The Beach Boy and The Bad Boy

by CWK

"You better watch your @#%, buddy. You must have been going 70 miles an hour through my neighborhood. I have 3 kids, and you could have hit them."

These words — wild, unexpected, and loud — echoed like a stray gunshot across the Shop and Save parking lot at 9:40 am today. I was there to pick up ingredients for Gooey Butter Cake. I'd just parked my car, and I had one foot in the door when the 'shot' sounded. I retraced my step, and considered the words, “You better...”

Then, I spotted the man who’d just yelled them. This was not the picture of a brawler. Just the opposite. He was in his mid 40’s, lacking the figure of a fighter. His round belly protruded like a blue moon — no doubt as a result of many Blue Moons — over the straight horizon of his stick figure. He had a surfer’s hair cut: a neatly combed flop of longish bushy brown hair. He was dressed, not as a warrior, or even as an adult, but like one of The Beach Boys, with khaki shorts, and a bowling shirt. His face shown — not with a man of labor’s hard earned bronze tan — but with the crispy golden glow of Bronze Tanning. The picture was completed by a surprise. Amidst all this, there sat responsibility and manly stress on his forehead; this explained the words, “I have 3 kids.” All in all, the man who yelled at somebody didn’t look like a man who yelled at anybody. He looked like an out of shape, out of his element, ex-member of The Beach Boys who'd just settled down awkwardly to family life in the Midwest.

"You better…” I had no idea what these words meant, or for whom they were meant. They were not yelled in an especially threatening way. They were just yelled. At first, their threatening content was even hidden from me. They were, after all, spoken by a Beach Boy. So, I stood there, and stared in confusion as this yelling Beach Boy rushed forward like a man on a chase.

Then, I noticed, standing about 30 yards from The Beach Boy, a menacing figure with a Mohawk. Yes, this guy really had a Mohawk. He was, just then, loading his front seat with frat party quantities of cheap beer. He was, apart from me and The Beach Boy, the only other person in the parking lot. He looked tough: he had a Mohawk for one, and if that isn't the universal sign of tough, I don't know what is. He looked tougher on a second glance: his face was gaunt and dark; he had a goatee complimented by a patchy "I just don't like shaving" beard; and, he had a lean and hungry frame. Plus, his arms were loaded down a hefty supply of cheap beer, which translates, in any culture, "I just bought a ridiculous amount of beer for a party with my wild posse. Drinking will not be in moderation. Guess what? I'm not too concerned about things like taxes, a mortgage, peace-love, or the long term consequences of binge drinking." I would've guessed this guy was a junior member of a motorcycle gang if he hadn't, at that moment, been standing next to his car: a 95' Honda Civic, beat up, but tricked out, in gangster-from-the-suburbs fashion. The whole image of this man -- we'll call him The Bad Boy -- was the opposite of The Beach Boy. He was young; The Beach Boy was (by comparison) old. He was hardcore, contemporary, counter-culture; The Beach Boy was soft-core, anachronous, retro-culture. He looked dangerous; The Beach Boy looked harmless. The two men were caricatures of their respective places in the world. The Bad Boy could sign an endorsement deal for Calvin Klein, and represent reckless and youthful, but determined and willful, irresponsibility. The Beach Boy, on the other hand, could get an endorsement deal with JP Morgan as the spokesman for deferred, but accepted, adult responsibility.

The words, "You better..." shot across the parking lot, and The Bad Boy looked up innocently, juggling cases of beer, preparing to drive away. Like me, he couldn’t comprehend at whom, or for what, The Beach Boy was yelling. The Beach Boy said no more; he seemed fearful The Bad Boy would escape. So, he hustled on dejectedly, like a left-behind child. He finally caught The Bad Boy’s eye, and zeroed in on him, as if to say, “I’m talking to you.” The Bad Boy did a double take, and so did I.

I deduced the 15 minutes leading to this moment only afterward. Apparently, The Beach Boy, who was a 40-something father of 3, had seen The Bad Boy speeding by his home in a nearby residential area. Energized by the wrath of a father, he then pursued The Bad Boy on foot, and had been hiking the last 15 minutes, doing his best to catch him. During this 15 minutes, The Bad Boy had arrived at Shop and Save, mosied in, completed his beer purchase, and walked back to his car. All the while, oblivious that he was being chased. The Beach Boy had reached the parking lot just as The Bad Boy reached his car, in the nick of time, and screamed, “You better…” I suppose he screamed, not just because he was angry, but also because he was about to lose the man he'd labored so hard to run down.

It took The Bad Boy the equivalent of a full beat in a horror film to realize he was the target of the warning and insult, "You better..." It took him another beat to process himself being berated by a retired Beach Boy. During those moments, it was easy to read his thoughts. First, confusion and awe: Who is he yelling at? Me? Why? Next, to my surprise, a hint of fear: Who is this crazy guy? After these 2 dramatic beats, recognition and annoyance (not anger) rose in The Bad Boy's face: This yuppie is yelling at me! Me! 

What did The Bad Boy do then? He surprised me again. He patiently finished loading the beer into his Honda. At the time, this floored me. It seemed out of order, like when a DVD skips ahead. I would have expected this order: 1) The Beach Boy insults The Bad Boy, 2) In reply, The Bad Boy insults The Beach Boy, 3) The Bad Boy pulverizes The Beach Boy, AND THEN, 4) The Bad Boy coolly loads his car. Nope. He patiently loaded his car. At the time this seemed out order. Upon reflection, it seems more so. 1) The Beach Boy insulted the Bad Boy, AND THEN, 2) The Bad Boy loaded his car. What makes this an important narrative detail? It shows intention. The Bad Boy wanted to get out of there. He didn't want to stay and finish this conversation. My guess is that the shock and confusion of being rudely threatened by a stranger, in a parking lot, out of the blue, caused The Bad Boy to instinctively choose flight, not fight. I wonder if the weirdness of the whole situation caught him off guard: if he, like me, couldn't really comprehend what was happening quick enough to react. I’d venture that in another, less bizarre, context, The Bad Boy would pummel The Beach Boy on the spot. 

After putting away the beer, The Bad Boy replied with an x-rated insult, and then started getting in his car. Next, the two men exchanged unintelligible and profane screaming for a few seconds. I was sure this would lead to a physical confrontation, but The Beach Boy at last seemed to grasp that he was courting bodily injury. So, he mentioned something about the police. In response, The Bad Boy, still bewildered by it all, slammed his door with flair, and started his car. The Beach Boy was now delirious with emotion mixed with anger mixed with fear for his life, and screamed like a jilted girl, "I have your license plate," as The Bad Boy sped away.

The Beach Boy turned toward me, still huffing, and I got a closer look. His face was afire with rage, but not the kind that makes men fight: the kind that makes men talk about fighting. His was a righteous, but overzealous and childish, indignation. I imagine, had I spoken to him, he would have yelled at me. I imagine, when he got home, he did yell at his wife and kids. My first impression of him was wrong: he is not the kind of man who doesn’t yell; he is the kind of man who only yells.

The Beach Boy marched by me with a curious mix of bravado and dissatisfaction. Sure, he could say — and I'm sure he will to his buddies at the office — I really told that punk. But so what? No lessons had been learned, humanity had not been healed. More importantly, no peaceful agreement had been reached on The Bad Boy's future driving practices in Ballwin. Were the Beach kids any safer for this 15 minute rage march, and 1 minute screaming match? Nope. The apparent quest: stop this guy from speeding around my kids was unfulfilled. No wonder he looked dissatisfied.

I imagine The Bad Boy was just as dissatisfied: he'd just been humiliated by a random out of shape guy in the parking lot of Shop and Save. Regrettably, he’ll regret his lack of violent response. Even though, that very response saved him greater regrets.

As The Beach Boy walked away, I walked into Shop and Save, got a buggy, and searched for yellow cake mix. I spent some time pondering the whole situation. Being the only witness, what should I have done? Tried to break it up? Taken a side? Whose side? The Beach Boy was safe at first to be angry about dangerous driving — but out at second; he went nuclear, and approached The Bad Boy with reckless velocity. The Bad Boy was safe at first to be confused and upset by a vulgar tirade — but also out at second; he'd endangered children with reckless velocity. 

At first, I took The Beach Boy’s side. While I was walking around Shop and Save, I even considered tracking him down, and congratulating him for his courage in standing up to such a menacing looking guy. Then, I realized it wasn’t courage that led him to that parking lot, but recklessness: the very same recklessness that led The Bad Boy to speed through Ballwin. The Beach Boy was speeding, on his feet, toward what might have been a dangerous collision; all the while, angry that someone had dared speed, in a car, toward what might have been a dangerous collision. In the end, The Beach Boy is the more tragically comic figure of the two men. He is so unaware, and self-righteous. He’s the butt of the joke he plays on others. He condemns in others what he won’t condemn in himself. He sees in others what he won’t see in himself. In fact, had he eased up on the speed of his anger, he might have talked graciously with The Bad Boy, and just maybe, The Bad Boy would have repented for the speed of his Honda. The image of The Beach Boy is now firmly set in my mind as downright silly: an immature middle-aged hothead, dressed like a beach bum, yelling like a mad man across a parking lot.

“I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for, the hardest victory is over self.”
- Aristotle

Jealousy: The Vengeance of the Virtue

by CWK

Jealousy has a bad reputation. We almost never use the word ‘jealous’ in a positive sense. I can prove it: if a woman said to you, “My husband is jealous...” -- how would you respond? Almost all of us would take that as a bad thing: we'd instinctively say, “Sorry to hear that.” I want to do 2 things, and only two things, with the following diatribe: 1) explore why we have a negative view of jealousy, and 2) present a positive view of jealousy as displayed in the character of God. Here we go.

There are two reasons why jealousy has developed a bad reputation.

REASON 1: Pagan virtues are taking over. Pagan virtues are all mild and negative in comparison with Christian virtues. 

C.S. Lewis took up the comparison between Christian and pagan ethics like this:

If you asked twenty good men today what they thought the highest of the virtues, nineteen of them would reply, Unselfishness.  But if you had asked almost any of the great Christians of old, he would have replied, Love.  You see what has happened?  A negative term has been substituted for a positive, and this is of more than philological importance.  The negative idea of Unselfishness carries with it the suggestion not primarily of securing good things for others, but of going without them ourselves, as if our abstinence and not their happiness was the important point.  I do not thik this is the Christian virtue of Love.  The New Testament has lots to say about self-denial, but not about self-denial as an end in itself.  We are told to deny ourselves and to take up our crosses in order that we may follow Christ; and nearly every description of what we shall ultimately find if we do so contains an appeal to desire. 

We have the impression that pagans were passionate, while Christians were tame; but, we are wrong; the reverse is the case: the pagan virtures are all tame; the Christian virtues are all wild, and dangerous. 

Christian virtues are passionate and complex; pagan virtues are stoic (stoicism is the most "moral" of all the pagan philosophies) and passionless; in paganism, passion is avoided. This explains why such virtuous dispositions as anger and jealousy are derided and avoided in our culture. As we become more pagan, we lose our passion, and we lose a sense of the wildness of true virtue. Consider Jesus; he wept; he was angry; he was jealous -- one moment his gentleness moved a prostitute to tears; the next, he rose like a skyscraper in rage against hypocrisy. Jesus careened forward in his earthly ministry with quick, wild, and  swaying passion -- like a midnight train which seems always about to jump the tracks, but never does -- and he lived true virtue in a passionless world. Jesus brought color to a grey world; he brought wildness to a tame world. 

Here's GK Chesterton's comparison of Christian v. Pagan virtues:

The real difference between Paganism and Christianity is perfectly summed up in the difference between the pagan, or natural, virtues, and those three virtues of Christianity which the Church of Rome calls virtues of grace.  The pagan, or rational, virtues are such things as justice and temperance, and Christianity has adopted them.  The three mystical virtues which Christianity has not adopted, but invented, are faith, hope, and charity.  Now much easy and foolish Christian rhetoric could easily be poured out upon those three words, but I desire to confine myself to the two facts which are evident about them. The first evident fact (in marked contrast to the delusion of the dancing pagan)--the first evident fact, I say, is that the pagan virtues, such as justice and temperance, are the sad virtues, and that the mystical virtues of faith, hope, and charity are the gay and exuberant virtues. And the second evident fact, which is even more evident, is the fact that the pagan virtues are the reasonable virtues, and that the Christian virtues of faith, hope, and charity are in their essence as unreasonable as they can be.

Now, ask yourself -- what is the prime pagan virtue of our time? What is the attribute that we almost always name when we are complimenting someone in an offhand way? Listen to any casual conversation, and you will hear, “He is a nice guy/girl.” And jealousy is not nice: it is passionate, attached, afire. So, when the neutral dispassionate 'virtues' of paganism prevail, a passionate virtue like jealousy becomes a vice. By the way, if you think about the word nice as we use it in America in 2012, it is an essentially dispassionate word. We use it because we want to cast someone's action/character in a generically positive sense. It doesn't mean much; it is not very descriptive: i.e., it is a 'lazy' word, which fits right in with the passive dispassionate virtues of paganism. From Fowler's Modern English Usage:

The word nice is the great cause célèbre of meaning change in English. In medieval and Renaissance literature, nice (derived from Latin nescius meaning 'ignorant') has a wide range of generally unfavourable meanings such as 'foolish, stupid' and 'wanton, loose-mannered', and in some cases it is not possible to be sure which meaning was intended. The meanings to do with precision and fine distinctions (as in a nice point or distinction) arose in the 16th century, and are still in use, but they are now swamped by the generalized favourable use of nice to mean 'agreeable, pleasant': ex.'s: 

All her furniture is second-hand and rather nice—J. Rose, 1990

I have three children of my own now and I thought it would be nice to surprise them with the sugar mice on the tree, and also the chocolate cat—Catherine Cookson, 1990.

There is no doubt that nice is greatly overused in this meaning, and critics have some reason to call it a 'lazy word' (i.e. inducing laziness in its users). Many synonyms, often more apposite and stronger in meaning, are available (good, pleasant, enjoyable, fine, agreeable, satisfying, etc.) and it is often better to use them, but in conversation nice has established itself too well and too idiomatically for cautionary advice to have any real point...

                                                             ----------------------------------

Now, if you read, for example, the Psalms you cannot possibly think: Christianity is a 'nice' religion: this is a tame faith. You might have any thought BUT that; this is a stormy, passionate, almost dangerous, faith.

REASON 2: The Church has been feminized. Men are, of course, mostly to blame. We have left our post; we have been slack; we have forfeited leadership, and so we have left a vacuum; we have abdicated our responsibility; we have not been proactive; we have done something worse than doing just any thing: we have done nothing. Like Adam, we have looked away while the serpent was fast talking. But I don’t say that men are only to blame. Some men, after long years of being shouted down every time they have taken initiative – some men simply give up and go sit on the sideline.

Why do I say all this in a post on the Jealousy of God? I say this as a warning to us all. Where are we? What are the virtues we are striving for? Would any of us put jealousy on a list of admirable attributes? Probably not, and if not -- then, why not? This is a matter for self-examination, and repentance.

Let me take another example to show you what I mean. The other quality that is universally abhorred in our age is anger. We don’t like anger of any kind. So, when we read the Bible and find that on several occasions God is angry (see Psalm 7.11; Mark 3.5; John 2.13-18) – we don’t know what to do with it. How many of us can point to one occasion where we were righteously angry? This is another example of how paganism skews toward a passive and dispassionate set of virtues.

Back to jealousy. In Hebrew, annq = 'jealous.' All 5 occurences of this word in the OT refer to God: they are all found in Exodus and Deuteronomy:

Ex. 20:5:   "You shall not worship them or serve them; for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate Me,

Ex. 34:14:   for you shall not worship any other god, for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God--

Deut. 4:24: "For the Lord your God is a consuming fire, a jealous God.

Deut. 5:9:   'You shall not worship them or serve them; for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, and on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate Me,

Deut. 6:15:  for the Lord your God in the midst of you is a jealous God; otherwise the anger of the Lord your God will be kindled against you, and He will wipe you off the face of the earth.

The other prominent Hebrew word for 'jealous' is the verb anq = 'to be jealous of.' This word is used frequently in the OT. Consider the array of uses, many referring to God: 

Gen. 26:14   ...for he had possessions of flocks and herds and a great household, so that the Philistines were jealous of him. 
Gen. 30:1   Now when Rachel saw that she bore Jacob no children, she became jealous of her sister; and she said to Jacob, "Give me children, or else I die." 
Gen. 37:11   And his brothers were jealous of him, but his father kept the saying in mind.
 Num. 5:14   ...if a spirit of jealousy comes over him and he is jealous of his wife when she has defiled herself, or if a spirit of jealousy comes over him and he is jealous of his wife when she has not defiled herself,
Num. 5:30  ... or when a spirit of jealousy comes over a man and he is jealous of his wife, he shall then make the woman stand before the Lord, and the priest shall apply all this law to her. 
Num. 11:29   But Moses said to him, "Are you jealous for my sake? Would that all the Lord's people were prophets, that the Lord would put His Spirit upon them!" 
Num. 25:11   "Phinehas the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron the priest, has turned away My wrath from the sons of Israel, in that he was jealous with My jealousy among them, so that I did not destroy the sons of Israel in My jealousy.      
Num. 25:13   ....and it shall be for him and his descendants after him, a covenant of a perpetual priesthood, because he was jealous for his God, and made atonement for the sons of Israel.'" 
Deut. 32:16    "They made Him jealous with strange gods; With abominations they provoked Him to anger. 
Deut. 32:21    'They have made Me jealous with what is not God; They have provoked Me to anger with their idols. So I will make them jealous with those who are not a people; I will provoke them to anger with a foolish nation,

Here's a wonderful meditation on jealousy from an old friend that was sent out via email some years ago:

Deuteronomy says that our God is a jealous God: "For the Lord your God is a consuming fire, a jealous God (4:24)."  Again in 5:9, "You shall not worship them or serve them; for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God..."  One more time in 6:14-15, "You shall not follow other gods, any of the gods of the peoples who surround you, for the Lord your God in the midst of you is a jealous God..."

What do we make of this?  Was the early church heretic Marcion right in saying that the God of the Old Testament seems to be a different God than the God of the New Testament?  Is Richard Dawkins right in citing verses like this to claim the God of the Bible is egotistic, snobby, archaic?

 We do have this concept in the NT as well.  Paul warned the church in Corinth, "Or do we provoke the Lord to jealousy?  We are not stronger than He, are we? (1 Cor.10:22)."  James says boldly, "You adulteresses.  Do you not know that friendship with the world is hostility toward God?  Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.  Or do you think that the Scripture speaks to no purpose: 'He jealously desires the Spirit which He has made to dwell in us (4:4-5)."

 I think when the Bible talks about God's jealousy, it is the sort of jealousy Paul talked about in 2 Corinthians 11:2: "For I am jealous for you with a godly jealousy; for I betrothed you to one husband, so that to Christ I might present you as a pure virgin.?  I believe this is the same jealousy that stirred Paul as shepherd of the bride of Christ, he was jealous with the Lord's jealousy for the Lord's bride."

I think we forget at times that the Holy Spirit is a person.  That is, He can become sorrowful, He can be hurt over harm done to him. Scripture talks in other places about not grieving the Holy Spirit. Jesus Christ is jealous for His people with the utmost godly jealousy.  She is His bride.  He loves her with a yearning deep within His bones. Would a husband not be jealous if his wife, his wife who he loved more than his own life, had another in pursuit of her...who whispered lies about him, who stole away her laughs and affection and her heart?  Friends, so it is with your Jesus.  He is jealous for you; you are His bride if you are His.  It is not a light matter when we so easily leave His presence and go have fun with other lovers.  It breaks His heart.  

The puritan Samuel Rutherford wrote to one of his congregants from prison, "I know that other lovers beside Christ are in suit of you, and your soul hath many wooers.  But I pray you make a chaste virgin of your soul, and let it love but one."  

Finally, here is Thomas Watson on the jealousy of God:

I the Lord thy God am a jealous God." The first reason why Israel must not worship graven images is, because the Lord is a jealous God, Exod. xxxiv. 14, "The Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God." Jealousy is taken, 1. In a good sense, and so God is jealous for his people. 2. In a bad sense, and so God is jealous of his people... In a good sense; and so God is jealous for his people, Zech. i. 14, " Thus saith the Lord, I am jealous for Jerusalem, and for Zion, with a great jealousy." God hath a dear affection for his people, they are his delight, Isa. Ixii. 4. The apple of his eye, Zech. ii. 8. To express how dear they are to him, and how tender he is of them,—Nihil charius pupilla oculi, Drttsics. They are his spouse, adorned with jewels of grace ; they lie near to his heart. He is jealous for his spouse, therefore he will be avenged on them who go to wrong her, Isa. xlii. 13, " The Lord shall stir up jealousy like a man of war; he shall roar, he shall prevail against his enemies." What is done to the saints, God takes as done to himself, 2 Kings xix. 22, and the Lord will undo all them that afflict Zion, Zeph. iii. 19, " I will undo all that afflict thee."—2. Jealousy is taken in a bad sense, and so God is jealous of his people : and so it is taken in this commandment, ' I the Lord thy God am a jealous God.' I am jealous lest you should go after false gods, or worship the true God in a false manner ; lest you defile your virgin-profession by images. God will have his spouse to keep close to him, and not go after other lovers, Hos. iii. 3, " Thou shall not be for another man." God cannot bear a co-rival: our conjugal love, viz. a love joined with adoration and worship; it is heinous, after we have entered into a marriage-covenant with God, now to prostitute ourselves to an image. Idolatry is spiritual adultery, and God is a jealous God, be will avenge it; image-worship makes God abhor a people, Ps. Ixxviii. 58, 59, They moved him to jealousy with their graven images. When God heard this, he was wroth, and greatly abhorred Israel." Image-worship enrageth God, Prov. vi. 34... If God be a jealous God, let it be a word to such whose friends are... idolaters, and they are hated by their friends because they are of a different religion, and perhaps they cut off their maintenance from them. O remember, God is a jealous God! Better move your parents to hatred, than move God to jealousy ; their anger cannot do you so much hurt as God's; if they will not provide for you, God will, Ps. xxvii. 10, "When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.

Finally, some words from Chesterton on how virtue declines:

“The modern world is not evil; in some ways the modern world is far too good. It is full of wild and wasted virtues. When a religious scheme is shattered...it is not merely the vices that are let loose. The vices are, indeed, let loose, and they wander and do damage. But the virtues are let loose also; and the virtues wander more wildly, and the virtues do more terrible damage. The modern world is full of the old Christian virtues gone mad. The virtues have gone mad because they have been isolated from each other and are wandering alone. Thus some scientists care for truth; and their truth is pitiless. Thus some humanitarians only care for pity; and their pity (I am sorry to say) is often untruthful.” 

Distance

For Evan and Elle.
by CWK

You said you wanted to distance yourself from things.                                                

And, I knew that, by the short conversations,                                                                 

the perforation of my heart, the lack of observation,                                                      

and verbal stings.

When I told you what mattered to me,                                                                             

you acted like it didn’t matter at all.                                                            

You didn’t return my call,                                                                                               

or stand next to me in the hall,                                                                                       

or speak gently.

Its freezing being so far away                                                                                        

from you: the warm Spring Sun;                                                                             

and all we’d begun;                                              

coquettish verbal puns;                                                                                          

and, your face.

I have felt less distance                                                                                           

when we weren’t even talking;                                                                  

when, in our minds, together walking                                                                                

along the memory of when we slow danced,                                          

and held hands.

Is this distance far enough?                                                                           

Light years between our hearts:                                                                                        

like two cold stars, galaxies of bitterness apart,                               

never to touch.

The Stoic and The Poet

by CWK

Empyrean, in majesty, above
is hopelessly fallen in love, in love.

The soil is in love
with rain;
The stars in like with shining;
The tide is in love
with moon;
The eagle in like with flying.

Empyrean, in majesty, above
is hopelessly fallen in love, in love.

I have often heard it said in passing
that this or that thing loves to happen.
With love, the world was fashioned,
and by love the world's sustained.
In love, the world conducts all matters.
To love, toward love, the world remains.

Now, if all creation loves by nature,
who am I to live by hatred?
Shall I roll the universe into a ball,
and fling it back upon it's maker?
Shall I shrink smaller than the ant
who marches timely without complaint?
Should I grow larger than the moon
who appears nightly without restraint?

I should know
to love, love knowing.
For with a seed I have conversed,
and he is in love with growing.
I should live
to love, love showing.
For with a crow I have conversed,
and he is in love with crowing.
I should sow
in love, love sowing.
For, I know a lightning bug,
and he is in love with glowing.

I should move
with love, in motion,
like a wheel inside a wheel.
For I've beheld the high Sun kneel,
his face afire with blushing,
and kiss the wide blue ocean.

I should heed in love, love hearing.
For, I've beheld the strong Sun
stride across the cloudy clearing.
He rises bright, upon command,
without the need of warning,
upon each and every early morning.
Then, moves musically, like a runner,
at a steady stolid pace
to finish each day's race;
Then, stands down without remand,
upon each and every starry evening.
Now, can I be brighter than the Sun
who shines in love, love feeling?

I answer then to the universe:
I love as you love;
your hand is my glove.
I shall do my best, when at my worst,
to compose my heart in mirth.
I shall heed the singing stone,
and sing a lay, a psalm, or song.
For, the whole creation is smitten
with love: like a maid betrothed.
The whole creation's in joy clothed
at the pounce of a kitten,
and the leap of the toad.

I should repent, and surely grow,
and against reasonable love relent
as against a friendly foe.
I should know.
I should know better than most men --
for, I conversed with Empyrian above,
and he is hopelessly fallen in love, in love.

The Sea

by CWK

It hardly profits that a weary mind

in this dark night should peer past

human knowledge into God’s to find

the truth of things untrue. Lying

sleepless upon a battered mast,

whilst floating lonely in a starless,

stormy, sea, I see: knowing, I know less.

Finding, I have less, not more;

searching, I am never nearer shore.

Sea upon sea sprawls before me

in vast recess, with mystery e’r stored.

Sight in hind, sight declines most

when ‘pon past miseries trained;

for miseries o’rwhelm life and love,

and cover the good disclosed:

like frost upon the rose.

Yet, I sift ‘mong the memories. I hunt

for slivers of light in shade:

Convinced, there lives

in shadows, brighter days. Sane

I may not be, and dancing shadows give

little light; but what light I have,

I cherish – lest at last my last light perish,

and my last hope be undone.

‘Cross long travels and dreary distances

I recall only a single season of repose.

It was a long time ago, perhaps fancy,

and nothing more, when I was happy

in a place not so unlike a home.

Some seven suns ago, upon the Isle

of Numenor, I capsized and spent

a summer drinking Miruvor in mild

sunshine.  The women deemed me wild,

but harmless all the same. The men

deemed me wise, and to a man, a friend.

By all I was beloved; by all, esteemed.

But summer hasted onward, and unrest

began to grow.  For, the Island’s absent king

imposed a tax for past protection.

A demand, it seemed to me, in keeping

with proper fealty of subjection.

But, the men of the Isle were incensed,

and felt their honor sore offended.

For my part, I reckoned the hostility

a nuisance: a distraction soonly ended.

As mad men planned revolt; I laughed,

objected mildly, and scarcely dreamed of war.

Scarcely, but battle plans belied me,

and the Isle grew louder, crueler, bored;

for blood they were restless, and for

freedom of a sort denied to mortal men.

The king threatened; still, the fools boasted more,

and more. At last, the king's anger 

above his mercy soared,

and he grew wroth to settle scores.

I suppressed fear, but feared more;

I protested betimes contention, and hoped –

in folly – that peace would be restored.

 I declined to a kind of idle foolish ease,

and ignored all signs of certain strife

—until, on the day the first bite of Fall fell,

I woke a month into the war

to the sound of siege alarm, and the smell

of blood on blade,

and the cries of widows made.

I emerged, sleepy, dazed –

fires raged, and the stench of death

filled my heart, and cursed my far

flung dream of a home upon this sea.

I beheld men and women fleeing toward,

and away from, war. In the city center,

savaged, I beheld an infant standing,

famished, before a dessicated fountain.

I wept for orphans walking, lonely,

toward the citadel in the mountain.

For, by then, the mountain was no more.

I crawled across carnage to my little ship

as the Isle sank, and with luck, escaped – I only.

The Internal Is Infernal

by CK

I washed my hands before I ate;

took 6 baths the last two weeks;

kept clear of lepers in the street;

and cleansed the outside of the plate.

I was right in all my rites

and circumspect in all the prayers.

I pay supererogative tithes

and scrub the bowls with care. 

-- but somewhere, something’s wrong

with the inside of the bowl.

Something festers in my soul,

and brings down shame upon my songs:

my mouth can lift no praise,

and my tongue is dumb and lame.

I cannot raise my hands,

and I fear to speak that Name.

I can’t perceive what defiles me

since my heart I have exempted.

There, green envies still beguile me,

and murders linger, unattempted.                               

Alas, I will peer inside the bowl.

Do I dare stare in there?

There, darkness grows, unattended.

There, pride hides, unsurrendered.

The internal is infernal

for I have kept the law external;

I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

but I have not cried,

and I have not obeyed.

I have seldom took thought

of justice or mercy,

and I have passed many beggars 

who were cold and thirsty.

And worst of all, I have thought

that I was better than the worst;

I have looked on the toll-collector

and denounced his crimes 

-- then greedily snatched the widow’s last dime

The internal is infernal:

my heart is hard, and it is cold.

It is stingy, and rapacious,

and as icy as a glacier.   

I do not know if I can assemble

a heart so conflicted with dissent.

But I will journey to the Temple

for I hear a Psalm of Ascent.

It is a song of life, I think, and so even I will stand.

My voice is hoarse,

and my heart is coarse;

but I will sing my part, 

and I will rend this heart,

and I will try to lift my hands.