XL
it’s
well
it’s Sunday
and I could think Sunday thoughts by
Protestants and
Catholics
Anabaptists
independents
too
and what should be such thoughts
but an affirmation or a search
for
a belief
affirmed by what is formal
even with authority
though
from a voluntary organization
we may join
or
leave
or maybe we wander
while the sermon
(sorry
sermon
sermon’s sermonizers)
or
while the body is at prayer
our own
thoughts that could rise as prayer
as
Claudius agonizing
formulizes
though admits he cannot follow
or
before or after
or
without
what is an honest asking
an appraisal of anything there might be
more
then us
since we’re in this casing
sensing outward
to
whatever
and often the flesh fails if only
in parts for
a while then
well
all
what
is it
who is it
where
and how
and maybe if we answer these
or someone does
we might know
a why as well
and well the kind of well
that Julian
describes
and is the bird a spirit
and is there spirit in the wind
or in the floor of plants or
far
below
and if so
should we not be worshipping outside
as
am many are
and what of our own
the thing that moves the
flesh
by what’s inside
that is the foundation for our feelings
then thoughts upon
the feelings
then
everything expressed or otherwise
let go
and
yes
finally
let go
so
yes
Sunday thoughts
be in church or at temple or
obeisance in a mosque
whatever holy place
with
holy resources
and on one’s own or with
our trusted
to explore and figure things as far
as we might go and
with
the ministry of small things to keep us
going
at least hospitably
all
the time
c l couch
Hebrews 12:1
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,
Hebrews 13:2
Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.
(NIV)
Hamlet and Saint Julian of Norwich are alluded to as well
photo by Shane Rounce on Unsplash
courses
my abdomen
hurts
maybe from pressing on it
to be seated
maybe from gas
maybe
due to medication
maybe from stress of
maybe
something
existential
how is the day
and how’s the world
and how
much
should I care
and how shall my problems
go away
while this
side of
eternal matters
shall justice roll
my tiny stream
down to
a universal
sea
and shall that sea
move
indifference
to my causes
and
of course
it shall
it has its own concerns
with mortal storms
and all
and yet
the molecules of God
are with me
in mine
maybe a neutrino
or a quark
while the greater hand
might move with waves
to stir
or calm
that sea I think
cannot consider me
and the whole body
moved from forming Earth
into managing
the stars
as we say
in their courses
enforcing orbits
exacting
something like
cosmic obedience
though allowing for
the unpredictable
the errant comet
rascal
asteroid
as part of
divine predictability
contraries
embraced by
opposites uplifted
so that a little chaos
be allowable in
order
than back to you
and back to me
and how do we count
by God
and yet
we do
our bodies
on our bits of land
which is to say we
occupy
not own
and by the water
moving our concerns
toward that ocean
of collectiveness in which
it seems
impossibly
our matter
matters
too
everything we are
our cells
our abstract notions
with the uncounting qualities
of thinking
all emotions
of our loves
we may realize at any time
how remarkable
the small
however might be small
while larger things go
obviously from
that start of
things
day and night
Earth and all
and all in all
with each bit owned
if
maybe tallied
by beneficence
which is to say
God knows
and judges
and whose greater bias
as God
is to note all things
and love
all things
a refrain
the sea is so large
while
my boat so small
the merest of God’s breathing
for my sails
and shall I cross
and shall I transact
and then
shall I return
by the light that someone made for
home
(it would be proper if you thought of the Breton prayer upon reading what I'm calling "a refrain”)
C L Couch
Photo by Osman Rana on Unsplash
Salvation Chair
Really
Now
And should the Spirit
Come to call
After the dancing
For the sky
After all the lights released
Half
A world on
That’s felt
One’s own half of the world
After ingesting
All petitions
In all the other continents
Even on the
Needful
Melting fields
To the south
And north
Between the poles
It stops
To dwell a while
In my
Clay house
And maybe find a room
For me
In a truly quiet hour
While I give all the rest over
To
Possession
And renewal
At the same time with
All other crises
And the stretched-out needs
So
Casually asked
Sometimes
Please
Sit
Have something
While I work out with you
How to have
My own
On both sides of enigma
That is
Mystery
Of faith
That is
Saved
When given over
C L Couch
Anne Bradstreet, a prominent Puritan poet, employed the “clay house” metaphor in her work. In her poem “As Weary Pilgrim,” she reflects on the impermanence of the physical body and the longing for spiritual rest. Here are some lines from that poem:
A pilgrim I, on earth, perplext
wth sinns wth cares and sorrows vext
By age and paines brought to decay
and my Clay house mouldring away
Oh how I long to be at rest
and soare on high among the blest.
https://www.poetry.com/poem/3075/as-weary-pilgrim,-now-at-rest
(the note before the excerpt by Copilot)
Photo by Asim Hamid on Unsplash
3 poems and each might stand (I hope) though together indicate a consequential process
What It Takes
The clock
Caught my attention
Because the hour
Had just turned
I prayed
Some praise
Some gratitude
Confession
Both for what I did
And what I should have done
An asking
Words about love
More thanks
A kind of pledge
About doing better
Then
Amen
I prayed what I meant
To pray
And looked up
Caught by the clock again
Four minutes
Four minutes
Maybe a hundred words
Out of this hour
And this day
Of such greater length
God willing
Imbalanced
I know
Terrible things have happened
In the past
And in the present
And we could guess into the future
But we’re taken up with
Wounds
And hunger
Inside ruins
Newly made
And if we could only keen
For natural disasters
Eruptions
Other explosions
Fires we say that rage
Winter storms
With hail
Sudden deprivations
From what developed
Unexpectedly
Then fell
Or rose upon us
Destroyed some of part of us
And will try for more next
Time
And time again
We could devote our science
And our military
Toward prevention
Preparation
Rescue
Restoration
And it would be hard
And often would be sad
And worse in tragedy that
Tears at us
As wars compounded
And the crimes we make
Tear at us
Even deeply
More bloodied
Threatening to take out
All the vital things
That make us
Us
The awfulness of now
And how we do things
Though not everything
Revealing
Promise
In an hour of today
When we let the fields and towns
By plan or by surprise
Be silent
And then we let in
Aid
Or help each other
Anyway
There’s hope in us
You see
Some want annihilation
Crazily
Some go for anarchy
Alike
And some are merely profiteering
On which side
Every side
That buys
But there’s that part
That quiet part
That then protests
That stands in front of weapons
Without weapons
Teaching us
Reminding us
Of how to stand
And how to act
To give ourselves a chance
All of us
The human race
To be
Simply to be
And then do better
With better
Vital
Parts of us
Don’t Forget the Two Parts Out of Three
Then
Or in the midst of it
There’s time
And willingness
To play
Even on a square we find
And sticks
And fashioning round things
For our
Projectiles
Or with time
We go to our closets
Root around
And
(funny)
Root for roots
The ancient games
With gloves and such
We used to play
And might not fit
But we’ll use
Something
And we’ll recreate
Which also might recall
How we had been made
To work
To play
To rest
The first
Time with
Our families
Or friends we met as children
On the street
(urban
suburban
sural)
And then picked up
The games
And rested after
In the shade
And then
Took jobs
And thought the rest
Unnecessary
Even rest
(in the shade)
Though we can have that
Now again
And should
C L Couch
Photo by Callum Hill on Unsplash
2 poems
(about God and self, I guess, though, you know, you will find what you will find)
Freely
And there is God
Who first believed in us
First made us
Before we
Set out
Inventing
Re-inventing
Ourselves
Finding the words
We will be known by
If known at all
The looks
Our posture
Whatever
As if creation were a game
Of changing jerseys
Even affiliations
When we can get away with that
Elide expectations
To something like our own
Satisfactions
Who knows
Maybe aligned
With how that God
Had made us
With our natures
Toward our inclinations
Regarding expectations
Heaven-sent
Rather than
Always
Earth bound
Hours
Not much
For a Monday
I’ll admit
Frankly
Tried to sleep with back pain
Then woke up
Heavy on my leg
Under the other
But I breathe
I imagine you are breathing
Too
And there is a day ahead of us
To try
To sleep
Perchance to dream
(well
isn’t that what came to mind
honestly)
Or more importantly
Work out our dreams
Or if need be
Exchange them
For something good
It is to wear
To walk
To recline
To move through the world
And what we have for home
What works well
For a life
With potential satisfaction
Meaning
Faith
Pleasure
And hopes even high
For this and into the next
Hour
C L Couch
Photo by Tristan Colangelo on Unsplash
A Quiet and Unquiet Day
(rest and restive?)
Have an especially good
Day
You need one
And you deserve one
You’ve been working hard
And putting up with
Things
You need some rest from everything
That presses
Lift those burdens
For a while
Recline your mind
Loosen the strings we say
We have
Inside our hearts
Or over them
As if the organ were a base
For a lute
A frame
For a harp
Drink something you know
You enjoy
As it courses through you
And then eat something
Pleasant
Slightly indulging
Though without doubt
For nourishment
As an objective
And now companionships
Do you want any
Or is it quiet
In the day
That you prefer
That
Maybe you’ve been craving
Without knowing
‘Til you have it
For some hours
If so
Then treat yourself after
The surprise
Reading something
Writing something
Or have a day
With nothing
For a stimulus
Beyond
Mere ingestion
While you ruminate
Or not
On what’s at hand
It could be taking stock
Only if you wish
Or must
Have a need
As in counting inventory
Gauging quality
Of what is stored
By its effect
On mind or heart
Or overall condition of
Everything internal
And to an extent
External
As in
Image and perception
Whom we cast
To the world
And who we want
To play for
Real
What is real
Take a day to figure out
Think on good things
On what among them you might have
On what you need
You might already have
For another surprise
Or what you need
That’s calling
Through its absence
So maybe take the day
And let it have its
Serious parts as well
And sorry
Wake up a little after resting
Think of something
Think on good things
What you have
As well as what is good
You need
And should have
And can get
Keeping in spirit
And in mind
That love does not exist in isolation
That there is good love to keep close
And problematic love
You might need
Well
Frankly
To cut off
To free yourself
Free someone else
Liberty
At last
Which is the truth
As well as
The law of liberty
And love
And so have the day
Both
Restful
And momentous
If you will
And if God listens
When you say
Hear me
I send my words with
Thoughts
The kind that
Heaven-go
C L Couch
(3.3.98)
Photo by Sneha Chandrashekar on Unsplash
Apology of the Annoyed
Immortal
Invisible
And sometimes
That’s annoying
And at other
Times
It hurts so much
Not to see anything
Hear anything
By what is pressed upon us
That we can see
And hear
Even emotions
And our thoughts
Seem more real
More touchable
More holdable
Sometimes
Ghosts
You know
In stories
Seem more palpable
Than your presence
As we say
Everywhere
Why must you be unseen
Why must we count
On evidence
In nature
So that our faith is challenged
By a storm
Or flood
Or quake that kills
Why we might have to guess
At your approbation
The source of an eruption
While we must flee
The valleys
Where we live
Below
You are inside
Somehow
We say
And how really
Does that work
Unless we invent them
Or turn out
To be
One of the few
Who hear them
Say
Joan Dark
There are no voices
Inside
But our own
And we fill up the inside
With organs
Thoughts
And feelings
So where is
The space for you
We say
Your word is in a book
In many books
Though books are still
Unrevealing
‘Til we open
And read from them
On our own
Or in the forum
Hear
Someone officially
Say
This is the word of God
And truly
Is it so
The glass is dark
Which might be the metaphor
That helps
You’re there
You’re on one side
We might see movement
Guess at mystery
Find faith
Ill-shaped
By what we see
And cannot see
Or hear
Should there be sound
As well
And could we guess
That you might be
On our side
Of the glass as well
And by your presence
(guessed at)
Might believe
You favor us
Not our side
As politics
But simply being here
And you are here
Was there love
In your making
Things
And making us
With apparatus
For induction
Deduction
To figure out
That is
Through impulse
Too
And instinct
Gained
Conditioned from each day
We encounter
We experience
Make wisdom
Or simply know
Without knowing
How bits
Of the world are
Through what we have
And what we use
And what is used
Of us
So much a kind of
Instrumentation
And what for
To know there’s something more
Than us
We know
By simply
Living life
As its own evidence
And proof
Within
What there is
In all forms
And shapes
And differences
And energies
It might seem
Life proves
That you exist
And because
We are more
Than what’s inside the shell
(the blood and such)
In faith
There is more than us
And this more
Might be you
C L Couch
“Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise” is a hymn.
In addition to I’m sorry, apology also means explanation and defense.
Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash
(x = space)
x
x
Many and Great
x
I’m sorry
There are other things
Wildfires
Wars
Rising oceans
More than tides
Allow
What nature does
What we do
While the Earth permits
Until it can’t
x
And I’m concerned
With how
I feel
Even mortally
(with room for veniality
as well)
I am one
How many are you?
You seem more to me
As if a company
Resides
Inside your wall of flesh
Behind your eyes
x
And I suppose it’s true
We each might be
Many souls
Maybe carried through
The ages
Or simply facets of
What splits
From our encounters
Here and now
And what remains
Beside our spirits
Mainly
As we become
Like growing jewels
x
When permitted,
Like layers
Added to the pearl
x
C L Couch
x
x
Photo by Susan Wilkinson on Unsplash
x
Don’t Mind Me
Oh, Christopher
Christophoros
So you’re nothing
Nothing’s good
The mystics would be envious
I don’t mean annihilation
That would be bad
But death to self is something else,
I think
Because you do not go away
As if there were nothing left of you
You are woke into a different place
With people you might know
Some kind of belonging
We might call it a heavenly host
But you are retained as you
You are even loved
Now and you know before
As it may have happened, then
The death to self is prayer
So cleansed and clean
As to have nothing left but righteous intercession
Something to be gained
Such a death to self so that
There is only prayer for others
Disinterest in agenda
But the willingness to bleed some more
If like a transfusion
It might bring some living to another
This is sacrifice
Not immolation but
A gift of love
From which nothing will be returned
A love I do not understand, for now
Or the peace that passes it
C L Couch
Photo by OC Gonzalez on Unsplash
A shot I captured during dinner with my Grandpa and my niece.
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