Flying in circles,
Spiraling down,
Headed straight
For the barren ground.
Screaming for my god
To save me today.
If only have mercy,
A bit of grace.
I see the red flags
Following me.
Everyone knows
My mind tends to flee.
Can you see the remnant
Of my failing try?
Can you see me fall
From up on high?
I’m headed down
To the barren ground,
To dig me a hole
And never come out.
Bell ring sound thing but how ding dong
Do you think I’m able to drink from the
Fountain of mirth slow table so search
Drab covers hide glad tidings minuet so
Delve into duty with one foot on the base
Careful one means cautious two for you.
So much to chat about but not the will to
Chat. How was yours? Mine was fine.
Hope you are well. Being well is half the
Battle. Sometimes soft, soothing songs.
Sloping down and then back up, like a speeding truck, I am searching for your love. Transubstantiate, lift then push, then go all out, a mystery solved, doubts soothed, memories calmed, nightmares called what they are. Do you dream at night? I do. I fly through the sky on my back, steering with my feet. Trial size.
Sharing smothered thoughts,
Restricted feelings abound.
Hesitation rules the imagination,
Hiding from the truth,
Although it tortures me.
Yearning for stability,
Some kind of consistency.
If only I could have it both ways!
Breaking the ice
Is a tricky thing.
I ask you,
How are you?
I introduce myself.
I ask you
What you do and
Where you’re from.
But do I wonder
How you’ve been hurt,
Or what your dreams are?
Do I ask
What is most
Important to you?
Do I wonder
Who and what you love?
I do wonder these things,
But do I say so?
Not usually.
We tend to stick
To the superficial,
Not daring to ask
What really matters.
We play the game.
But I want to know
Who you really are.
I don’t care
What you do
For a living.
Not much, anyway,
Unless it is
Your dream job.
So let’s start over.
Reveal to me
Your heart.
Tell me your secrets.
Thunder crashes,
Lightning flashes,
Mother Nature
Says hello.
In my quiet home,
I sit absolutely still,
And watch
And listen to the rain.
Funny how,
Sometimes,
Life can be so peaceful,
And yet, so full of tension.
We fight against
The coming tide
Of life as usual, that is,
Pain and struggle
To overcome
The challenges
That come before us
On a daily basis,
All the time
We seek to draw
Strength
From deep inside,
From an endless
Flowing river
Of peace
And tranquility.
And yet,
Sometimes,
That river of power
Becomes blocked
By worries,
By doubts,
By discouragement.
It is in those times
Of difficulty,
If we are wise,
We stop and watch,
And listen
To the thunder
Of holiness,
The lightning
Of sacrifice,
And the merciful
Raindrops
Of ever flowing,
Beautiful Grace.
When we do this,
Our hearts,
Our minds,
And our bodies
Become renewed
With a wonderful
Power of light
And blessing.
We can look
Our pain and struggle
In the face again,
And smile.
Thunder crashes,
Lightning flashes,
Mother Nature
Says hello.
In my quiet home,
I sit absolutely still,
And watch
And listen to the rain.
Funny how,
Sometimes,
Life can be so peaceful,
And yet, so full of tension.
We fight against
The coming tide
Of life as usual, that is,
Pain and struggle
To overcome
The challenges
That come before us
On a daily basis,
All the time
We seek to draw
Strength
From deep inside,
From an endless
Flowing river
Of peace
And tranquility.
And yet,
Sometimes,
That river of power
Becomes blocked
By worries,
By doubts,
By discouragement.
It is in those times
Of difficulty,
If we are wise,
We stop and watch,
And listen
To the thunder
Of holiness,
The lightning
Of sacrifice,
And the merciful
Raindrops
Of ever flowing,
Beautiful Grace.
When we do this,
Our hearts,
Our minds,
And our bodies
Become renewed
With a wonderful
Power of light
And blessing.
We can look
Our pain and struggle
In the face again,
And smile.
Sometimes I freak when I go to church. When you step into a church somehow you feel like you should be on your best behavior. That’s not really a Godly feeling or sentiment, since I believe that God accepts us exactly as we are, wherever we are, but that is how I was raised. In fact, growing up, my mother was ruthless in spurring me and my brother to get ready and stop goofing around on Sunday morning. What was important was looking good by being on time, behaving well, answering questions intelligently and in a spiritual way—basically, putting on a front. Lord knows my family was falling apart at the seams in every way, with my grandmother passing away, my parents’ separation and eventual divorce, and my mother’s undiagnosed mental illness. All was not well in the Bowman household. And those feelings come back to me today as I step through the doors of a church, any church, even one as positive, inclusive and accepting as mine. I wonder what deviant thoughts people suspect me of (well, actually, I am quite the skeptic), what deviant acts I am guilty of that separate me from other Christians and from God, what rebellion I am in that alienates me from the same. Going to church is something I want to do, but at the same time, I do struggle with these things every time, and it compromises my experience on the whole.
Sometimes I freak when I try to pray. Yes, God and I are not on the best of terms—haven’t been for a long time. In fact, except for when I pray with others—my wife at the dinner table and the occasional attempt at a weekly prayer partnership, my male prayer partner, something I initiated this year as an attempt to get closer to God because of my lack of an intimate relationship, and the occasional prayer with my Sunday School class and with the congregation in the sanctuary—I am not on speaking terms with God. I know after that enumeration of instances it doesn’t sound bad, but I guess I am a perfectionist, and I realize how far I am from any kind of daily routine which would bring me into any kind of genuine intimacy with God. Being alone with God is a frightening experience for me. Feelings of emotional and physical abuse from childhood along with visions of an angry Yahweh of the Old Testament conjure a being to be faced that is not the loving, caring Jesus that spoke to the disciples in the upper room that fateful night and told them that when we see him we have seen the Father, because he and the Father are one. When it’s just me and God (and I have to admit it is always the vengeful Father that I envision in my mind, not the gentle Jesus), I just freeze up. Gone are the soothing thoughts of “come to me ye who are weary, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light”. Instead it is a booming God that stares down at me and demands to know every sin I have committed and has come to punish me for them in some crazy sadistic way that makes me cringe and from which I yearn to escape. Not a great relationship, obviously.
Sometimes I freak when I open the Bible. I’ll admit, it’s intimidating. Yes, there is a lot of wisdom there. Yes, I believe it is divinely inspired. Yes, I believe there is potential for healing, instruction, direction, inspiration, grace, forgiveness—all that. But you know what else there is? God. He is there, waiting, behind those words. For what? I don’t know. But the potential scares me. I have read the entire Bible many times over, and if there is one thing I know for sure, there is power behind those words. And the thought of being overpowered, perhaps in a scary way, is what keeps me from those words. I have been overpowered, many times, in absolute terror, and I have run from figures of authority, figures who were supposed to be trustworthy caretakers, symbols of love and support, that have turned on me like a viper lunging for its prey. Is God like that? My intellect tells me no, but my heart, and my body, are not so sure. After all, if humans, blood, family, can be tyrannical, how much more can God? And there is something else—God is all powerful. Do I want to surrender myself to an all powerful tyrant? Do I want his thoughts to be my thoughts? No, not by a long shot.
drumming so slowing so coming be something
looking so screaming so crawling so being
drinking so lifting so splitting so changing
coming through something closes in and
then a truth breaks free, breaks in, breaks down
barriers are buried and sticks in the mud
are pulled out. so what’s the truth? is there
such thing as truth? is there anything true?
anything trustworthy? is there anything safe?
anything worth investing our lives in?
is there anything worth living for?
can we trust ourselves to make a sound
and clear judgement? is that possible,
in these times? can we break free of media
bombardment and peer pressure?
what other factors cause us to twist our
values, change our minds, compromise our
priorities? where is your heart?
there is your treasure.
Stumbling along the sidewalk 