Journal: June 3, 2022

I arrived back in Oklahoma late in the evening on Tuesday and have been processing all that I was able to see and do while in Italy (Florence/Rome). It was my first time out of the country (other than Canada and I don’t really count that one), so it took me a few days there just to get past the initial travel jitters. Afterward, I settled in and enjoyed it all. Funny, in all the pics and photos that I posted and that generated the most comments, etc, it was The Hat that generated the greatest conversation.

I do like the hat and it has now found a prominent home in my house. A great reminder of a wonderful experience.

I haven’t decided where I’ll go next, although the church has a pilgrimage to Israel in the works for next year, I’m thinking I would really like to visit Sweden/Norway. Not sure why other than to go up to the northern parts of those countries to try and see the trolls (an excellent documentary on the trolls can be found here.) There’s also India and that has been pulling at me for a long time.

For now, I’m working on getting back to normal. Nothing bad on the jetlag issue, but I have been waiting on the plumber to show up for the last three days to fix a leaky main leading into the house. Yep. You can go on vacation for as long as you like but the pipes are still going to break and the world is going to continue to revolve, and that’s OK too. I’ll be back at it for real on Monday but for now, I’m going to continue in vaca mode, which included bottling up the new vintage: Lucrezia (as in Borgia).

A very tasty, bright, and light, Chardonnay.

Finally, this morning, The Queen knocked over half a cup of coffee onto the book/manuscript I’ve been trying to write for the last couple of years: The Marble Finger (the second of the Fr. Anthony Savel mysteries). I figure that it was her way of telling me to get on with it or get it off the desk so that she’ll have more room to lay down. It is time. Actually, it is past time: let the murdering begin!

Poem: Rules


there are rules

how we hate them

there are rules

but they must be followed

there are rules

but this is the night

they are broken

why?

because the pink engaged the blue

the blue was overwhelmed

and the sky became an end

Yes

There are the days

when the moon shines

and the whiskey flows

but then there are days

when the atrocity of it all

melts in the pink of your flesh

cries for another day

and screams at the night of your death

to return to the day before

Yes

I’ll make the scars

that traverse my skin

waiting for the days

that you are buried in us

Yes

I saw the moon set

and the sun rise

there was no sleep

but

but

the pink engaged the blue

and the blue

and the blue

LIVED!

Sun or Moon


the sun or the moon

my eyes are seeking you

the sun the moon

the skies are above you

the sun the moon

in the end we are together

a place of light

and a place where the skies

skip to their own tune

a place of darkness

that brings hands

grasping for one another

snow on the mountain

end of things

but not the end

only a new beginning

in the full light

of the sun or the moon

Journal: January 20 (almost 21), 2022

Where have I been for the last month….

The sun rose and the sun set.

The inn was full and Christ was born.

The moon rose and the moon died.

The shepherds visited and the Innocent perished.

The Magi made a clandestine visit and we listened for the drummer.

This is a picture of St. Anthony in Torment by Michelangelo with a watercolor overlay.

Then you realized your rainbow was full of demons….

I’ve been doing the “dry” January, which has turned out to be a semi-arid environment with the occasional shower. It has been good and I have dropped more than a few pounds. It is good.

I’ve been reading more than usual, but when you have a 1,200 page book, it takes more than a few days to get through it. Yes… The Stand. There truly is not a more remarkable book outside of the Good Book. And whether he admits it or not, S. King knows more about God, the devil, Holy Scripture, and everything else in between than most of us folks who run around in fancy robes (or skinny jeans) on Sunday mornings. You can’t paint the picture unless you’ve seen the original…. no what I mean? Yes. Yes you do.

The Priest work is going well. It is good to hide behind my robes, but I’m guessing most can see the hypocrite in the shadows. It is the reason for the failure. My friend Brennan ( what a great name) says that Jesus comes along side each of us and says, I know your whole life story. I know every skeleton in your closet. I know every moment of sin, shame, dishonesty and degraded love that has darkened your past. Right now I know your shallow faith, your feeble prayer life, your inconsistent discipleship.

Funny I can never remember the rest of it.

I should just go to sleep now and wake up…. later.

Life is good. Yes it is.

Ah… The Queen. Her Majesty is a Royal…. um… yes… Hinney! LOL. She has her moments, but it is a delight to come home from the day and find her waiting for the scrub under the chin. She is Rain, but she lives into her “title”.

There are many thoughts and so many things to say, but they seem to wander off on their own and find other places to germinate….

Do you ever just not want to go to bed because it is the first time in many days that you have the opportunity to think, write, paint, dance, listen, etc.? There are days that this is the way we roll around here. I’ll stay up too late and listen to tunes, paint goofy pictures, think of writing, pray (yes, I do that), wonder who I would be if I let go of control, and then sleep…

…. No more—and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep—
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of disprized love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death
The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

Tired.

… but still………… let’s stay awake for another hour or so.

Contemporary Koinonia

For about the last year, my friend and colleague, The Rev. Sean Ekberg and I have been working on a journal for The Episcopal Church and today it went live. It includes interviews with Bishops in the church, a seminary dean, ministry stories, and more. If you would like to know the bright side of The Episcopal Church, then you’re going to want to take some time reading through the articles. It is not a quick read, but it is well worth the time. There is much that is good happening. If you’ve been wondering where I’ve been spending my extra time… here you go. I believe, if you click the image below, it will take you to the Issuu edition.


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