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