I learned today
I share a birthday
with Saint John Eudes.
I never knew ‘dis
nor had I ever heard of
Saint John Eudes.
I saw a photo today
of Saint John Eudes.
He may have been a saint
but certainly not the cutest.
He may have been a nudist.
From such a sight may the saints preserve us.
He founded the Order of Our Lady of Charity
which she certainly must be.
If she ever saw him in his birthday suit,
she wouldn’t have told you or me.
Although, I think some heard her scream
as she did flee
from Saint John Eudes
with whom I share a birthday
and, I repeat, I never knew ‘dis.

.

I greeted the Chocolate Lab,
I greeted the azaleas and forsythia,
I greeted the dune grass,
I greeted the Norway Spruces, the red and white pines, 
     the hemlocks,
I greeted the fish in the pond,
I greeted the birds in the pines,
I greeted the clouds in the sky,
I greeted the sun beginning to peek through the clouds,
I greeted the wind in the swaying branches,
I greeted the sound of the surf,
I greeted silently the cyclists and joggers passing by my window,
I greeted silently the drivers of cars passing by my window
     (I asked them to slow down),
I greeted silently the garbage man as he stopped to pick up our 
     garbage and recyclables, 
I greeted my wife who gave me a kiss good morning, 
I greeted the Trinity spinning through my head and heart
     and through everything I see and hear,
I cannot be lonely.

*idea from a meditation by Richard Rohr

The Spirit went for a walk
through my life backward
not stopping to talk
but ever forwards only backwards.
Sophia stopped at all
the locked doors
up and down the hall
sometimes on all fours
to get a view through the peep hole
of the locked doors.
She would call to that within
in tender tones
and the locked door would open
and she would see the bones.
Giving the bones a hug,
the bones grew a heart
at which there was a tug.
Bones grew together and did depart.
Sophia went from door to door
until there were rattling bones no more.
I felt a tug at my own heart
and heard Sophia say,
“Well, kid, the house is clean
and you’ve been given a fresh start.”

We don’t choose family. As hard
as it is for me to say it, Donald
and I are brothers with Jesus
even as we brothers are sons

of God. We are related by the
relational will of God. Often, I
did not wish to be related to
my family, but we don’t

choose family. What binds
us together? Relational love
like — Father, Son, Holy Spirit,
Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer —

a glorious trinity of love —
often like enduring marriage
when the little idiosyncrasies
are about to drive you nuts,

but you endure and come out
the other side more loving than
before — like looking at what
the loving other has to endure

from you — like having that
person’s best interest at heart —
like how sometimes it must be
hard for Creator and Sustainer

to hear the wondrous wisdom of
Sophia and then realize how right
she is. And so, back to Donald,
I want more than anything for

him to be out of office for the
sake and safety of the rest of
the family and, as with any tough
love, in the big house instead

of the White House for him to
pay his dues for his behavior
and to come to terms with his
prodigal son life realizing

all the while, there go I but
for the grace of God. And,
hard as it is to say, we
just don’t choose family.

Is everything about the occupant of the White House wrong,
including his eating habits?  We know he loves Big Mac’s, fries

and diet Cokes. He likes his steaks well-done. And now we
find out for breakfast he likes medium bacon and well-done

eggs. Seriously? Maybe a Big Mac and fries once a year
just for the heck of it or for spite, if you just had a serious

disagreement with your primary physician about your
diet but never, ever a well-done steak if you are a

carnivore with any respect at all for the cow. Steaks start
at medium-rare and go rare from there. And breakfast?

It’s crispy bacon and eggs over easy not over hard eggs
and wet bacon. Right about now I’m lusting after al dente 

veggies and a great salad sprinkled with olive oil and
lemon juice to clean my palate not to mention my thoughts.

he set foot on the gigantic
plinths being used as an
art exhibit (permanent
he assumed)  boulders
progressed across
huge slabs of concrete
first one just touching
next then leaning against
next then just on top
next then lying flat on top
as if home
as if resting
as if sighing
as if embracing
he thought of family
he thought of teachers
he thought of so many
he ran out of time thinking
the guard
told him to jump down
and observe the plinths
from behind the ropes

He said that part of his physical
therapy is riding a stationary bike.
He has come a long way in
recovery since reality smacked
him right between the eyes
nine months ago about a
physical condition not
unlike the one that took his
mother’s life when she was
about his age. As he told of
his therapy, I recalled how much
he loved riding his bike, his
joy at winning his first ten-speed
in a contest, winning the sprint
triathlon (he was always good
and fast at short races.) and
then cruising up and down and
around the mountains of Colorado.
“So, your back doesn’t hurt when
you ride?” “No.” “Oh, this is a
gift.” “I know.” I said “You’ll
be back on the bike lanes in no
time,” then “I love you,” then
goodbye and hung up as I started
to cry.

I’ve been paying attention
to poetry and meditations
in my daily routine,
things online that I have seen.
but the federal government’s
constitutional craziness
keeps assaulting me
on the internet and TV.
I set my watch for ten minutes
of blessed peace and quiet
but bizarre images creep in
showing the orange-topped image of him.
Now, I’m really upset.
I have allowed the present
occupant of the White House
to invade my spirituality
and completely distract me.
And so, I offer a sincere prayer
of petition to the Lord,
“Please keep me from sin
and my desire to curse him.”
And the answer came lickety-split —
“To meditating just recommit
and, to save your sanity, don’t quit.”
And then in persistent meditative practice
I received enlightenment,
“Read the poems and meditations
and don’t lose heart.
The carrot-topped psycho will soon depart.”
At about the meditative minute eight
the blessed revelation came.
I gave thanks that the debauched bunch
will leave en mas
and that all this, too, shall pass.
However, given what I have been told,
I’ll just keep on keeping on
with my poems and meditations,
Lord willing, until I am very, very old.

When the seeker asked,
“What holds up the world?”
the seer said, “Seven elephants.”
“What holds up the elephants?”
“A large turtle.”
“What holds up the turtle?”
“A larger turtle.”
“What holds….”
“Stop! It’s just turtles
all the way down.”
“Is there no plinth —
a base so large and steady
that there is no need
for anything beneath?”
“Even plinths have to rest on something.
Turtles. It’s turtles all the way down.”
And that set the seeker’s head spinning
round and round and round
and then he, dizzy as a drunk, said,
“I think I’m onto something,”
to which the seer said,
“Of course, you are — turtles.”
And with that, the seeker stopped
seeking and climbed back down
the mountain, shaking his head
in bewilderment,
all the way down,
like a turtle.

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turtles_all_the_way_down.

In 1933, out of work with none in sight,
he went on the bum, hopping freights
around the country. Later on he shar-
ed some of his adventures and hinted
at some stories too awful about which
to speak. Later in 1933, he got a job as
a guide at the World’s Fair in Chicago.
He especially liked talking about Sally
Rand and her Fan Dance. He had an affinity
for railroad yards and railroad cars and
often would take me, his son, to the yard
restaurant for a hot, roast beef sandwich
with mashed potatoes and gravy during
which he would share stories about Sally
Rand and her Fan Dance. Once, right there
in the restaurant, he got up and imitated
the fan dance. He was the fan dance fan.
I think he could have talked forever about
Sally Rand and her Fan Dance except, that
is, around my mom.