In the air

how easily
i fall asleep
in the embrace
of the winged
beast
that takes me
from home.

floating
above quilts
of grain
flecks
of forest
and the scales
of the sea

i yearn
for the arms
of the one i love

and the sheltered
truce
of home,
the only antidote

for loneliness.

still,
i am grateful
for the sensation
of departure

the promise of arrival

the renewal
of my repeated returns
and the rebirth
of gratitude

to live alongside
its soulmate,
wonder.

--Mr. Gobley

In a Foreign City

The imprint of our home
Is never so clear
As when we find
Ourselves in the embrace
Of its cousin.

A foreign city --
With its offices
And shops,
Grinning like
Vaguely familiar ghosts,

Its bright cars
Zipping happily along
Its unfathomable grid --

Refreshes one's faith
in the vastness
And tenacity of life.

On new ground,
One feels all inner compasses
Searching for
True Spiritual North --

But the terrain,
And the water,
And the signs,
And the sights

Lean on different
Landmarks.

When your own inner terrain
Becomes oppressive
In its familiarity,
Cross a border.

Look for someplace
That reminds you of home.

Then let the huge differences
Sink into your soul,
Like a monsoon rain

Into the parched
And pleading
Earth.

--Mr. Gobley

Meditation on Peace

Today, resolve with me
That you will do everything
In your power

To vanquish hatred.

To do so,
You must leave wrongs
Unredressed,
Slights unanswered.

You must help
The ingrate,
The the thief
And the child
Who hates you
But does not know why.

You must learn to fight --
Yes, you must --

Then lay down your arms.

You must meditate on peace --
Yes, you must --

Exhaling broad fields
Of yellow light
Toward distand lands,

From your heart
Outward to the
Cold cosmos.

No matter how still the waters,
Waves are always breaking.

We shall fly to battle
On a rumor,
But run to peace
Only when shattered.

There is much to learn;
A wave of darkness
Rolls toward us.

Light a fire,
And hold fast:

Mercy is
God's own
Meditation on peace,
Borne back
Toward those
Who breathe.

--Mr. Gobley

Meditation Before Dawn

There is no Other.

Blackened sky uses all of me
To raise up
And transform itself --

We are lovers,
Bound together
In fire and ice.

Duality of the diurnal:
A joust in the light,
A dance in the dark.

All motion
All matter
All being
Suffuses
All life

And burns it away.

As it returns,
Like the Sun
To its post,
i return,

In atoms,
In verse,
In breath,

To take you with me.

--Mr. Gobley

Heart of Ash

Beyond fear,
Beyond caring --
Leaning,
Yearning toward death

And a swift end
To the endless struggle
To keep emerging --

On the knife edge
Of Being;

Drawn out
To our last breath,
Down to our last dime;
Cold,
Alone,
Beaten,
Almost buried:

This is when
We rise, because

This is the moment
For which we were made.

And it is in this moment
That we feel within us
The greatest stirrings
Of love and forgiveness,
Of understanding and peace:

A coming-together
As we fly apart;
Soul soaring
As body burns.

At the end,
Or something like it,
Our spirit
Emerges
From our heart of ash,

And renews us,
Remakes us,
Restores us:

It takes us home.

--Mr. Gobley

Proof

A person who believes
Will believe until the end.
No, beyond that end,
Raveled out until
The endless beginning,
The tireless, spreading
Root of
The tree of souls.

Even beyond, when shown
Any purported proof
that God does not exist,
Such a soul would say:

"But you see,
That silence,
That stillness,
That lack of an answer
Proves God's love:

"It is the provenance of peace,
The stillness from which
Comes the small voice,
The repose
For which we yearn
While living
And serving."

No void,
No chasm,
No cold and lonely expanse,
Revealed in this life
Or the next,
Could prove
To a lover of God
That God is not.

On the other hand:
A voice, a hand,
A place,
An order,
A registry of souls,
A reunion of lights:

The skeptic's ire
Would quickly cool
When delivered to
A world to come.

Again:

Whether here,
Or in the Great There,
No presence,
Or absence,
Can prove
That God is not.

But:

A soul may in this minute sense,
Or someday know,
That God is.

And this
Is the mystery
Of the highest order
And truth,
Written on the plainest paper
Of our being,
Laid out in plain view.

It is not proof.

But,
Borne in my heart
Along the stream of a constant love,
It is proof enough
For me.

--Mr. Gobley

Perihelion

raise your voice --
even if weak,
even if drained of light --

in praise:
in our darkest days
we pass most closely
by the Sun.

our seasons
always tilt us
toward Change,
a harbinger
of Hope:

our coldest days
grow longer,
our hottest nights
grow shorter.

and so
every peril
contains promise,

each gray hair
a hint of our
slow dance toward
the eternal youth
of our homecoming.

spin us,
Great Maker,
through our darkest days,
for in these
Your presence
is most vivid:

brief
but luminous,
cold
but faithful
to our lasting
embrace.

--Mr. Gobley

We Are All Chosen

Another year
Only darkens the print
On our invitation.

Like a blade of grass
Pulled from its sheath,
We will be chosen.

The waxen shriek
The blade makes
As it reveals
Its pale, fleshy root

Is all the protest
We will make

As the root
Of our soul
Rises upward

And recombines
With its Source.

That we celebrate
The passage of time
Seems odd:

Time turns on us --
Why honor
That which betrays?

Because our ancient souls
Recognize this:
As we fell to Earth,
So are we all
Made to rise again.

We are all
Just passing through.

Time is simply
The river we ride
Through the realm
Of gravity,

Until we rise
Back toward
The Timeless.

This is your last
2006.

You have been chosen
To live in it.

Your ride continues.

May you ride
Joyously
And well.

--Mr. Gobley