Love Conquers Death

Love allows death no victory,

Though dead, we still see them everywhere;

Vividly alive in our memory,

Ever present in our heart, and always dear.

For instance, as I drift between wake and sleep,

I converse there, with my dear departed mother;

I smell her, and she holds me close, whilst I weep,

As we await a visit from my father, and my brother.

In fact, I just shared the secrets of my heart, with my old man,

To see him laugh and see him smile, is such a pleasure;

To share a beer, and feel the warmth of his old hand,

Would you believe it? All these years after his death, is quite a treasure.

Death would take the ones we love, away from here;

Love overturns death’s plan, and draws them near.


Return To Paradise

I wish you and I could live, once again, in Eden,

Where God and man did dwell together, before shame;

When innocence was lost, once pride had eaten,

And glory diminished—our appetites wild, and untamed.

Though we yearn for the peace of that place, and its purity,

God in his mercy, to the lost, offers good consolation;

For all who do trust in His Son, of a surety,

To Him are reconciled—and given the gift of salvation.

Dear friends, why then, in our suffering, do we remain?

Spending our time here, in endlessly trivial pursuit;

Seek Christ, and His power over our sins, to refrain,

And the lies of this world, to refute.

Let us dedicate ourselves to this, God’s pleasure;

That we should dwell again, as His heart’s treasure.


The Natural Wisdom of Children

The Natural Wisdom of Children

I often reflect upon the humorous and pithy schoolyard sayings of my childhood. Many of them were brilliant one-liners that could pack a punch in an argument, and yet also could make you laugh. And they were tough comebacks, which gave your assailant little to say in response. In addition, they often rhymed and were also a lot of fun to say. For example, try saying this one: “I’m rubber and you’re glue, what you say bounces off me and sticks to you!”

It provides a funny visual image, of your attacker’s words flying through the air, bouncing off your forehead or belly, or whatever piece of anatomy you choose, and then twirling back and smacking your accuser right between the eyes. But it also expresses a powerful truth about accusations in general; that very often the person who is making the accusation is actually guiltier of what they are saying, than you are. It is a simple child’s statement that reveals the deeper psychological phenomena of ‘projection’, which most of us today have heard of and know a bit about.

Projection is a common human tendency to ascribe to other people the things within ourselves that cause us discomfort or shame. It is a defense mechanism, which people employ to shift the blame they feel, outward, to make themselves feel better, to shift attention away from themselves towards others, in order to find peace and freedom from the uncomfortable feelings they have inside themselves, which they aren’t able to deal with in a healthy way.

Another great saying we often used as kids, which also expresses an understanding of human projection was: “It takes one to know one!”  This little statement could stop bullies in their tracks, back in the day. It immediately put them on the defensive, and I remember the joy I felt as I watched them struggle to come up with their next line of attack, after I threw that little gem at them. Sure, it was a bit childish, but we were children!

In today’s world, accusation, slander, and shaming are rampant, and they are all practiced with dizzying regularity, in order to stop debate and make people stay silent. And of course, to make the ones lobbing the accusations feel better about themselves, in classic projectionist fashion. And these accusations are made with such regularity and such predictability that they are losing all meaning, and are themselves very childish. Take for example a recent accusation by a sitting Prime Minister, that a member of the Canadian Parliament was a Nazi sympathizer, however, she herself is a Jewish woman. So a Jew is accused of being a Nazi. Yes, this is the level of intellect that we have sunk to.  Or another example, which actually happens quite often now: a black person is accused of being a ‘white supremacist’. That actually defies logic, and is laughable; but then, most of these things do, and are, nowadays.  

So what can an intelligent, rational person do to defend themselves against these rampant childish attacks? What can we say in our defense, when they inevitably will call us a ‘racist’! The favorite accusation du jour. It makes no difference to these folks that we have been friends with people of other skin colors since we were kids together on the playground, and we are still friends with them now, and we work together, and we eat together, and we confide in one another, because we love one another. Nevertheless, we are still ‘racists’!—if we don’t say what our accusers want us to say, or do what they want us to do.

First, we must remember that they are most likely projecting their own racism upon us. They are the actual racists, and not us. Keeping that always in mind, the next thing to do is to pull out a time-tested, tried and true response. It will be difficult at first to use it, because we are nice people, and we don’t want to hurt anyone, but it is necessary. These crazy, immature accusations must be stopped! We must fight fire with fire! So, the next time somebody calls you a racist, this is your response: “I know you are, but what am I?!”


I’m A Fickle Man

Lord, take me to a place I do not know,

A land where noble thoughts and godly deeds, do grow;

Yet, I fear that when your messengers come to take me,

From my pleasures and my comfort, they’ll need to make me.

Entrenched complacency, calls upon your force majeur,

To free me, for I doubt my own resolve, to abjure;

In my poverty, I desire the treasures on Your better shore,

To the riches upon this shore, which make me poorer.

Come swiftly then, please do not hesitate!

For this world, myself included, I do berate;

In this moment, now is ripe, as I’ve repented,

And the next one, may undo all I’ve intended.

It’s Your grace that gives us visions, for what is better;

Yet, earthly men, we have a taste, for what is bitter.


The Silent Conversation

On a cold winter’s eve,

sat a young man,

with his old man,

upon the fallen leaves.

At the pond’s end,

watching the sun set,

through bare tree limbs,

the young man, began:

“Dad, why does the sparrow die?

And why do the missiles fly?

For what, must this world sigh?”

“Son, your age I saw the sparrows fly,

before I felt the world’s cry,

when still, the sun shone in the sky.”

“No Dad. I feel our world’s violence.

Mine’s not an age of innocence.

Here, dark night has its influence.”

“Son. True, the world’s evidence,

show evils in preponderance,

yet still, believe God’s providence!”

A winter’s chill,

blew through his bones,

as evening turned to night.

The light of day,

with grace, gave way,

to silver-tinted starlight.

“Oh Dad, I fear my heart goes sinking,

when in this life, the truth is blinking,

the eyes and ears for love, are shrinking.”

“Between the folds of shadows creeping,

dear truth, and love, is there for reaping.

Son, make this the goal, of your soul’s seeking!”

“This life I fear, is that goal’s brevity,

Dad, goodness drowns in mindless levity.

What hope is there, of man’s insensitivity?”  

“Son, your hope and joy, and life’s serenity,

bound in the bright folds of life’s Divinity,

are found in the heart, of your sincerity.”

The young man,

sat in silence thinking,

within his soul,

sang silent weeping.

He loved these talks,

with his old man,

yet missed the warmth,

of his kindly hand.

Their time together,

now a heartfelt prayer,

sweet memories of,

when Dad was there.


Ebb & Flow

I reach out to touch,

and to be touched,

my eyes search,

to be moved,

and I feel,

for a moment,

and then nothing,

fighting back terror,

by my grasping to hold,

by making myself heard,

by a world that is moving,

but isn’t listening,

that’s too busy,

to hear,


too busy,

to hear you,

as you speak,

and as you grasp,

for something to hold,

for someone to touch,

to fight back the terror,

of the moments without feeling,

of the feeling of nothing,

so we search and,

we grasp and,

we hope to,

be moved,

as our lives,


and flow,

using our time,

and losing our time,

until it is our time,

to go.


A Quiet Place

There is a quiet place within you, that place where only you can dwell. Nobody else lives there, but only you. From within this place, your heart, comes forth everything that you are—all the good, and even all that is not so good; all that you want to be, all that you are glad that you are, and even that which you’d like to hide, or that which you hope to change. But who truly knows this place within themselves, and who understands it? Who has plumbed its depths and can say they’ve seen its bottom; or who has traveled to its horizon and seen its end? Have you traveled the depths and breadth of your own heart, or is it still a mystery to you? Are you not a mystery to yourself? How remarkable that your very essence is an enigma, even to yourself. How then can we hope to know ourselves (not to mention truly knowing another; that must be a leap akin to climbing to the stars); what light will cast into the deep shadows which conceal the truth of your being, and expose it all? Must we stumble through the darkness of unknowing, as we stumble through our life? Or shall we even go so far as to allow others to tell us who we are; or let others tell us what to think, how to act, what to say, and how to feel?

Descending into the place of your heart is a threatening journey; it is a lonely path, and an adventure that requires some courage, determination, hope, faith and love. We must not lose hope in the discovery of ourselves; we must not lose courage in the journey that is true; we must never grow complacent and let others live our life for us. Life is magnificent and it is yours! Your own heart is a world unfathomable, the bounds of which you will never know; it is a universe of possibility and potential. There is great hope for all who enter here. There is no room for jealousy, not at all, for what has anyone else that you don’t have? You have a universe entire, in your own heart, which to explore and to discover, and which you will never fully know. Mystery will lead to greater mysteries; answers will lead to greater questions; discoveries will lead to greater experiences. And all of this unfolds the beauty and truth of God, who comes to dwell in your heart and He illumines it as you seek to know its contents.

That which was dark becomes lit from within; that which was unknown becomes known; you become less a mystery to yourself and you begin to know…to know who you are. To know who God is—all of mankind, all of creation emanating from Him, created by Him, and knowable through Him. There is a quiet place within you; a place where only you can dwell. Yet, in this place there is another—it is the place where you’ll encounter, the One who is our Creator.  


The Plight of The Mosquito

I am a lowly creature,

despised by many,

I transmit disease,

which can cause death.

Please let me live,

I want to breathe,

don’t crush me,

I want to live.

I am a lowly creature,

despised by many,

I transmit disease,

which could cause death.

Please let me live,

and let me breathe,

no mask or vaccine,

just leave me be.

I am a lowly creature,

despised by many,

I fear disease,

which could cause death.

Please let me live,

just wear my mask,

take my vaccine,

let me live in peace.

All lowly creatures,

just want to breathe,

to not be crushed,

and allowed to live.

We poor mosquitos,

despised by our neighbors,

for simply living,

for simply being.


The Masterpiece

We are living inside a masterpiece. And even that word doesn’t begin to describe this creation of which we are a part. The beauty, the synchronicity, the totality of even one moment, in one place, in one small sliver of this overwhelmingly vast world, could never be described and is possibly too much for us to handle. I find it easier to look at, or listen to the master-works of art contained upon a canvas with paint, perhaps by Nesterov, or to listen to a symphony, possibly by Tchaikovsky; yet even then, sometimes I feel awestruck—which is a feeling verging upon fear. I ask myself, how can such sublime creations exist? But to escape from these small confines, from a canvas made up of only so many square inches, or from a symphony composed of some finite number of minutes; what then, of this world which surrounds us, which transcends every limit that man can place upon it? And let’s not even mention, or consider the limitless worlds beyond our own, the entire universe of which our world is only a smallest part. If we did, would our minds not explode for trying?

Who could ever capture with paint the varied colors and expressions of all of these things simultaneously, for example: that mass of clouds in the east, peeking over the mountains, all aflame with light as if erupting from within, and the depths and variety of grays and whites shimmering in the sky to the west, shimmering and yet also subdued, muted, with blue skies subtlety and surprisingly peeking from behind the darkened clouds, and the water which is silver and golden too, and then it becomes rose-colored, and then purple, finally, but never finally, shifting into blues of every tint and variation.

The air all around us, which makes up the canvas and the paint through which we have our being, is fresh, and suddenly hail falls from the sky, and then rain, and then the sun casts light through the clouds, with tiny rainbows filling the golden and misty air. I am only one little person speaking of only a few moments from one little day. Other people could also tell of many other things, about these very same moments. What composer could write the accompanying score for this visual performance? With the sound of the rain falling, and then the hail, while the wind blows. But there is an infinity more of which to speak: animals, so many and so varied, add to this spectacle, which is already beyond description. Cormorants complain about the new arrivals to their piers, upon which they perch. Seagulls ask for a meal. Seals and sea lions, and all kinds of fish swim beneath the waves, and some of these poke their heads up through the water’s surface, adding to our experience of this masterpiece of color, and sight, sound, and smell, and touch, and taste…

And behind all of this there is also the breath of life, the pulse of existence, the music of the spheres, and the stillness of creation. How can we speak of these which animate our world but go largely unperceived? One cannot speak of all that exists even in just this simplest moment. I try to open myself to perceive and to understand all of this, and my mind resists me, preferring a more mundane perception. There is no time to be bored, or to waste; there is no home for despair. And yet, it can be unsettling to push, or pull, or open our mind, to allow ourselves to see the truth of the masterpiece in which we exist. Often we prefer our little world of petty disturbances. And yet, in the blink of an eye, by simply desiring it, we can see beyond ourselves, and then…just look to God’s creation, and allow yourself to become reborn in His likeness. We can learn from the creation and allow ourselves to be remade like it; leaving the ugliness of mankind behind us, and never looking back (God willing). We are living in the midst of a sublime masterpiece, let us have the courage and desire to open our senses, and experience the awesomeness of it all!


A Falling Rain

Rain falling on a pond;

tiny droplets dancing circles across its face.  

A silver sheet reflecting the gray sky, broken;

my dreams hidden beneath the sheen. 

I leave man’s world struggling in eddies behind me;

swirling in circles of its own. 

Peace speaks the silence that is born;

in deep dreams rising from this dawn. 

In my heart awakening from its sleep;

I taste the sweet rain falling.