Hammock Dream

In a hammock side by side,
Head to toe, toe to head
Watching you watching me.
Speaking of hopes, dreams, you.

Touching your foot, ankle, calf.
Your soft, sheathed strength beneath my hand.
You ask a question. I smile: "no".
It doesn't matter where we go.

Anniversary

My dad died a year ago yesterday. Thinking it would weigh hardest on my mother, I made plans to spend my day with her...you know, to help her through it. But she was having none of it. She spent her day busy with her normal activities and then when she came home she went to her room, turned out the lights and laid on my father's side of their bed. I went in and spoke with her for a few minutes until she made it clear that it was time for me to leave. She spent her time that evening with her beloved, shedding tears, talking to him, dreaming of them together, waking and remembering. I was not necessary or wanted.

So I went out with a friend. But after that was over and I was driving home I felt the weight of my father's loss pressing on my soul. So I went home, turned out the lights and like my mother, talked to my dad. And later, when I fell asleep I dreamed of both of them with me, laughing.

I don't believe you lose your loved ones when they die - they just move. As one day we will too.

Surprised

I was surprised by beauty again, today.
Though I did not see you,
nor did I feel the press and warmth of your hand.
You are so very far away.

But the beauty in your voice
and the grace of your spirit
surprised me anew.

I'm not sure why you hold my gaze so.
Except that in a life of tumult and travail,
where no one is certain and nothing lasts,
you seem truer, more constant.

You shine brighter,
piercing the darkness with your spirit.
And surprising me again and again.

I am grateful that here and now I
know you and am known by you.
And in the knowing can be surprised.
And in being surprised, find joy.

Known and Knowing

For my friend.

It is a strange thing to know a person

and stranger still to be known.

Undressing our fears and faltering hopes.

Admitting weakness and selfish intent.

Stripping away all artifice,

all the perfumed unguents with which
we disguise our souls.

To reach out across the chasms that separate us.

Alone in our mountain redoubts, safely dead.

To touch, to grasp, to cling

For to slip is to fall and in falling we are lost.

Kathleen Carter's Limerick in Honor of Dragonhood

There once was a Big Scary Dragon
Who drank Bintang from a Flagon
The Dragon, who died,
made all of us cry.
And a week later had us all gaggin'.

Ode to Karen on the date of her birth.

Oh Karen! Mighty Twin!
It is your birthday once again!
Your age advances as does the regard
of those who fell for you so hard.

Oh Karen! It is thee we beseech
because you are a helluva peach.
We lift our glasses to toast you on high,
it is your praises that we do cry.

Oh Karen! Sister of noble Kathleen,
who looks so much like you it must be seen!
So it can be said that God has made
two perfect creatures in one short day.

Oh Karen! One of a kind!
We look and say 'what a find'!
We are honored to sing your praise
and to wish you a happy birthday.

If I'm Calvinist, is God Hobbes? The You're Not the Pope of Me Doctrinal Kerfuffle

I'm the Pope of you!

If you had the misfortune to read If I'm Calvinist, is God Hobbes? Part 1 of this scholarly exegesis, no - that's not right - this Rabelasian road trip, yes, much better - you no doubt will have noted several inconsistencies, non sequiturs, logical conundrums and downright falsehoods. Good for you, if they're still alive, your Sunday School teachers will be so proud. Me? Couldn't care less. What concerns me is that I didn't fully explain why the Pope was so ticked at Calvin and his cranky co-conspirators. Yes, the Calvinists made a big deal of God's unapproachable, towering sovereignty but that wasn't primarily what frosted the Pope's beer mug. It was the insistence of Calvinists (and Lutherans, Zwingliites, Arians, Anglicans etc.) that the Pope had no authority from God to rule the church or compel the obedience of any Christian.

No. I'm the Pope of you!

'The "You're not the boss of me" doctrine was a direct assault on the power, perquisites and privileges of what by the 14th century had become the best gig in religion. It was such a good gig that different kings set up their own Popes to get in on all the fun. And you can understand why being a major league Roman Prelate was in such demand: you got to hang out in the south of France or Italy, A list celebrities kissed your pinkie ring, you presided over a religion that used excellent wine as it's primary sacrament, and you lived in a time where the practical definition of 'celibacy' was "sorry honey, you know I can't marry you but I'll pray that it's a boy". Sort of an all expense paid version of Porkys in man dresses. And not something to be given up just because some punk has spent too much time reading his Bible.

No! I'm the Pope of both of you!

And then there was the whole Antichrist thing.  I mean telling the guy that cashes Jesus' checks here on earth that he actually doesn't have signing authority for those accounts is liable to put the calmest Cote d'Azur popeboy in a state of heightened agitation. So yes, differences about the sovereignty of God, the nature of Salvation and the questionable fashion sense of wearing really tall hats all fed into the Pope's hostility .  But at the end of the day what they were really fighting over was custody of the Papal expense account.

Part 3: Leviathan or What Happens When You Pick On Tommy Hobbes