He stood at the well
and watched
the water
ascend
and splash him
in the face
and then all
over like grace.
He’s kidding, right?
That’s contrary to
nature.
Water doesn’t rise
except in a flood
to terrorize.
That’s according
to nature.
When
the waters of
baptism fall
the congregation
rises, everyone, all
to affirm
the supernatural:
Jesus went to the
dry, putrid pit
of Gehenna and
from it sprang
the fresh, living
waters
of restorative
justice. Yes,
that is what
God won —
for all.
And living water
springs out of
the well
for all.

He thinks about the image of
heaven he grew up with — a
place where those loved ones
who had died were then all

together again and he would
be there, too. His dad, who
departed early, his mom, who
did not but had not been

aware of grace even though
it surrounded her, but who
was then experiencing it. But
he saw all kinds of people,

people who had done their
best with limited resources,
people who had to scrape and
fight for every inch, not noble

people, not even particularly
ethical people and even some
particularly unethical, some
murderers, some perpetrators

of heinous crimes, many of
other religions other than
his, some with no religion,
everyone, in fact — all

loving each other and them-
selves and dogs and cats and
rats all loving each other
in a new heavenly earth. He

can’t take that image liter-
ally any more, but he likes
the imagery as metaphor and
he loves the inclusivity and

how mercy wins over judgment
and how God’s way of justice
and beating death is by lov-

ing life beyond death to life
and if someone wants to take
all that, and he means all
that loving and inclusivity

literally, well what’s the
harm? He only has trouble
when some who take it all
literally, literally exclude

whom God includes, which is
everyone and everything, too
because God redeems it all.

Does that excluding then ex-
clude the excluders or will
God’s inclusivity include
them, too?

That’s rhetorical — a clue.

“By 1921 (Alexandr) Blok had be-
come disillusioned with the Russian
Revolution. He did not write any

poetry for three years. Blok com-
plained … that his ‘faith in the
wisdom of humanity’ had ended.”

It’s a recurring theme. One need
not look as far as a revolution.
He stands on the bank and looks

across to the other side, to the
side he cannot see, to the graves
— one, a premature death by choice

and the other, a mostly unfulfill-
ed even bitter life, victim to
demons mostly unnamed, but, at

least, given a sliver of a glimpse,
these family, and so, so many others
having struggled only to succumb

without as much as that glimpse or
clue. Then he looks at his Choco-
late Lab asleep by the hearth,

a creature created for love and
who loves instinctively not ask-
ing for much, grateful for a

couple of square meals a day
and let out when nature calls.
It will be sad when the lab

succumbs and is turned into ash,
but not as sad as those in the
graves on the other side from

the bank on which he stands and
from which he continuously looks
but cannot see clearly.

He read a poem
comparing mid-
life to standing
on a mountain
top and looking
on down the line,
except he is .77-
777777 to infinity
there and is still
having a bit of a
time seeing the
end-line. Might he
be myopic so
sublime or just
can’t see the
forest for the
trees, to name
few, maple, oak,
beech and
pine?

He crossed the path in front
of the soldier.
“Hey, you, Yehudi boy, stop.”
He stopped, looked
and felt the back of the
soldier’s right hand pop
across his right cheek.
Knocked to the
ground, he heard,
“Bow before a soldier of
Caesar, your Savior and Lord.”
Returning the favor,
the lad rose, and offered
the soldier his other cheek
— a gesture brave and meek.
Without a weapon,
he stood his ground.
Only equals slap with an
open palm.
The soldier who would
slap with his right hand
raised his arm and
lowered it again
with seething calm.
The Jewish lad stepped aside
allowing the soldier to
pass and
attempt to regain his
false pride.
He let the soldier pass
without the obscenity
of a bow to Caesar’s
pride filled,
false divinity.
After the soldier had gone,
the lad looked around
at the peasants who
were grateful the lad
had stood his ground.

Send in the Clowns sang Judy Collins.

Apparently, they were all shipped to Maricopa County, AZ.

Can it get any crazier — whites, blacks, Latinos, sexism, racism, stupidity, maybe dementia (“I’m gonna throw myself out the window, except I’m on the first floor”), a whole lot of profanity, and, of course, endorsement of The Donald?

Don Harris, 77 year-old-white, yes, “white” director of Maricopa County, AZ, chapter of the predominately black NAACP, insults Latina reporter with sexist comment about what he deemed to be a particularly attractive part of her anatomy following interview about six white girls who drew instant infamy over high school photo spelling N-word.

On top of that Mr. Harris is a good friend of infamous for more than just pink undies (I don’t think he wears them but you would have to ask his wife, but in a racist publicity stunt made illegal immigrants wear them in jail), Maricopa County sheriff Joe Arpaio, child of immigrant Italians, who just endorsed The Donald, saying it was a “no brainer,” one commentator stating, “Indeed it was.”

http://www.thecoli.com/threads/phoenix-naacp-leader-in-trouble-after-he-says-nice-t-ts-to-reporter-outside-meeting.395353/.

Come on out, y’all to the Biggest Circus in the Southwest.

Bigger even than whatever they got goin’ in the great state of Texas.

Bob

The Franciscan monk looked to the
East and saw the “icon of icons,”
Jesus spread legged over hell pulling
One after another to safety. We like
To think that our salvation was assured
By a simple, little affirmation made
In junior high and as we grow older
And more cynical that “we four and
No more,” whoever the other three
May be, go to heaven after we die.
But Jesus stands over us and pulls us
Up out of the hell we have created,
Showing that hell is no more for we
Four, whoever the other three may
Be, and for all of creation forevermore
And eternity.

The pundits say
The Donald will still be
the main man
if all goes according
to his plan
and he
doesn’t stay
for the debate,
but maybe, just maybe
instead of the debacle
it surely would be
if his presence
we did see,
we saw an actual
debate
and The D
would be seen to be
what he actually is —
a petulant, school yard
buuulllyy.

The Golden Rule is a
nice starting place
for every creed and race
unless, of course,
a person is masochistic,
which would mean the
masochist was then sadistic.
Made him think of Steve Martin’s
sadistically insane
dissatisfied dentist to Bill Murray’s
masochistic patient who just
begged for more and more pain.
The scene makes a nice metaphor
for GOP presidential politics
where audiences just beg for
more and more
while candidates seemingly
just can’t
inflict enough pain.

Someone sent him an extended
definition of justice — from
the Greeks and Romans through
Christianity and the philosophers
up to today. He thought of the
simplicity of the Golden Rule and
how that is a pretty good starting
place unless one is masochistic.
He believes that all creation is
created by the intimate love of
God and deserves tender, loving
care. That’s his bias and when
individuals and groups and the
creation aren’t treated with that
tender, loving care, restorative
not retributive justice is
required and a lot of it ASAP.