Shut Up, Open Up

The Sun attains its lofty arc,
Its rays regain their focus;
The soil, a rich and roasted dark,
Uncloaks its hoard of crocus.

As life gets free of Winter and
Runs riot all about us,
We slowly come to understand
How all goes on without us.

A spinning orb, a burning star,
Whose finely tuned relations
Entrap us in a Mason jar
Of constant undulations,

And bids us boldly to believe
A message oft unheeded:
To blossom, open and receive
The nourishment that's needed.

Open, then: lay bare your heart;
Let all receive its giving.
Extend yourself, and stand apart
From the dead and almost-living.

And yet, remember how life moves,
How Nature's law's applied:
When something's closed, that surely proves
It also opens wide.

Then close, and let your silence yield
A refuge for your brother:
For silence is the only field
In which to meet The Other.

Open here, and there contract
Your soul's own tidal flow;
Just as opposites attract,
So your energy must go.

The poem's done, and all i've said
Does no more than suffice;
So now that I've played out my thread,
i'll take my own advice.

--Mr. Gobley

Benediction for a Grumpy Waitress

The coffee sloshes over the rim,
A black tongue of recrimination
Lashing you for your smile.

Your attempts at congeniality are rebuffed.

You -- with your indecisiveness,
Your picayune requests,
Your spilt Splenda --
Is there anything you don't complicate
Or desecrate?

Must you take so long?
Ask so many questions?
Try to be so damned cheerful?

When her back is turned,
Wave your fork in a circle,
Toward the level of her heart,
And silently say:

"With food you nourish me,
With pain you revive me.
As you serve, so may you be sustained.
As you nourish, so may you be renewed."

You will see her spine straighten
And her demeanor change.

Just to be sure,
Leave a tip large enough
To confound.

And as you leave,
Know that you will have
Saved one small corner
Of the Universe,

Sending its bright arrow of blessing
Forward
Into the heart
Of an otherwise unforgiving
Day.

--Mr. Gobley

On the Loneliness We All Feel

The loneliness we all feel,
The terrible low moan behind the scrim of our weekday mind,
Is the vastness of Space pressing in on us.

It is the indifferent howling of solar winds
And the crunch of crustaceans
In the black hold of the deepest seabed.

On the bitter mountaintops
Of distant stars,
Some part of us is keening.

And here, as we daily struggle,
We hear that keening and feel
The fear just behind our thoughts
And we think,

"i am so lonely.
If i could just find . . ."

Know that what you are looking for
Is another part of your self,
Carved off,
Risen up,
Left as a husk;

A shattered vessel
That held the beginnings of you
Ageless eons ago.

As you make your way back,
You will see your earthly loneliness
As a little thing --
A mood, a memento,

A little shard under your nail,

Reminding you that the Greater Self
Also is feeling your absence.

Tugging at you. Calling you back.

Do not be afraid. In time, you will go,
And the call will have been answered.
This troubled nap,
This brief war
We call life
Will seem to you

A statement of boundless love
From the Self
To the smallest part
And all
Of you.

Know this now,
And let the loneliness
Leach from your bones
And rise to the sky,
Where all of us
In every moment,
Even the last,
Rise
To meet
And know
And rejoice.

--Mr. Gobley

A Blessing for Daylight Savings

Maker of Time,
Architect of All:

One hour more,
One hour less:

We ebb and flow through the seasons,
Sliding the disk of our days
Beneath the brief lens of life,
Peering close
To see the molecules
Of our desire.

Our game is to imagine
That we have in our hands
The vessels of life
And the measures of meaning,

To quietly share the joy
(And the fear)
Of moving nanosections of Time
Into different orbits
Above the few moments
You have bestowed.

For this, let there be a blessing:
Let that blessing be
One more hour for us all,
One more shaft of daylight
To shore up our souls,

One more canticle of praise
Sung beneath the slowing Sun
Of Your faithful love.

Warm us by this, only for another hour,
And we will be warmed by your
Mighty fire,
World without end,

Amen.

--Mr. Gobley

i can't

Don't try to cheer me up, OK?, she said?

Don't give me lots of positive affirmations about how I can do this because I can't. I feel I can't and I know I can't, and nothing you say can change my mind.

I know my strengths and weaknesses, she said. I know my limitations. Why should I bash my head against a wall? There are lots of easier ways to get a headache.

i said to her:

You can't imagine the thousand little victories that come from trying. You can't foresee what might come of the effort. Something inside you is burning to do this; otherwise, we wouldn't even be having this conversation.

i disagree, i said, with whoever said failure is not an option. Failure is always an option; it's part of life's curriculum. We imagine it to be far worse than it is. Take it from me; i know.

I know what'll happen, she said. I'll try and fail, and it'll suck. And then you'll try to make some great lesson or some meaningful experience out of it, and it'll just suck.

Will it suck forever?, i said.

No, she said. It'll just suck.

And when it's done sucking . . . ?

She sighed and looked out the window. Then she looked back at me.

Then I'll just get on with it, she said.

Welcome to the human race, i said. Where we all hurt, and just get on with it.

OK, I'll try, she said. But I'll be really pissed at you if I screw up.

Screwing up is different than failing, i said. You won't screw up. As for failure: who can say? i never mind failing, as long as there's still at least one meal to look forward to that day.

We put on our coats and went to our prospective wars.

--Mr. Gobley

To The Cardinal That Sang As i Shoveled Snow

Dearest Winged Choir of One:

Your song has saved me --
Plucked me from a sea of gray and white,
Plunged me into the color
Of the coming of Spring.

i saw you not,
But your song saw me,
And heralded a blossoming
In my bones --
Promised that,
As you have returned,
So will my blood run again

Toward hope and healing,
Through arteries of ardor,
Flowing into the warmth
That is so mercifully
Ours.

Let us fly:
You toward the barns
And the bridges
Of our vast, frozen interior;
Me, to one more sanctified season

Of the impossible:
Green grass,
Blue hills,
Life's passion:

The blessing of breath.

--Mr. Gobley

A Fisherman's Prayer

Dear Maker of All Things Mortal:

Even as i seek sustenance
From an element
Of which i am made
But in which
i cannot dwell,

So You seek sustenance
From us, Your molecules,
Your emissaries to
Imperfect Life,

Your missives to
The Moment.

Please guide me in the ways
Of Your goodness,
So that, in being fed,
i might also feed You.

Help me to be grateful
For all that is given;
Let me spare what i do not need.

Let me extend the
Great Chain of Being,
Borrowing only a little,
Only briefly,
From Your fluid forge.

Let me live on the water
And return again to solid ground,
Where i will gratefully
Pledge to You
All that is Yours;

All molecules of being
That You have momentarily
Made mine
Will swim upstream again
To the headwaters of Your
Creation,
There to be made new.

--Mr. Gobley

Meditation on a Yellow Light

O brief beacon, goddess of transition:

Smile upon me as i speed
On my way, i know not where.

Remember to bless and to forgive,
As i promise to thank you
With a wink in my rearview mirror.

i further promise,
With my whole, hurried heart,
That next time, i will slow,
Stop,
Genuflect,
Breathe:

It is you, not those above or below,
In whom all time reposes,
By whom all grace is given,
Through whom all who mindlessly rush
Either make their appointments
Or meet their Maker.

To you i send solemn thanks,
Toward you my prayer does rush
With rapid pulse measured on dials;
A thin slice of the day is all that is granted you,
And from it, you fashion worlds.

i thank you for the small moment
That opens onto the rest of my brief life,
And leave a trail of blessings behind me,
Scattered and rustling beneath
Your
Narrow
Universe.

--Mr. Gobley

On the Joy of Being Cold

This must have been what it felt like
To fall from the stars:

i was a one-celled organism
with an ice-cream headache

a goosebump hurtling through space
soothed and smoothed
only by friction
with the atmosphere.

And now
billions of years later
a megalopolis of molecules
i walk into the heartless wind
and i laugh.

And my laughter-fog
freezes into a cloud
and the wind
punches me in the nose

an icicle begins to form on my tonsils
and my eyeballs feel like
hard-boiled eggs.

Some ancient inner atom
knows this cold as home
recognizes this astral blast

as its origin
its resting place
the reminder
of the long journey
it has traveled
and the promise of
a loving
if tomb-like
embrace --

The rest of me, however,
Is just cold.

--Mr. Gobley

Ode to Barbaro

Whoever said only man had free will,
Fierce spirit --
A soul --

Never met a quadruped,
Nor knew the awesome privilege
Of seeing you run
And later walk

With a gait more proud
For being awkward,
More alive
For having been so close
To death.

If only we loved life
As completely as did you,
Colt courageous,
We would in gratitude
Weep for our every moment
As with wounded souls
We cry
Silently
Over your last.

We hear most clearly
The voices of those who do not speak:
They present to us no options
But to understand,
No intentions but the clearest,
No desires but the purest,
Direct from God,
Unsullied by fear and treachery.

We understand ourselves better
Because you wanted so much to live,
Worked so hard to win,
Then to simply be:
We see our narrow lives
In the vast expanse
Of your desire to exist,
And we regret our timid desires
And our arthritic crabbing
After another afternoon nap.

There is more room for us now,
But a soul has gone out from us,
And we feel unworthy of,
Unwelcome in the space.

Gallop on: all is healed.
To the paddock: all is done.

Lead us by your memory
Toward faithful, unflinching love,
By your example
Toward real living.

--Mr. Gobley

Meditation on Anger

i come to you, heart on fire, and beg you to heal me.

My anger is nothing more than pain and fear, and nothing less than love betrayed.

Do i hold this anger in my heart? It feels, rather, that the anger is holding me.

Please help me to release its grip, and to place patience in its stead -- the patience of a smooth rock in a frozen stream. Then i will know that, as it has for millions of years, the stream will release me and flow over me again.

You who made us in love sent us forth in anger. We are the inheritors of your ire. Teach me to forgive as you have forgiven. Teach me to be present as you ever have been. And give me the patience of that lonely rock that knows the solitude of this season, and that knows its prison will surely melt away.

--Mr. Gobley

Lazy Susan

The light reflects off the varnish;
The bird at the center
Does somersaults.

The hieroglyphs on the edge
Tumble and flash.

The Lazy Susan winks
But does not illuminate,
Spins but goes nowhere;
A point at its edge
Will travel much further
Than a point near its center,

And yet these two points will make
The same number of revolutions
In the short and silent lifetime
Of their little, wooden
Solar System.

And i, i sit in a cone of silver light
Astonished that this turntable
Would show me the
Way to peaceful resolution
Of my fevered dreams:

Move, but stay centered;
Spin and sparkle
But do not fly apart:

In this way
You will be
What you were made to be:

A cornucopian presence
At the center of life's table,
Revolving,
Revealing;
A stationary dervish,
A votive vehicle,

Turning
And returning
On one well-finished
Point.

--Mr. Gobley

A Prayer for Jury Duty

O Just and Righteous Maker:

Today, as we begin the process
Of deciding the future course
Of a troubled life,
Be with us:

Be with us in the tedious hours
Of testimony,
The breaks for bad food;
Let us sense your presence
Beyond the grimy courtroom windows
And hovering above:

As there is judge and jury,
Prosecutor and defense,
So is there
Your patient Providence,
Which encompasses all of these,
And more.

Whatever the actions of the accused,
Whatever our decision,
Let not shattered lives
Be lived for naught.

And let those of us
Who have been brought together
To determine one person's fate

Be to each other
As counselors,
As companions

On a journey
Toward the justice
You have always sought
To make.

--Mr. Gobley

Dark Morning

And the rain washes away all warmth and certainty, even as it removes the brick, molecule by molecule, from the walls of my house.

And the sky refuses to speak to the Sun, and the Sun turns its back on the moon.

And all who are lost embrace their lost-ness, and all who are not lost refuse to lead.

And one by one the bright lights of the firmament go out.

And the ancient streams run with dark water.

And the ocean floor is an underwater desert,

And the village square is under surveillance.

And yet i, to whom all this was entrusted,

i will shine through this dark morning and entrust my love to the fading stars from which it came. i will no more assail my neighbors and curse my tormentors, for my curses will stick in my throat, and my tormentors will only sharpen their implements more gleefully.

No, i am made for song, and my song is this: the dark morning gives way, and gives way again. i am made to carry love and light, and i will move, even through dark mornings, toward you and all that casts shadow upon you.

You will see me and think: he is a dreamer. i will see you and say: behold, the source of my dream. We were made for each other, and from each other, and our dark mornings all hold the promise of light.

May you hold that light close, and hold it high, in the year that is upon us.

--Mr. Gobley

The Living and the Dead

When you are quiet,
You can hear the living
And the dead.

Humble yourself
And quiet your mind.

Then, suspend your consciousness
At the curving crossroads
Of our atmosphere.
There, the cries
Of the living and the dead
Will rise to you:

The sad and ceaseless sigh,
The last breath of the dying;
The outraged gasp and heroic cry
Of the newly born.

It goes on, this does,
In an endless cycle,
The gasps, the cries,
The releases and the urgent taking hold:

The world works so hard
At making and unmaking
That you can hear it,
Rising from every continent,
If you can just float above them for a moment.

You are a part of this play:
You have shouted your arrival
And you will sigh
Your departure,

But for now,
Just for this brief minute,
You are suspended,
At the edge of our atmosphere,
And rising toward you,
Ever toward you,

Are the cries
Of the living
And the dead...

--Mr. Gobley

Please Rise

If you worship, you will hear these words:

"Please rise."

When you hear them, you will stand up.

But why? Because you are told to?

Or because a moment of particular urgency is at hand?

Or because you want to be closer, just that much closer,
To God?

When you hear these words:

"Please rise" --

Do you rise, with all your intent and intensity,
With all your heart and soul,
With all your corpuscles and neurons;

And do you open your pores, your eyes, your mind,
Along with heart and soul,
To receive?

Whatever your religion is --
Even if none at all, defiantly none,
Denouncing the myth of God and its
Hallucinogenic hold on a mind
Weaker than yours --

You still can rise.
You can rise toward
Something.

That Something is waiting for you to rise.

In fact,
You were made to rise.

Rise,
With all you've got.

Please.

Rise.

--Mr. Gobley

The Spiritual Content of the Modern Office

Some days, i cannot work, because everything has deeper meaning than it was intended to have. Today is one of those days.

And so, because this colored veil has descended before me, i will demonstrate for you how any piece of business correspondence yields a treasure trove of spiritual wisdom.

How a business catch-phrase, or a corporate memorandum, or a strategic plan, is a thinly disguised exercise in spiritual growth, a plaintive cry toward a hidden God, a determined reach into the cosmos.

For example: i glance down at my desk and i see the words "Associate Director."

And from this, i receive the following:

O great Director
Of all tasks,
Great planner
Of significant meetings,
Master of Strategy,
Maker of Meaning:

Let me be so bold
As to assist you
In your undertakings
Large and small;
If i can serve You
Then i can
Know You;

If, in your employ,
i can heal wounds
and convey wonder,
then, in humble association
With You,
And under Your
Providential direction,

i might be so bold
As to become your
Associate Director.

We are all your
Associate Directors.
Let us blossom,
Leaves of learning
On your organizational tree,

That we may lend shade and shelter
To those that rest beneath.

*

Now i turn my attention to a memo, and i see the words:

"Accounts Receivable"

And from this i receive the following:

i am drying ink
on the ledger of your love.

i live to soak in
and reveal meaning
behind the vastness of numbers
that symbolize your might.

Through you, i am balanced,
Made whole
With that other side
Which also serves;
i rest for mere moments in
Your Accounts Receivable,
Waiting to make whole

The debt that began with the
Indebtedness of
My existence.

When i return to you:
Please receive me.
Balance me.
Mark my column,
So that you may also
Return to me.

*
i am not productive today. But i am blissfully happy.

May you be happy as well, today and always, as the words and work of another day peel open to reveal your connection to All That Is.

--Mr. Gobley

Offer May Vary

Now, for a limited time only,
You get to live.

That's right!

Against the odds posed by billions of years of wanton destruction, wholesale slaughter, disease, famine and environmental upheaval;

And thanks to evolution, DNA and your mom and dad, you have been chosen to receive this limited, one-time-only* offer!

You get time on Earth as a living, sentient being.

And that's not all.

You also get

• Limbic
• Nervous
• And immune systems
• Extremities (complete with ten-digit grasping set)
• Ideas
• Musculature
• And 14 ounces of gray matter to organize it all!
  
  

Amazing, isn't it?

But wait! There's more!

You get
Sneezes
Bereavement
Hysterical laughter
Sexual release
Tingling sensations
Righteous indignation
Burning love --
All right here in
the Milky Way!!

The only place
in the known Universe
Hospitable to life!!!

Our offer comes with
An almost infinite supply
Of sensation
Experience
Emotion
And action!

All in one body!

All you have to do
Is get out of bed,

And your life is on its way!

Act now.

This offer expires
At some indefinite point
In the future.**

You won't want to miss this exciting experience!

We're so confident you'll enjoy this one-time offer that we'll even include a Skeleton internal carrying frame at no extra cost!

But hurry:
Supplies are limited.

The Operator
Is standing by...

--Mr. Gobley

* Offer may vary according to your State. Contact Maker for details.
** supplies are limited. Not available on Mars, Neptune, Mercury, Uranus, Saturn, Venus, the Planet Formerly known as Pluto, or other planetary or astral bodies. No refunds. Please live responsibly.

Please forgive the rerun...

Friends and readers:

i hope you will forgive this rerun. It is the expression of my deepest wish for you as we take part in our ritual feast: true gratitude, which creates its own bounty.

Yours-

Mr. Gobley.

Three Days with No Sun

i believe in seasons --
but this is ridiculous.

i believe in rhythms,
but a rhythm requires
regularity, alternation,
syncopation --
some state that changes,
some mood that banishes
this continent of gray flannel
that floats over my frosted town.

The day has three phases:

dark,
kind of dark,
and dark.

And yet
i will give thanks:

for another brief breath
i am singing through telephone wires
sighing into a child's tousled hair

watching a squirrel eat an apple
laughing at bumper stickers

listening to a jazz guitar
on a scratchy LP
and understanding
that one solitary blink of an eyelash,
one tear,
one dented smile
is an untold bounty

that only You can give --
and given You have,
with constancy
outshining all ambition
and all hope,
and lasting even until
the Sun decides
at last
to shine again.

--Mr. Gobley