stone doorway with lightBorrowed Things

Sometimes you have to get mad
In order to find
You have to come to
The end of yourself,
Try to focus on only the good.

My son says,
“I love you, mama.”
In whispers and many kisses.

In my absent sister’s eyes
There are sunflowers
And faint chive rings
Deposited by mother.

Once I knew my friend
Very well.

Still then,
Sometimes you have to get mad
In order to find
You have to go
All the way down
The garden path
Where Lightning meets
‘Till nothing is left
Of the illusion you fancy as “you”
When the one image you are made in is gone
When the one likeness
Cannot be found
When the teacher you depend on
Is missing
And you are left fully alone
‘Till nothing is left
But borrowed pieces of you
A remnant
Of what you believed your hopes could be
And then
You have to go
Even deeper still.
You have to unearth Mama’s Monarch
You have to access the Irises of daddy
You have to trace the lines of both dates
With your bare hands
To believe it.
You have to let these moments cut you.
Again and again
And again.
I got mad at
Him today
I needed to be
I needed sound advice
I needed a good, strong rebuke
I tried everything to reach
Asking in prayer, pleading,
Meditating on “happy things”
Saccharinely sweet, happy things,
Went through the gamut
Of every kind of suggesting, cajoling,
Blaming Him for not protecting me better
Even tried using
His words back at him.
It is written:
“Fathers do not provoke your children…”
I think sometimes
He waits to see
Just how far we’ll go
Out to pasture
Before carrying us back into the fold.
Beyond provocation,
I finally gave up.
Took a hot shower
Had a long soak
Then I started singing myself
Literally, out of the
Sadness lifted like an overcoat
That had been weighing me down.
I found Him
There, within the borrowed music
A sliced flame
Of current.
Music is the highway
Ushering in the Magnificent
In music
There are two fountainheads
So one must discern wisely which to choose
In order to remain & soar
Within the beneficial.
In music
There is a premise
Of inclusion
Two shoulders
Two trees
Two wells
A double feast
Ah, but only one
Scroll of Remembrance.
Sometimes when you’re in the midst of storms
It’s hard to remember
Where to start
It’s hard to remember to sing
Or sleep
That’s why
Sometimes you have to get mad
In order to find Him.
Today I would’ve clipped off my consciousness
Had it not been tethered, allocated
Between this spirit and soul.
Today my spirit was like the head of an axe
That had slipped off into deep waters
While building others’
But He found me
Drowning beneath the weight of it all
And forced me to swim
Lassoed me to the surface
By Mercy’s loving hand.

Who are we
That He regards
Even the borrowed things?