Saving Daylight

i turned my clock back
and yet i was not younger

this was confusing

i could not comprehend
how humankind might
move the fabric of time

even as the Maker
of that fabric
kept stitching

it came to seem
that it is what we always do:

we change our clocks
and believe we master time

we kick the dust of the moon
and believe ourselves
lords of the Universe

we call our deluded cousins
to throw aside religion
because we have Reason

the fabric is fine --
so fine we cannot
see

its flow so constant
that we cannot
feel

if we turned our
face to this flow
and stilled our minds

we would be face
to face
with the Maker . . .

--Mr. Gobley

Seen On High

i imagine Heaven
As a white room
A pillowed bed
A great window --
A place to rest and
Watch life
As it gathers back up
Like a wave

And prepares to come
Thundering down on you
Again.

You rest --
Because you are deeply weary --
And you rejoice --

Because that rolling wave
Towers,
Totters,
Prepares to
Plunge you back into pain
And presence --

You will be drowned into it.

How delicious,
The deep bed,
The tall window,
The liquid wall --

The surrender.

--Mr. Gobley

Far-flung Family

There will come a time
When life is revealed
In worlds beyond ours.

Then we must turn to our
Sacred books,
Our cherished ideas,
And revise our entire
Cosmogyny.

Our ill will,
Our greed,
Our sadness,
Our talent for war,
Result from thinking

That we are alone.

We know, in our hearts --
Those very hearts
That dance to signals
From beyond --

That we are not alone.

What will we say?
What will we think,
When we open our books
For the first time
After our far-flung family
Reunites?

--Mr. Gobley

The Pond

The Crown of Autumn:

Geese,
And skies so bright
You get an ice-cream headache
Just by looking up.

The breeze sends a phalanx
Of determined ripples
Marching toward you.

Beneath, years of leaves
Mulch the bottom.
Some leaves float.
Some are suspended
Between the surface
And the bottom,
Like hopes.

With time,
Unless you reach in,
They will become part of
Something else,
Something decaying
And nourishing,
Even while at rest.

Their wobbly equilibrium,
Their last defiance
Of gravity,
Is our life and death:
An instant of conception
Brought to bloom,
Discarded,
Converted from matter
To energy --

But first,
One last proclamation
Of love
For sunlight,
Peat moss,
Rock-skippers --

All who fed and
Delighted,
All who accompanied
And all who remain.

Still here,
Even while journeying
On,
We, too, are
Brief and blessed;

We, too, see
Our matter descend
As our spirit rises

To become another
Seed
Of Bright Being.

--Mr. Gobley

Having a Prayer

What is prayer? Possible examples:

• 911, 411 and 0 all rolled into one -- no phone required
• A blind date with the cosmos
• Asking the Divine to fulfill a need -- only to discover that the need already has not been merely satisfied, but surgically removed
• A thrill ride that costs nothing, can occur anywhere and anytime -- and that does not move
• A Christmas list that indicates what you hope to be giving to the entire world
• A moment of silent gratitude that lasts your entire life
• A thought, leading to a discovery, leading to an embrace
• Talking to yourself -- and getting an answer
• A dialogue between the very center of your deepest essence and its greatest love (and remember: your "self" is not an option)

--Mr. Gobley

We the Shattered

when i bow my head
and fold my hands
around each other
or the book

when i close my eyes
or blur my vision,
seeing beyond what is there

when i slip inside
the envelope
of white light
that descends
gently
from the skylight

when i feel myself
being held
by something greater
fiercer
older
than words can fathom

i pour out my heart
open my veins
and all that is within me

empties into all that
is without

and in this way
i make myself
less than dust
but more than whole

and i grab the lowest rung
of Jacob's ladder

i look up at angels
and briefly hear
their song

before letting go
and coming back down
into the fenced fold

in which my soul
is briefly held

today i pray
that we the shattered
will learn to mend ourselves

that we accept our fate,
which is to love that
which is beyond all knowing

and i resolve
to better understand
what cannot be understood

that is to say:
i resolve to be fully human
holding the bottom rung
but looking up

trying to lift myself

toward the angels

--Mr. Gobley

Star Search

The Search is on
For someone
Who can
Deliver the Goods.

Someone who can
Command attention,
Draw crowds
Provide hope
For the hopeless

And copy for the tabloids .

Where is that
Special soul
Who can save us
From ourselves?

The ancient Hebrews said
Ein od milvado --
There is none
but The One.

We are already One.

You are saved
By subsuming yourself
Into Oneness.

You are
The Star:
Whole,
Saved,
Blessed:

You are aware.
You are
Within.

--Mr. Gobley

Dear Atheist: A Response to Sam Harris

(specifically, to this post -- h/t Ambivablog)

You, dear Atheist,
Are a gift from on high:
Proof of the existence of God,
And the priceless gift of free will.

You are also proof
Of our refusal, as species,
To grow up:
Like many,
You are angry that we
Do not want what you want,
Or see what you see.

This makes us wrong,
In your eyes.
Your anger exalts you.

Unlike you,
i do not assume
That a just God
Would not
Permit suffering.

Nor would i assume
That a flawless car
Would never crash.

We are set in the world
Together,
You and i.

i thank God
That you exist.

You are so right
To cry out,
Imploring us
To open our eyes
To reality

But why must we
Be required
To see
What you see?

The world will know peace,
Not when we all see what you see,
But when each of us sees
What we have each
Been created to see.

Then we speak it forth:
Eyes are opened.
Souls drink in
The Truth
From the many streams.

It comes from different sources,
But it all quenches.

To know
What you are called to know:
That is peace.
That is blessing --
Delight without dogma.

May we both know it
In this lifetime.

--Mr. Gobley

i ran
through the woods
to a clearing

and the frosted grass
stopped crunching
under my feet,
and soon

i was aloft
could will myself
through the air
saw my dark green
footprints
in the silver grass
below

i thought forward and up,
went forward and up
felt the sickness of thrill
and rush of fear

the small sadness
of leaving some
bit of self
behind

below: pointillist trees;
above, a milk-misted
and bottomless sky
caressing me

i do not think it was a dream--
sleep, perhaps:

it was
time
and gravity
taking a nap

while i,
brave fool,
snuck between them
and danced . . .

--Mr. Gobley

Friendly Ghosts

i slept
in my childhood bedroom
and saw
shapes
long
lost
in the shadows
of memory.

i lay in the old bed
and conjured
friendly ghosts
and saw the
dance of the blinds
and heard the
hum of the old
air conditioner --
rheumatic, now,
but still the white noise
of innocence --

i sank into the sleep
of many decades past
and felt them fold around me.

when i awoke,
my joints ached
and my chin sagged
but my brow was smooth:

the past steps forward
like a shy mare
tosses its head
turns the other way
but has nodded

you are all still with me,
friendly ghosts,
you are all still
my friends
and protectors.

We shall dance,
time's fools,
around the maypole
of memory,

til memory
beckon us
home.

--Mr. Gobley

Your Personal Storm

A storm awaits each one of us:

Custom made,
Bowled toward
The center of our being
In wicked, unjust gyration,

A thing made to unmake.

(Forget those who say
Storms
Settle reckonings
With sinners:
Such formulas
Are the stuff of soap opera,
With the Divine
In need of a script doctor.)

The combustible
Elixir of opposites
Is the very stuff of life --
And of its soulmate,
Death --
Twins spawned in the
Spinning
Blast that made,
And will unmake.

The storm
Is made for us
Because it is made
Of us:

The very heat
And moisture
In which
Our minds reside

Brews in the ocean:
Recognition of our frailty
Is forced upon us:
Our mind
Is,
Literally,
Blown.

Not a lesson,
Not a verdict,
But a harbinger:

We are always
Dancing
With the
Quick
And the
Cataclysmic:

It's what we are.

Light your way
With the "brief candle":
Its twin will consume you,
But with life's arrowed flame
You will be warmed
And allowed to see,
Even to your
Very
Personal
End.

--Mr. Gobley

The Beginning of Breath

i have sinned.

Or have i been sinned against?

i settle into myself
And consider deeply:

Where should i start?
Of whom must i
Beg forgiveness?

i will start here:
i will ask my heart
To forgive
My head
For punishing me,
For telling me
i am not
Good enough,
Strong enough,
Wise enough,
Smart enough.

i will ask my head
To forgive my heart
For fainting away
At high walls
And tripping
Over low obstacles.

After these small,
Private acts
Of contrition,
All requests
For forgiveness
Are easy,
All antagonists
Blameless.

i will ask
Forgiveness
Of all things
And all beings.

It is not what they
Do unto me,
It is the stories
i tell myself
About what they have done
Unto me
That cause the burrs
To stick in my heart
And choke my breath.

The Creator of Breath,
Who breathed us,
Wants us to keep
Breathing,
To pass the breath
Of forgiveness
Across enemy lines
And down the generations

So that hearts
And minds
Will grow strong,
Resolute,
Filled with quiet
Knowing:

That love
Is forgiveness,
And forgiveness
Is what is
Breathed.

--Mr. Gobley

Recipe for Repentance

First, you admit that you are not Divine.

And yet you embrace your emanation
From Divinity.

Then you examine your desires.

You understand that these, too,
Are of Divine origin,

And then you turn
Carefully
Toward
The deeds that have
Issued from those
Desires.

Are they born
Of Darkness,
Of need,
Of grabs for power
And lustful longings --
Twistings of the might of angels
Toward hurling
Bolts of anger at God?

The source of our being
Is the source
Of our desires, too,

And repentance begins precisely here:
Begins with embrace
Of doer
And deed,
Of anger
And hatred:

And so,
To repent,
First
Admit that
You are not
Divine,
But born
Of the Divine.

You urges and needs,
Emerge here as well:
Acknowledge this.
Know that
You have twisted
What power
The angels have sent you:

Forgive
Yourself.

Give back
To Origins of Might
That which
You briefly
Stole.

Forgive yourself
And give thanks.

In this way,
You understand
Sin
As the toxic waste
Of free will,

And forgiveness
As the most loving,
Repentance --

Environmental
Cleanup
For the Soul.

--Mr. Gobley

God is in my lungs

When I say,
"Of course I know how I breathe,"
It is because I am told
I have lungs.

The corpus
(Pardon)
Of medical knowledge
Has well documented
How these
Moist bellows
Move oxygen through us.

And "us" includes "me."

But what is my Prime Mover?
What is the ancient incident
That led to my lungs --
That lent them the spark
To move
To translate
To sluice
And induce
And seduce
Life from breath?

When, in a crowd,
One can sense
The crowd moving,
Feeling, as one organism,
What is the conductor
Of this feeling
Along the transom
Of fragile selves?

It is a line
Of energy
That I call
"God."

Is "God"
Just
The English major's
Explanation
For all that cannot be understood?

Or is God
The answer
To this question:

"What is bigger
Than you,
More powerful
Than you,
Yet
Part of you,
Tied to you,
As vast as you --
Far beyond
All explanations,
But living in the
Silent spaces
Between the letters of
These
Very
Words?

--Mr. Gobley

Live

You must live

You have no choice

It is what you do

Find rhythm

Make rhyme

The heart's

Iambic

Beat

Is a march

Played to the rush

Of blood

Past vessels

And openings

To the Delta

Of fortune and ruin

That we call

Life.

Run to it

Do not fear it

Embrace all,

Inhale all,

Revere all,

Rejoice in all,

Remember all,

Consecrate all:

Leave nothing behind.

Consume yourself

In the heat

Of your own flame

And be remembered

By your atoms

As the

Conquering Creator

Of Oneness

That rededicated

Them

To

God.

--Mr. Gobley

Mr. Gobley sez:

• Leave things -- each day, in each realm of your life, and in your life as a whole -- so that they will run even better, grow even stronger, when you're gone. (This may be as close as we get to immortality.)
• Think of your life as the world's supply of oil: who knows how much there may be? Best to assume it's already peaked, and get much more careful about its expenditure.
• That first smell of dried leaves, crushed to powder underfoot, is invigorating.
• It's profoundly gratifying to be befriended by a neighbor's dog.
• Photos are overrated. Think of all the time you could have spent enjoying the moment. Now, instead, you have a memento of a moment you never really experienced.
• An office without walls, windows or a door is a cruel, cruel thing.
• Prescription for those who need a dose of humility: sit them at a potter's wheel and tell them to throw a pot.
• Prescription for afternoon lassitude: chocolate.
• Suddenly, those questions about what you would take with you in a (fill in the blank: flood, fire, terrorist attack, apocalypse) dire emergency aren't so academic.
• Why, when you're walking behind someone who doesn't know you're there, and you try to pass them, do they so often suddenly veer into your path?
• Best thing you can do for someone you love: don't let them drive if impaired by alcohol, drugs or old age.
• i don't read the tabloids, but i must confess: it's somehow comforting that people of immeasurable beauty and wealth can still descend into low comedy (or ascend to high melodrama) in their personal lives.
• i have a recurring image of being held in captivity in a crawl space beneath a building, and not being allowed to stand for a period of months, even years. What would i do? Would my spine crumble?
• i watch the digital clocks in my home, my office, my car, blink away each second, and i think back at them: "Oh, shutup."

--Mr. Gobley

Can you

Are you able
To forgive
Those responsible

Even as you
Embrace
The wretched

Can you find
Within you
The strength
To extend
Compassion
In
Unfashionable
Directions?

Can you
Labor tirelessly
To fix
To heal
To mend
To soothe --
And to forgive?

Do you
Find time
To work
Without hope
Of reward,
Wracking
Your own
Bones
So that others
May at last
Rest theirs?

What is your cause?
What is your source?

Know that, and pursue it:
There is time for little else.

When moved in the direction
Of Source,
Vast stores of energy are freed
For use --
There is no time for blame,
For there is no hint of blame
In healing work.

Move toward healing:
As you heal others,
You heal yourself.
As you lift up others,
So shall you be lifted.

The rest is
One
Long
Infomercial.

--Mr. Gobley

Friday Afternoon

The leaves turn up their palms
To the powdered heavens.

The geese strut across
The busy fairways
Toward the
Emptying office parks.

The heat rises up
Off the blacktop
Like fervent prayer,

And the school buses
Disgorge children
Delirious with fleeting,
New-found freedom.

The partners in the law firms
And their real estate clients
Are on the back nine, while

The ballparks
And the synagogues
And the high school
Football fields
Fling open their gates,

And everyone
That lives by this calendar
Prepares to put their burdens down
And breathe in
Summer's last.

--Mr. Gobley

That Which Runs Away

That which runs away
As it draws near,
Approaches and vanishes,

A river that bends,
Rushes,
But never floods --
Time --
Will, in the end,
Gently move us
To the
Far shore
Of being.

Each day,
You are carried closer
To that shore.

The view of
Time's vast ocean --
A circle of being --
Is the same,
Until one day,
Perhaps all
In one moment,
The shore appears.

Others remain behind
While you are ferried
On
Alone.

You look back,
Forward:
It is all one,

Except in this sense:
Time
No longer moves you.

You have ridden it
All your fragile life,
To this point.

We, who waste
Everything,
Begin by wasting
Time.

The presence of mind
To love
And be present
Always

Must start
And end
Our days.

--Mr. Gobley

God on Sabbatical

God,
The original
Vacationer,
On the First
Sabbatical,
Proclaimed
The goodness
Of it all:

"All," meaning:
Creation
And rest,
Together,
Making
Existence sublime,
Lifting
Mere "Being"
Toward
A Singing
Celebration.

Moments,
Inside and out,
Celebrated
And dwelt in,
Both seen
And experienced,
Unfold,
Blossom
Like fireworks,
Give life
Like our very lungs.

We are wise
To remember
That each moment
Contains
Its sabbatical element.

This moment
Is The Creation.
Even now,
As we rejoice,
God is at work.

Even now,
As we pray
For peace,
For rain,
For relief from rain,
God is on Sabbatical.

God has set all in motion:
It is for us to work within the All,
And to cease our work
When it is time
To remember
That we Are.

--Mr. Gobley