Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Rejoices in My Portion

Wisdom has become a little used word. Knowledge on the other hand has become king. Our game shows reward for knowing things and then equating this knowledge with intelligence. The how to genre is one of the largest in the internet and bookstores. Yet, the art of living, the stock and trade of wisdom, goes ignored. We move to the new and improved and burn with the titillation of opening packaging or the dust of antiques as the prime mover for our lives. Meanwhile, our lives slip past us as if we were sound asleep. The attitude of life is elsewhere burns in us like charcoaled hotdogs and blacken all beef patties. What do? Cheap sentimentality? Hallmark lives of easy TV answers makes for a shoddy plastic bandaid to canyon wide wound. Maybe Wisdom wanders homeless on the streets looking for the next fix because we have lost love. Love, held hostage to the marketplace,  needs to be lived into and once bronzed into an idea to be sold on discount, becomes lifeless and while it retains the form of beauty, it blends all its color into a shiny orange metal. To live is to live face ti face, and risk being changed by the encounter. Happy are those that live in courage.

Below is hymn for my 30 to what St Paul talk about as the secret of being happy in having little and having wealth. 

Waters of Learning
-a love poem for my wife
Despise no man and deem nothing impossible; for there is no man who does not have his day and there is no thing that does not have its place. –Pirkei Avot

We live in the summer our love. The flowers
faded into fruit, young and green. The heat
makes for a cool Pinot sipped in the overhang where
breeze and shade dominate. The grill,
gritty from use, crackles with the next meat.

Friends, who live in the houses close to us,
sharing their children with ours. The lawn fills out,
and worms turn the soil, making the ground alive.
The golden Sauternes of memories adds
the intense taste of noble rot to the exchange
of stories. The cool mist of spring makes the drink
golden life a French country side in autumn.
Our boys and girls will turn into
men and woman together as we wrinkle.

Yes, in the ignored middle of life reclines
in circle layers, counting down the years: nine,
eight, seven, six and so on. We search
for Roman poets to reveal the truth. Some see our
lives as Hell, as if Hell were other people. No. Love
in the middle, like love in the beginning
and the end transforms the pain. Compassion
marks the middle. We still dance as our son
laughs. Gratitude. Yes, love says thank you.

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