“Apothic must be a made-up
word, but then again, aren’t they
all and all so metaphorical —
beautiful, stunning, gorgeous?
Actually, the wine is better than
good. It is beautiful and rather
stunning — like you, dear, like
fine wine, like just the right
simile, the right metaphor —
apothic. That is what you are,”
he said to his wife as he lifted
a glass in her direction,
itself a symbolic gesture,
another approximation, another
hint.

He walked to the beach
inhaling the salt air then
a strange cold west wind.

A benevolent autocrat is no better
than a malevolent autocrat in
leading the nation as a Republic

of, by and for the people and any
billionaire is by definition an autocrat
who only dictates answers because

he, and it is mostly males, has been
seduced by his money into thinking
he, and it is mostly males, must direct

what is going on rather than listen,
listen, listen, consult, consult, con-
sult and then, and only then, make

decisions judiciously and not arbitrar-
ily as if by fiat. Love of money corrupts
just as much as power corrupts, and

billionaires’ money corrupts the most
even with the correct ideology. Their
ears close, eyes close, minds close

and only they have the answer, in
their own minds inflated by self-
importance because they made

money which in our economic system
elevates a person’s importance to that
of demigod. Listen to their language;

they dictate because that is what they
do as founders, owners and CEOs.
We’ve got one of those right now

and how well is that going?

They sold their soul after the Civil War
greedily for more and more and more.

Instead of staying with Abe
they looked for the money to be made.

Aligning themselves with the rich,
they threw the masses into the ditch.

They say that Capitalism raises all boats,
but 99% are with alligators and snakes in moats.

Around GOP economics vultures swarm
while Republicans keep power and disinform.

Holy Writ says you can’t serve God and mammon.
This is their hell while they proclaim it is heaven.

While Abe rolls over in the grave,
he calls for America to keep the faith, stay brave,

promote the general welfare, live abundance for all.
There is no actual scarcity and, hopefully, their
policies will fall,

so vote, vote, vote before over the Republic’s
coffin, we pull the pall.

From secular to sacred: “We watch and wait for a holiness to heal…and hallow….*
In darkness, we wait for the light to expose that which does bore and hollow.

*Frederick Beuchner, The Clown in the Belfry

A young woman was really upset. Being
quite the lover of the out-of-doors, she

had hiked many of the US’s great trails
to the extent her friends dubbed her “The

Great Rolling Stone.” Unfortunately, her
boss said there was a crisis at work and

she had to cancel her plans to hike an
anticipated section of the Appalachian

Trail. Her sometimes clueless boyfriend,
trying to be helpful and lift her spirits

suggested she try a different sport where
work wouldn’t get in the way. He told her

the following pun: A fellow named Stone
loved bowling more than life itself. As a

result, he was perpetually unemployed.
I guess that means that a bowling Stone

gathers no boss. She said, “Excuse me for
a moment.” She left and came back with

one of her well-worn hiking sticks and
presented it to him. “What’s this for?”

he asked. “It’s a metaphor,” she said.

He vacillates between optimism 
     and cynicism like his Chocolate 
          Lab between his mistress’ slice 

          of pizza and his master’s. He 
     doesn’t equate optimism with 
hope. Optimism is based on 

seeing things that encourage. 
     Hope is sometimes blind with 
          an innate assurance that there 

          is something at work in it all 
     for the good, which blossoms 
into faith. Because there isn’t 

much out there about which to 
     be optimistic, he slips easily into 
          cynicism like his dog after the 

          pizza. He has yet to slip into 
     despair which is where you 
go when hope is hopeless 

and faith is folly. He breathes 
     a sigh of relief, “Kyrie, aye, 
          aye, aye.”

Self-correction is a most important action,
but sometimes it takes considerable education
and a desire for a different kind of relation
to the loved one who sees continuing disruption.

She said, “Your apologies have lost credibility
because you never change your behavior-ability.
The definition of insanity reveals your culpability.
It’s doing the same thing over and over again foolishly

expecting over and over very different outcomes,
so, repent, say you’re sorry, stop sitting on your thumbs
and change before our relationship to death succumbs.”
He got the message, changed and their relationship now hums
(at least for awhile).

And so it is with all relations,
even and especially for presidents of nations.

A man’s twin brother was quite taken
with body image. As time passed, he
grew somewhat thinner. The man,
worried about him and wanting to nip

a potential problem in the bud, consult-
ed the beloved but very old and somewhat
doddering family physician. The physician
stated that while he was no expert in

eating disorders he did love puns and
thought he had just the right one. The
physician said that humor is sometimes
the best medicine. So the man, who

knew that his brother at one time had
been quite taken with Eastern religions
especially Hinduism, decided to tell
his brother the following even though

he remained a bit skeptical: Mahatma
Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot
most of the time, which produced an
impressive set of calluses on his feet.

He also ate very little, which made him
rather frail and, with his odd diet, he
suffered from bad breath. This made him
a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by

halitosis. The brother looked daggers
at the man, stuck a Listerine breath
strip in his mouth and rushed from
the room. The man assumed that that

had not been very helpful even though
it was a pretty funny pun. The next
day after a family conference, they
decided to retire the beloved family
physician.

Traveling south he and his wife
stopped in the once small city

where it all started. At the motel
he was told  that the city had

gone through unbelievable growth.
He took his wife on a trip into his

past, just a kid out of seminary,
taking a position as a campus

minister at the local university,
his late wife and his year-and-

a-half-old baby boy, a new state,
a different culture. The road in

from the Interstate was, indeed,
filled with many, many chain

restaurants but it was remarkable
how the town square had not

changed in fifty years except every-
thing was more spiffy, some of the

same shops (the movie theater
where he saw Dirty Harry, the pool

hall where he drank beer and shot
pool) and, of course, the same

churches where he had preached —
Episcopal, Presbyterian, Christian

(Disciples of Christ). And the university
where he plied his newly crafted trade

as a wet behind the ears preacher
speaking out against the war in

Viet Nam and for civil rights and
and the art department where he

would pick up his late wife from
her classes from which she would

graduate with honors after putting
together all the credits she had

from all the other colleges she
had attended and was so reluctant

to compile afraid of the grades
that weren’t so sterling. Back

at the motel he got really weepy
not so much in sadness as in lost

and found. It was over fifty years
ago and he was sure no one recalled

that he had been there then, but he
had been there and as his insightful

wife said, “It is where you got your
start and you will never lose that.”

From two pews back I, a visitor,
watched the two identical toupees
right next to each other. We had
gathered for Sunday worship in

the inclusive, open and affirming
congregation. Right then and there
I decided I would look for those
two toupees during coffee hour

after worship hoping they would
be there. I found them; I went
around to catch a view from the
front and saw two elderly male

faces under identical toupees.
I just had to talk with them. They
were a couple for forty years and
just two years ago were married

in this church. They owned a floral
shop and were beyond  retirement
age but weren’t sure what to do.
They loved the shop but knew they

couldn’t keep it up for much longer.
With no children and few relatives,
they wondered what to do with any
proceeds from the sale after they

put away enough to assure their per-
sonal solvency. I said, “Well, there
comes a time to find new adventures
or dig into that bucket list. You don’t

know what tomorrow might bring.
If you wait too long, everything could
go bust.” To help them consider this I
told them this pun: A group of friars

was behind on their belfry payments,
so they opened up a small florist shop
to raise funds. Since everyone liked to
buy flowers from the men of God, a rival

florist across town thought the competition
was unfair. He asked the good fathers to
close down, but they would not. He went
back and begged the friars to close. They

ignored him. So, the rival florist hired
Hugh MacTaggart, the roughest and most
vicious thug in town to persuade’ them to
close. Hugh beat up the friars and trashed

their store, saying he’d be back if they
didn’t close up shop. Terrified, they did
so, thereby proving that only Hugh can
prevent florist friars. Fast forward four

years — the guys sold the floral shop,
made a significant contribution to their
beloved congregation, traveled as they
pleased and then died within a week of

each other. They had a joint funeral
at the church and everyone said they
looked so very handsome in their
twinsie toups.