hold Him

Within Her womb and then give Him To us, just as He gave Her to nations, For the angels and for the saints, and For the glories in a vessel of most pure

Devotion, of the ark which bore more Than the manna and more than the law, Of the throne of the wisdom of the One Who is and Who still is coming today.

18

Beside still waters saints abide, And we stay and remain in our task Of life. O the poor, O the little Ones who depend, O sentiments

Of sentinels alert in the word of God, who have the mind of Christ And suffer with and in and through, For all the little ones. I am for you.

Sufferings of Job you read and Find the mystery of sin and pain And wonder, did God comprehend Him? Did God cause the trouble in

Life that all of us Jobs feel today? Let us say there is a higher reason And we do not suffer in vain or in Vanity but for His glory. Let it be.

Do not worry if God desires a pain For us, do not worry about whether God is good or the one all great Embracing principle. All in all.

For this all in all is purely good And does cause evil. That said, He willed the suffering of His Son And chastiseth all whom He calls..

Remember: God is LOVE, and is For us, and with Him for us, who Can be against us? No one, nada, Nothing besides. Evil may afflict

And afflictions of life are real, yet Our redeemer liveth, and the great Glory waiting for us outweighs far All the trouble of the world as it is.

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The One to come would have us as We are, in our need and pain and in Our afflictions, for remember, He Chose it for Himself. Thus, Life is

Good, and never to be forsaken. Find the reason to go on living, Not as if there is a purpose and Goal, which is mere art for arts

Sake, an aesthetic comfortableness To keep us from the hell of known And unknown fears and trials, the Tribulations all must suffer for the

Glory of God, but rather find the Real meaning of life, God and His Plan for you personally, for He is The reason for the way things are.

Despite sins and pain, we have our Lives and we have one hope, and One faith, and really our LOVE is Just one, in Him. Understand Him.

He would be loved. He is needed, Although most care not, know not, What they do, still there is a lack, Even when we have no task or no

Trials to endure, an emptiness that We know only God fills. O My God! If you would fill us with goodness, That you are, so that in humility and

In patience and in perseverance we May wait with joy and hope for the Revelations to come, declared in the Book, but soon to be disclosed for

All flesh to wonder, to fear, to awe Over, to welcome or not, for that Apocalypse we live, the unveiling Of the reason for our faith, the true

Word, which comprehends us and Wants to be understood. So, know Little one, that in your sufferings He and all His saints too endured.

20

You sit or recline, eyes almost Closed, resting your frame for Awhile, till the tasks of life call You away to work, to run, to do.

But in your quiet moment of rest, Beside the still waters of the one Love that we share in, know I think Of you, and I am with you always.

21

You have been on my mind this Morning, and no bird sang, but you Laughed when I called your name, And no phone rang, but love bells

Knelled, no deep tone, no dearth or Death, but a reminder to call us to Greater appreciation of the way we Love and what we may become.

What we are now we hardly know, So how would we know what we Will be? Yet we hope in the one Promise of peace. O sender of the

One peace that surpasses all of our Ability to understand, O, You, who Sent us, send to Marinela Sentinela A greater than hoped for blessing.

22

Oh my little one, wanting to go to Some place and to do some thing, You have found your miracle, you Have found life in all our living.

But what then is life? The poets ask. Happy are you if you are able to Spell the question, if God grants You the capacity for wonder at His

Great Gift of life itself, which has a Glory of its own, which has a truth Of its own, but for us, our lives are Only what He makes us to be, for

The glory that you do not see or seek Is what He will give, His own of His Very Self, His very own peace, His Very glory, the single love we live.

23

Little gifts all in a row, your words And smiles bring me like signs and The way to my home I hope to find, With you a place of rest and peace.

Perhaps the points along the way Are not so restful, not so filled with That peace we desire, but God gives Us this life as the way, not the goal.

The way itself is a gift, but the gift Above all others is God Himself, The Giver gives Himself, and we Feel we know already this is true.

For religion is a kind of feeling of Faith as much as an assent to truth, And we depend on Jesus and Mary As children on their very parents.

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O! The one life within us and Abroad! The poets cry, and find in Our lives one love unbreakable, an Unshattered, sheltering heart of

Being that is as much in the flesh As in a word, as much in the bread As in the light, as much in the true Smile of a child as in any teacher.

25

Time to go they say and you get up And make your way, but wait if You will, stay with me awhile and Hear the words I have for you,

Not so much have as do, as be or Become, a net work of words made Over by you, for you, inspiration of My songs without music or rhyme.

26

You, you did not say, you did not Say let me go, though I said that Much, and you, you stayed, though I might have wandered without.

Without you I am almost nothing, Next to nothing, but with you I Have a chance to win the light. You are so much you dont know.

27

O! Heavens above! The stars at Night told of a great day to come, But we saw beauty not futurity, Not knowing that moral beauty is

Even in the stars at night, in sun And moon and all Gods creation. Tell all of His one love for all His Creatures, His love for each and

Every star that he causes to burn in Empty space, though not empty, for There is the connection of star to Star that he makes for our benefit,

That we obtained in our own place That morning before dawn, that we Did stand and we did see, and knew That that was like the snowfall of

The day before, a Gift from God, Faintly falling, still falling faintly, White stars, whiter snow, words, His words whitening the world.

On a brighter day we might have Missed the meaning, though we Lived it, might have missed our turn. But today we knew without mistake.

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Absolutely, there is no more abyss That God did not cross for us in His Own Crossing, no pit that was dug That He has not filled for those

Whom He loves, Mountains He Makes easy hills to climb, and Beauty He sets on the pathways For us to Amen! And Amen! In

Adoring adornments and entertain And yet so great Truths placed for Us along the way. O! the saving Truth of grace, O! the one love He

Gives to those who gather the Fruits of the Spirit, the joy and Peace, in patience and self-control, In love not with imitation but with

One initiation into the life of God. We hold all dear: All things I hold For you in this cup of words, from Which I pour my heart toward you.

O! That the cup overflows right now So that you will hear the word of love He gave me to share, not to throw or Scatter, but in these our reconciliation.

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For anything bad there is Something that is good, but in Heaven there are goods without Any bad, and good without end.

Almost. He said I AM the limit, The beginning and the end of all. We know our limits and to be with Him we must complete our total.

We must live the numbers of the Stations of our path and I went From five to six to zero to one to Three and then four, I could tell

You, every number has a meaning, But only seven of them are most Important to us, and in stability at Our four square we will be taught

The truth of the Trinity and the all In all and the apocalypse and the Twelfth and the seventh Heaven, And what we hope for, this will be.

What we hope for is not a number, But the number is a sign standing For our reality, and numbers are the Structure of the world to come too.

We all want to make a name for Ourselves, and some do, and no One wants to be a number alone, Like a computation in the scheme

Of a world system that denies our Truth for a lie of its own making. Nevertheless, everyone has both a Name and a number. We are both.

The names may change and the Numbers, too, but there is a reality That is beside, underneath the signs And that is the direction of them,

All pointing the way to assist us in Our journey for arrival. The mere Indefinite is not a number, so the Deconstruction cannot be true

Truth is definite and can be Numbered, obeys limits, and does Not slip and slide, or grate, like Words, but tells shapes of things

We will become as we realize all The points at once, all the signs Of names, places and things at One, When we become in the all in all.

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Words ring in your mind and you Try to hold them fast, though the Thoughts slip away and words do Not hold like the feeling of you.

Yet go over the words again and Find a truth that may be what I Intended when I wrote them for You, or may be something else

He would have you to know, for He may well choose to convey More than I could ever know or Hope to know with my own words.

My own words? Like you, not Mine, not mine, but only for a time, As if they were mine, yet still in the Giving of them made real for you.

O! Marinela Sentinela, watcher of My life and of our life together, the One life lived for Them, you are so Much more than what you know

And so much more than words can Say, but He said seek and find, and In a way I have sought you all my Life, and whatever else I found I

Found after finding Him at least in All the seeking and finding I found You, found you for your truth I say, Your passion, complexity and grace.

And in all, your all in all, your great Simplicity, littleness, held in a single Compass, gathered all my feeling, as the Virgin she was the whitest winter.

Your passion may tire and life Itself seem too complex, but if you Make the simple effort as I know You always have and think you

Always will, then grace in your life Will not be lacking, and youll find The way, whether you know the Time or the place, your name or

Your number, for grace defines us, Perfects us and completes us, to be With Him in embrace, not a total Count in the making, the plus one.

Do not bother to add to your own Simplicity and littleness, do not Worry over issues or the problems Of the world, yet remain in it with

Hope, my sentinel, my witness for The witness, my Heaven sent in the Midst of my Apocalypse, a sender, An address, a destination, my little

All in all before the greater One to Come, where we will be found and Say no more, the work is done, the Truth is claro, perfecto, complete.