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Gratefulness
This poem was written in 1996 for Br. David Steindl-Rast, after Br. David decided to stop teaching and return to a life of seclusion...
innumerable labors, causes, conditions have brought us this dancing prayer of a man, a monk, sometime hermit that some have called a priest now, he is sure to deny the latter, ever quick to point out — not a priest, a monk instead, and the differences are great yet, i have seen him give communion __as it was meant to be given __a priest of the wild _______the rebels __________the half forgotten edges breathing aliveness into dead and dying traditions hearing confessions of pain caused — pain felt a listening heart that mops up despair
on one summer evening near the full moon i saw him turn himself into a coyote he ran the grassy hills of the Big Sur causing mischief — as only coyotes can do
perhaps it was Spring and i saw him as a frog in Basho’s haiku calling everyone to attention with a single waters’ sound… asculta, asculta
once, i am quite sure i saw him as a small church mouse in the great jeweled temples chewing holes in the robes of the high priest making room for no-thing-ness then leaving small warm droppings on the cold marble floor
i was there when he became a jungle lion his passionate roars encouraged the hearts of the frightened striking fear in those that pretended strength
as a spider he spins word webs weaving fabric soft and strong as good for baby blankets as for work pants
reading poems the words roll thick with accent off his Austrian born tongue in perfect timing finding their way like arrows to the heart
no, he has never walked on water (besides, that has already been done) for i have seen him as very human ___naked and exposed ___the pain of personal struggle; anger; grief; loneliness serving only to lend greater confidence in the I-have-been-there-too truths he often speaks
no matter what projection ___devil or saint and no matter that I am still not sure whether I am seeing him, or the reflection of my self and shapeshift as he might ___his heart is always felt
gratefulness has new meaning
___an original drunk monk ______intoxicated ______with cup after cup of _________aliveness
Listen to/watch Steven Harper read his poem here.
Beloved, you know who I’m calling to, though I mistake you for the bird’s song,…
This was a day when nothing happened, the children went off to school without a…
You darken as my knife slices blushing at what you become. I save your thick…
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