TWO FROM TULSA

TULSAN, TOURIST
I like the smell of Tulsa,
the tan burn and
wrinkled forehead,
the crisp handshakes,
child of farmers and
Native Americans.

They use a certain brand
of shampoo
in the airport
on the carpet;
the old man
with the wrinkled lines
and eczema hands is boarding
to Seattle.


LANDING IN TULSA
There's a graveyard
buzzing by in its
bubble-wrap sanctuary,
butted up against
the supply docks
of a shopping centre.

They had the decency at least
to put the graves out back.
Then again, there've been no complaints
or phone calls from the tenants.


-r

HERE

It's that season of the summer
again, after the age of wander
wears off, having exhausted
the sprinkler systemmes et all the
pool parties; now, we seek for
new cardigans and bring forth
new circadian seasons in their time.

All in good time,
all in good time,
and all these things are great things-
only, now we plan our trips for Paris in the spring
around the time that Here has whispered promises to bring
the beginning of conversion of the soul,
that is, the gritty stationary first dawn of potential whole.

Wander,
wander-
Here's whispering has set our face like flint,
has sent
us wandering,

wandering,
wandering-
swinging energy, centrifugal
force, emits from all,
no centre at the centre, no
centre for the whole.

Wander,
wander,
wandering,
wandering-
in the back of our ear canals
we still scratch at the dust of it all.


-r

HEART-BEAT (AT OLDE WORLD)

Two old men crying memories,
two lovers sparking eyes-
all the sweet smell of earth.

Brook still,
dirt squatting happily-
all the heart-beat.


-r

MALE/FEMALE, WORKPLACE, GOD'S GRACE

To-day's conversation, synoptic translation:

FEMALE - 'You're late to fixing my problem.'
MALE - 'I never said I'd come in the first place. Please calm down, I'm here.'
FEMALE - 'Wow, you're a typically dumb and unfeeling brute, male. I've got a dozen guests who are without air-conditioning.'
MALE - 'Wow, you're a typically irrational squawker, female. My heart-felt desire here is to help you out, and you can't seem to see that.'
FEMALE - 'It doesn't surprise me that you're a selfish aggressor.'
MALE - 'I'm not sure I'm the only one.'
FEMALE - 'You're late to fixing my problem, and I'm pissed.'
MALE - 'I don't know why I'm the target of this inconsiderate abuse, and I'm pissed.'

[A single illuminated light-bulb enters from stage right, floats between the heads of MALE and FEMALE, and simultaneously:]
FEMALE - 'Hmm, wait - you seem like a halfway decent person, if ignorant, and I should give you the benefit of a doubt.'
MALE - 'Hmm, wait - you're stressed out, and I would be too, and I should give you the benefit of a doubt.'

MALE - 'Wow, wait, I remember that my co-worker did say we'd come around 10 o'clock. I'm so sorry.'
FEMALE - 'Wow, wait, you've been trying to be patient with my abuse. I'm so sorry.'
MALE - 'You were being irrational, but I would be, too, given your situation.'
FEMALE - 'You were being insensitive, but I would be, too, given my venting.'
MALE - 'Here, let me get started on the job at hand.'
FEMALE - 'I'll try to be patient.'


-r

BIRTHDAY

Two women sitting at JJ's
and dust passing through the cracks in the pavement
greet me in passing through these parts
otherwise empty and barren, tumbleweeds
overrated but otherwise accurate,
all mechanisms of the ages.

In the cafes, beside gas stations
dust drifts through televisions,
lingers in the two women's posturing,
in the social standings;
dust blows back and forth
in the exchanges courtships and wisdom
of this dead town.

I'm not old, to the contrary,
but this place, this era
is wilted and barren,
and to alarms in this body
I find a young person incongruous
with this dead town.


-r

'It was late at night and we were secretly baptizing a baby that had been brought along by Omatsu and two men belonging to the Tossama. It was our first baptism since coming to Japan, and of course we had no candles nor music in our little hut - the only instrument for the ceremony was a broken little peasants' cup which we used for holy water. But it was more touching than the liturgy of any cathedral to see that poor little hut with the baby crying and Omatsu soothing it while one of the men stood on guard outside. I thrilled with joy as I listened to the solemn voice of Garrpe as he recited the baptismal prayers. This is a happiness that only a missionary priest in a foreign land can relish. As the water flowed over its forehead the baby wrinkled its face and yelled aloud. Its head was tiny; its eyes were narrow, this was already a peasant face that would in time grow up like its parents and grandparents to eke out a miserable existence face to face with the black sea in this cramped and desolate land; it, too, would live like a beast, and like a beast it would die. But Christ did not die for the good and beautiful. It is easy enough to die for the good and beautiful; the hard thing is to die for the miserable and corrupt - this is the realization that came home to me acutely at that time.'

-From /Silence/, by Shusaku Endo (trans. William Johnston. New York: Taplinger Publishing Co. 1969.)

BACKROADS ARE OFTEN THE WAY TO HEAVEN

So I come to understand how hilariously meagre my debts are. Most persons seeking 'loan-forgiveness' for religious vocation do not owe family members a few thousand dollars. And yet in this situation, I'm ironically disadvantaged - like the reverse of seeking to bag groceries with a PhD on your resume - because the loans are all undocumented. Any vocational decision, particularly something like the monastic life, takes time in the lifestyle to 'succeed' - 'if the just man is barely saved', and so forth; and hesitance can equate to severe stumbling blocks later. Yet I may not have a choice but wait, and wait, and wait. Again, for the thousandth time, I'm at a crossroads in life in which it seems the route to meaningful-service/heaven - or, rather, what is perhaps my 'on-ramp' onto the highway - is blocked off due to my own decisions or other mitigating circumstances.

But it's encouraging to remember that Jesus Christ our Lord, our example, in the Gospel of St. Luke set His face 'like flint' toward Jerusalem, heading firmly in that direction - and then proceeded to be 'distracted' for the course of several chapters, healing sick people and helping the despondent. The 'distractions' were part of God's Revelation and His will. In this small reflection of our Saviour's journey, I see what seems to be a viable road for me, but my vision is limited; and along the long hard row ahead for me to hoe is probably some way in which I can serve Him meaningfully. The road (as the cliche goes) seems to be a part of the destination.


-r