Signs of the Presence, Love & More - Poetry of the Unification Movement - General Editors: Frank Bisher and Michael Mickler - Associate Editors: Robert McCauley and Bob Schmitt - July 1, 1977 pdf

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Poetry of the Unification M o v e m e n t

o f P r e s e n c e ,

L o v e g j -

P o e t r y o f t h e Unification Movement

Unification Theological Seminary • Barrytown, N e w York 12507

© Copyright 1977 by The Unification Theological Seminary

All rights reserved. N o pari of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

First Edition 1977 Second Edition 1987

Designed by Paul Goodrich

Printed in the United States of America

Library of Congress Catalog Number 87-50142

ISBN 0-932894-22-4

C o n t e n t s

Part O n e D You A s k M e W h y I’m Here 3 You Ask M e Why I’m Here I Sara Mazumdar 4 The Lord’s Stallion I John Thompson 4 Sisters I Alice Hellerstein 8 What Is a Good Christian? I Sara Mazumdar 5 There’s a House in the Distance I Janet Cook 6 What Good Is a Belief? I Sara Mazumdar 10 Hands I Robert Hall 11 Sustaining I Stephen Hicks 12 These Eyes Have Changed I Michael Bradley 12 The World Seemed Good and Warm I Felice Hart 14 Japanese Couple I Tyler Hendricks 14 Spring Rain I Ramona Josh 15 Of America (Save M y Country) I Sara Mazumdar

18 If s Not So Much I Janet Cook

Part T w o • A World in Need of Love 21 It’s Saturday I Janet Cook 22 O n the Ladder I Lloyd Howell 22 The Servant I Robin Kuhl

23 Yesterday I Janet Cook 24 Halloween, 1976 I Mark Anderson 24 Name: M a n I Carolyn Nelson

25 Armageddon 1 Ramona Josh 25 O n Finding a Small Kitten 1 Sara Mazumdar

28 The Ogden Rescue Mission 1 Lloyd Howell 29 Everyday 1 Janet Cook 29 Ambassador to France 1 Frank Bisher

3 1 / A m the Child 1 Janet Cook 31 To Janis Joplin, et. al. 1 Robert Selle 32 The Angry Pumpkin 1 Lloyd Howell 33 Sunflower 1 Ye-Jin M o o n

34 The Porch Life 1 Leslie Weiss 35 We Are the Lord’s Paint 1 John Lowen 37 Oh, Father 1 Janet Cook

Part Three • T o Find the Ancient R o a d 41 All Roads Lead to Rome 1 Carolyn Nelson 42 Pilgrim 1 Gerry Servito 43 Light 1 Frank Bisher 43 The Advent 1 Ramona Josh 44 Father’s Rock 1 Leona Eagle Eye 45 Even I Get There 1 Adri de Groot 45 Look Today 1 David Bruner

46 Sprouting from His Desire 1 Anonymous 47 Not of this Earth 1 Adri de Groot

Part F o u r • Signs of Presence, L o v e , and M o r e 51 The Traveler 1 Cynthia R. Bergman

52 H y m n of Jesus 1 Graham Brodie 52 The Air Was Bright 1 Sara Mazumdar

53 Sisters I Cynthia R. Bergman 54 M y Mother I Ye-Jin M o o n 55 1200 Hands Clapping I Barbara Ten Wolde 55 After Yankee Stadium I Alistair Farrant 56 Washington Monument I Alistair Farrant 57 A Sign of Presence and Love and More I Bob Schmitt 59 God Speaks I Michael Breedlove 59 Dear Son I Jim Stephens 60 D o You Need M e I Leona Eagle Eye 61 A Revelation

Part Five • So C o m e s the Son 65 Aha-Lani-Sha (Love-Sunshine-Navajo) I David Bruner 66 Roly-poly I Alex Colvin 67 We All Know the Lovely Signs I Frank Bisher 67 The Sun I Constantine Tsirpanlis 67 The Flower I Alice Hellerstein 68 Matins I Carolyn Nelson 69 Awakening I Ramona Josh 70 Flowing from God’s Eyes I Barbara Burrowes 70 So Comes the Son I Alice Hellerstein

Part Six • W e Learn His Heart 73 Night-Prayer I Thea Jaschok 74 O h Father I Mark P. Wells

74 If You Aren’t in M e (Si no estds en mi) I Isabel Malaga

75 When I Erase M y Errors (Cuando Borre mis Errores) I Isabel Malaga 76 Prayer Hour I Robert McCauley

77 N e w Horizons 1 James H a m m o n d Robinson 78 In the Darkest Moments 1 Ramona Josh 78 Talc 1 James H a m m o n d Robinson 79 Evening Meeting 1 Karen Miller

80 Good Morning, Heavenly Father! 1 Zenichiro Hayashi 82 Much Wisdom Is Yet to be Added Unto Us 1 Adri de Groot 83 We Learn His Heart 1 Sara Mazumdar

Part Seven • Images of Apocalypse 87 The Dancing Ladies 1 Carolyn Nelson 88 Harebell 1 David Grabot

89 O n the Closing of the Day 1 Kathleen Tyman 90 Colorado River 1 Robert Selle 91 O n a Breezy Morning 1 Ye-Jin M o o n 92 Mother Earth 1 Elizabeth Reid 93 Song of the Sunset 1 Donna McMillan 93 Electric Storm 1 Kathleen Tyman 94 O n a Summer Morning 1 Ye-Jin M o o n 94 Experience 1 Adri de Groot 96 Harvest 1 Frank Bisher

96 A M a n Has to Come Out of His Cave 1 Felice Hart 97 Sunday in South Carolina 1 David Clark 98 Image of Apocalypse 1 Leslie Weiss 99 The M o o d ofthe Third Blessing 1 Adri de Groot 100 The Heart ofthe Wood 1 David Hanna 101 In This Land 1 Judy Sullivan 103 O Busan 1 Genie Kagawa 104 All M y Friends 1 Sara Mazumdar

106 Korean Winter in San Bernardino I Launi Wuermly 107 Thank God We’re Living in the Days I John Lowen

Part Eight • Flower’s Teardrop Haiku 1 1 1 0 Wonderful Christ! I Takeshi Ito III In Morning Twilight I Takeshi Ito 111 Season of Harvest I Takeshi Ito 112 Pebble I Alice Hellerstein 112 Orange Sun Runs Up I Ramona Josh 112/ Feel Most Certain I Sara Mazumdar 112 Sun Passes Through Clouds I Sara Mazumdar 112 Hot Baked Sands Starring I Sara Mazumdar 112 Twigs Snap in Dry Days I Frank Bisher 112 Fragile Flowers Dance I Frank Bisher 113 Graceful Woman s Hand I Frank Bisher 113 Letter to the Son I Frank Bisher Uta 113 Dawn’s N e w Grace ofthe Father I Takeshi Ito 113 The Grace of God Overflows I Takeshi Ito 113/, Too, a Novice in Love / Takeshi Ito

113 It Seems that God’s Spring Will Come I Takeshi Ito 114 In a Boat on the River / Takeshi Ito

114 Rejoice! Spring Has Surely Come I Takeshi Ito

114 Love I Lori Amundson 114 Heart I Lori Amundson

114 Comfort I Lori Amundson

F o r e w o r d

Signs of Presence, Love and M o r e : Poetry of the Unification Movement is the result of a year-long project by Unification Theological Seminary students. In September, 1976, letters were sent out to Unification Church centers across America and to foreign missionaries requesting poetry for this anthology. B y January 15, 1977, the final deadline for submissions, over 2000 poems had been received. The present work contains 117 poems of those submitted for consideration. Poems were selected on their o w n merits and as they reflect the heart and spirit of the Unification Movement. They are organized into eight basic sections which are intended to represent the general flow of the Divine Principle. Part One: Y O U A S K M E W H Y I’M H E R E ? on the one hand expresses the poets1 restless discontent with themselves and a world that doesn’t always live up to their best expectations. O n the other hand, hope for better things has never abandoned them. Hence the poems are like electric stormsflashingchallenge to personal and collective faith. Part Two: A W O R L D IN N E E D O F L O V E tells of broken dreams, childhoods, and lives; personal pain, false words, and prisons of the soul. A poignant story of the difficulties w e , as h u m a n beings, have had in encountering G o d and understanding one another. Part Three: T O F I N D T H E A N C I E N T R O A D looks backward in order to look forward again. M e n and w o m e n pulling themselves up by their bootstraps. Their footsteps in search of communion with God. A messianic age, a cosmic spring to come. Part Four: S I G N S O F P R E S E N C E , L O V E A N D M O R E are just that—signs that

G o d is at last truly present to envelop you with all the varied manifestations of love. P o e m s that speak of the father, mother, son and daughter and the world from God’s perspective. Part Five: S O C O M E S T H E S O N describes resurrection and the feelings of rebirth and joy it brings to both body and soul. Faith has reemerged, and lives have been transformed. Part Six: W E L E A R N HIS H E A R T makes us aware of the long struggle to k n o w God. A call to repentance and prayer as well as joy. Part Seven: I M A G E S O F A P O C A L Y P S E is a tribute to a world built with vision and love. Nature is seen in its glory. Mankind works together side by side. Earth and heaven merge into one, but not without m e n and w o m e n exercising responsibility in work, labor and sweat! Part Eight: F L O W E R ’ S T E A R D R O P is a collection of short poems in popular Japanese genres. Life reflected in a dewdrop! This book would not exist without the help of a host of individuals. First, w e would like to thank the many church members w h o contributed their poetry. In particular, w e wish to thank Rita Kolody for her generous help in typing the manuscript; Jack Toren, Robert Davis, Franz Zurawski, Hitoshi Nagai, and Paul Olivier for the photography; Walter Gottesman and Pier Angelo Beltrami for their helpful suggestions on the book’s format; and Janet Cook for collecting hundreds of poems by N e w York church m e m - bers and sending them to the Seminary. Thanks also go to Nancy Neiland, Cynthia Shea, and Bonnie Blair for their assistance in reaching both foreign missionaries and church members across America. Finally, w e extend our deep thanks to Mr. David S.C. K i m , President of the Unification Theological Seminary, for his encouragement and his support of this anthology. It is our sincere hope that these poems reflect the spirit of the Unification M o v e m e n t and it’s founder, Reverend Sun M y u n g M o o n .

General Editors: Frank Bisher Associate Editors: Robert McCauley Michael Mickler B o b Schmitt

Barrytown, N.Y. July 1,1977

S I G N S O F P R E S E N C E , L O V E

A N D M O R E

P a r t O n e

Y O U A S K M E W H Y T M H E R E

You Ask M e W h y I’m Here

You ask me why I’m here— I’ll tell you. Even if I wasn’t sad at a death and stunned by h u m a n misery, Even if I weren’t an idealist, and believed everybody should be happy, Even if I could turn m y back on poverty, and ignore injustice, Even if I didn’t care about other peoples, and the welfare of other countries, Even if I could find satisfaction in m y o w n small world, Even if I liked everyone, and feared none, and could make others happy, Even if there were no hatred, no strife, no wars, Even if I had never felt the agony of wonder and had never seen doubt, Even if I were a King with empires, or a beggar with none, Even if I knew the secrets of life and all m y dreams came true, Even if m y family were all I have hoped for, and life was full of promise—

Even if all these things were true, I would still be here. A n d I would still love the principles I hold so dear, A n d trust others with m y life, A n d give all I have in m e to give, A n d seek to serve as best I can.

Sara Mazumdar

T h e Lord’s Stallion

I want to be the Lord’s stallion Thick and broad and sinewed, A n d of milky mane, Sun’s fire caught and flashing In m y dancing eyes A n d hooves as sharp and shiny A s obsidian!

I want to feel upon my neck The firm direction of His arms A n d feel m y tensing flanks Beneath the pressure of His thigh, H e gives His shout, I jump M y flesh is condensed energy! W e spirit forward Through the endless sky!

John Thompson

You are my sisters, I hardly k n o w your faces, A n d I certainly don’t k n o w your names Though I’ve heard them once or twice W h e n I’ve talked with one of you. But you are m y sisters.

You are my sisters, Our lives began thousands of miles apart. Ourfirstwords were spoken in different languages, (And even n o w w e have few words in c o m m o n ) But I understand you well enough to k n o w You are m y sisters.

You are m y sisters, W e love the same God. The same love gave us hope, W e are truly sisters.

Alice Hellerstein

There’s a H o u s e in the Distance

there’s a house in the distance— i can see the light through the trees heavy with snow on their branches.

there’s a man in the distance, too— coming closer hour by h o u r — and He’s calling out, guiding m e . . . reassuring m e . . .

i’m just a child, loving with a little heart, running with little footprints, reaching with little fingers; sometimes so b o l d — sometimes a bit frightened w h e n i chance to trip in ruts and chuckholes along the way.

i’m getting stronger, though, and growing taller the days lead m e o n — just seeing His smile

and hearing His voice seem to melt the icicles, and calm the biting wind that dries m y d a m p and wrinkled cheeks.

i feel Him extending His arms to draw m e in, and i begin to realize that finding G o d

is like coming home.

W h a t G o o d Is a Belief?

What good is a belief? It’s as good as your life.

Are you happy? Can you live the way you want to? W h a t do you believe? Does your belief give you a better life?

Don’t be fooled—truth may not be pleasant—just like medicine—it m a y sting. Hear ideas that are powerful enough to transform a nation. But don’t listen unless you can bear the message of truth.

W h a t good is a belief? It’s as good as your life.

A good belief should give you hope— A good belief should bring you closer to your fellow m a n — it should help you face times of sorrow— and it should help you face yourself.

People have fought wars over beliefs, M e n have killed other m e n for their ideas. S o m e was done for the greater good of all. S o m e wars have only caused suffering because they were for the cause of one m a n alone.

Hatred is easy. Love is more difficult. H e w h o can love his enemy, he it is w h o will win.

A good belief sometimes causes pain—because all is not good in the world.

But a good belief—like a trusted friend, will be there in the end.

A good belief is sometimes painful—because it causes a w o u n d in the callousness of complacency.

Sara Mazumdar

8 W h a t Is A G o o d Christian?

Is it going to church every Sunday? Is it saying your prayers before every meal? Is it knowing your minister and knowing that he knows you? W h a t constitutes a G O O D Christian? A s many denominations as there are, that is the m i n i m u m number of answers. Probably there are as many answers as there are p e o p l e — three and a half billion?

One day I was sitting by the window, thinking. A n elderly lady walked by “Turn off your sprinkler I have to get b y — a n d you call yourselves Christians! Hurry up, I’ll miss m y bus!” She could have walked around, maybe? Or taken another street. But she didn’t. A n d Christian to her meant not letting the water touch the sidewalk.

Our neighbor says, “You’re a nice bunch of kids— If you’d just pick up the garbage around there—.” (He reports us to the city if it doesn’t meet his standard.) A Christian to him means keeping your lawn trimmed and your garbage gone. (Does it m e a n picking up your neighbor’s garbage if you don’t like it?)

If you see a nice lawn, Have you found a Christian? I met a m a n once with a beautiful lawn. H e insisted I must step back off his property onto the sidewalk. (Maybe he meant the street. I think I got a little too close.) I tried to tell him that it was really God’s property, and H e had given this m a n dominion. Did he k n o w God’s Will so well? H e not only didn’t listen to m e , but was ready to strike m e if I didn’t leave. (For a m o m e n t I contemplated staying—to see what would happen.) A Christian to him meant leaving him alone.

A man once gave us a donation—to help spread the goodness, I’m sure. H e must have felt there was something good about us. But later he changed his mind. I found out w h e n the check came back from the bank.

I called him and w e had a wonderful talk. W e agreed on everything except that the Savior would be seen standing in the air. To him a Christian is Jesus coming on the clouds. (I wonder if he still thought I was good?)

“Do this, and you will live,” says Jesus as He tells about the good Samaritan. There are some w h o refuse to talk to m e when they find out w h o I represent. To them a Christian is blocking out those w h o don’t agree with you.

I can’t remember the face, but I can remember the response— “I’m not interested. I’m Catholic.” That, of course, explains everything!

“And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, ‘Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?’ Jesus said to him, W h a t is written in the law? H o w do you read?’ A n d he answered, ‘You shall love the Lord your G o d with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.’ A n d Jesus said to him, ‘You have answered right; do this and you will live.’ “ (Luke 10:23-28)

I wonder what he really meant? I wonder w h o is the Christian to him? I wonder what he would have d o n e — — i f he were the lady walking by? or if he were sitting in the window when she passed? — i f he were our neighbor? or if he had more garbage than the neighbor liked? — i f he were the m a n with the nice lawn? or if he had been in m y shoes? — i f he were the m a n w h o gave the donation? or if he were the one w h o called tofindout w h y the m a n changed his mind? — i f he were the one w h o disagrees with m e so much? or if he were the one blocked out? — i f he were Catholic?

I wonder what he would have done? Actually, I wonder if he would be a G o o d Christian?

Sara Mazumdar

Hands… Creative hands, making houses, churches making sounds—music entrancing to the ear music that lifts the soul and takes it t o — planes of beauty, calm and rest… making hands, moulding hands shaping a rough image into a thing of beauty to be admired.

Hands… a mother’s hands… Hands that cradle a new-born child and fondle his hair as she gazes intently in his eyes. Mother’s hands reaching and touching Son’s hands hoping that those hands will make and not mar, help and not hinder, create and not destroy, create life and not murder; a hand of friendship, not that of foe, Hands that bring joy in song and dance, to touch the golden flowers to feel the beauty of the earth. Hands to help a brother to show the way to show direction by example Hands— fingers working together in harmony bringing free flow of movement beauty of working together for one purpose.

11 Hands… God’s Hands creating in His own image… man to bring God’s Family on the earth, hands of God reaching out through thousands of years Hopeful Hands Pleading Hands Longing Hands Expecting Hands Loving Hands Parental Hands Beloved Hands God’s Hands reaching out to man today…

Just what I wanted Yet so difficult. Sometimes like a can Getting kicked W h o cares about the pain? I just want to make progress.

Stephen Hicks

12 These Eyes H a v e C h a n g e d

These eyes have changed They’ve really changed They’re m u c h different than before before they were clouded andfilledwith sludge but n o w they’re clear andfilledwith love they’ve become mirrors to m y soul windows for m y lord these ears have changed they’ve really changed they’re m u c h different than before they used to befilledwith jackhammerscommercialsdirtywordsandrockandroll n o w they’refilledwith the words of m y lord since I became a receiver for m y lord m y mouth has changed it’s really changed it’s m u c h different than before it used to befilledwith slogansandjinglessoapoperasandallkindsofstatic but n o w it’s become a mouthpiece for m y lord m y life has changed it’s really changed since I came to k n o w m y lord.

Michael Bradley

T h e World S e e m e d G o o d and W a r m

the world seemed good and warm, and w e played our games in the damp, salty air; ran our circles, talked of our freedom to do all that w e wished, spoke of our insight

13 into all that exists, and life flowed on in a slow, liquid way.

then one day unexpectedly I s o m e h o w dove out of myself into a different air not nearly so d a m p not nearly so d a r k — but ablaze with light, and I gazed upon what seemed to be a dampened cheek of an immense and splendid Face, a Face I’d never seen… but somehow more familiar than m y o w n — as if mine were but an image cast from this cosmic countenance, the Face behind all faces.

and I saw where I had been, a place that n o w seemed strange: a slowly-running teardrop… a teardrop among many streaming d o w n the Face, flowing together in tiny rivulets, oblivious of their origin: eyes as deep as the sky as full as the ocean as w a r m as the s u n — eyes that once I saw I could not turn away…

but begin to scale the cheek to reach the eyes of Life, while tears poured from m y own.

14 Japanese Couple

We are a Japanese couple, on a narrow path, D o w n a moonlit canyon, with a stream below us. A s hard as life has been, With m a n y years in the Western nation, Nothing can end the Father’s love, Embracing us this evening as w e make our way, M a n and wife, D o w n the narrow path to our home.

Tyler Hendricks

Everyone likes the spring rain, but w h o likes to stand beneath a swollen sky in winter? W h a t lowly spider does not scurry tofinda place to hide W h e n d e w turns to flood on his grassy h o m e ? Inside m y house I watch I cannot feel the reality of coldness sitting near the radiator. Someone comes to m y door. Please buy aflower,his heart said. M y eyes danced on the petals of red and white carnations.

What heat his presence brought. I forgot the rain and stood watching asflowersbloomed on every doorstep.

15 I watched as m y Father’s love was rained upon by winter torrents only to spend itself to make the children smile. I forgot the rain and ran after Him. I wanted to go home.

O f America (Save M y Country)

The drums beating the throb of guitar I never knew I could love her music so much. Every note, every word of the song felt like drops of rain in a sun-baked place. I m a y be the child of a rich m a n , but I’m a poor m a n now. A n d I scramble for every morsel. Just one drop, h o w precious.

I remember her streets and alleys, her cities — t h e lights — t h e hamburger places — t h e bars — t h e old houses with bright colors — a n d loud music. — t h e churches, the good ones, the bad ones. — t h e highways, the dotted lines, the truck stops. A n d I remember her people Each one m y brother, each one m y sister.

16 N e w York, Louisville, San Francisco M y G o d ! M y God! Save m y country Let it be free Let it be a light of hope to the world.

The things you have, my brothers and sisters, the things you take for granted, everyday— belong only to the rich here in other places. You have oil for your stoves, You have buses traveling half empty, You have rice andflour,milk You have freedom You have the blessing of God. Can’t the kingdom start with you?

Go to your colleges W h e r e you can think, and feel and act as you choose, A n d beg them to become educated enough to teach those w h o have no books, no pencils, no paper, sometimes no eyes, no hands no feet and no home.

Go to your churches the ones full of fire, A n d ask them to pray to G o d to stop hatred between Hindus and Muslims that causes not one family, but m a n y families to be slaughtered.

G o to your factories, with their safety regulations; let them become inspired to show others h o w to work so that truckloads of people won’t die on the road, or in homes that collapse.

Go to the wealthy, Tell them there are people— thousands, millions— w h o would consider it a fortune to have one dollar a day. A s k them if they couldn’t spare that much.

No, my brothers, no, my sisters, You are the ones w h o have the blessing— Save m y country You have the knowledge, you have greatness, Don’t let it be corrupted.

It’s your country. It’s m y country. It’s our world.

Sara M a z u m d a r

18 It’s N o t S o M u c h

it’s not so much that w e have been blessed with the mountains w h o stand day after day only to bring us j o y — but that w e have been given the strength for climbing them; not so m u c h the challenge itself that makes life

unique— but that w e have been given the insight for understanding it, the courage for undertaking it, and the perseverance for attaining the win; it’s not so m u c h that w e have the chance of blending our lives into O n e and building a beautiful future— but that w e have been given the gift of a l o v e — strong e n o u g h — to lead us to risk everything to make it in the end.

P a r t T w o

A W O R L D L N N E E D O F L O V E

21 it’s Saturday… and they throw crackers from a brown paper sack to pigeons in the park. the flock is many and theyfightamong themselves for the crumbs in the grass— just inches from m y feet— trusting…

i watched him walk on three-year-old legs to see the birds. his m a m a waited on the sidewalk as he started running— his little arms reaching out so bravely to greet t h e m — trusting… ten, nine, eight, seven feet— he was almost there— w h e n someone blew up the bag and popped it for a joke.

the birds were gone in a moment, fleeing as for their very lives; and the people laughed and laughed… but no one noticed the tiny smile disappear as the tears started to fall.

someone once trusted a snake in another park, and n o w w e all— as children— find ourselves reaching out tofindtrust.

22 on the ladder

high on the 12 foot ladder your neck out on a limb a gust of w i n d — the branches sway ladder rocks and amidst the bobbing spheres you look down visualizing catastrophe shrugging your shoulders reaching for another apple

lloyd howell

The servant brought her a magic key To open the gates of liberty. She wasflatteredthat he should come so far. The key became a prison bar.

23 yesterday i spoke empty words to strangers in crowded subway stations.

i walked straight with proud steps and a hard heart; seldom seeing any seagulls or rainbows or sunrises on Saturday mornings.

yesterday i cried to G o d in a brick church on 14th street for a reason to go h o m e again…

today i opened child-like eyes and innocently peered from a window seat at trust and truth and love; and knew that G o d was not so far a w a y — only just beyond m y selfishness, and grown-up ways of living yesterdays…

only just beyond the white picket fence, calling m e . . .

24 Halloween, 1976

Longing eyes glance from behind crazy masks. Tinyfiguresrun to and fro like moths from light to light— lonely little urchins compete for love and attention.

Who can take care of these lost ones? Broken glass—littered empty lots—cars honking, I will long remember this place of fear and loneliness. It is soon to be only a sad memory in God’s heart.

Mark Anderson

A very soft sadness came whispering today a tuneless humming mumble centered around a note that cannot be found except maybe… in the whining of the wind crying like a human child in the dark.

The rose I kept in a vase on m y desk to remind m e that the summer and I are only temporarily separated, not forever lost to each other, wilted.

Tears cannot name this lost sadness except, maybe “Father,—why hast-thou-forsaken—me.”

Carolyn Nelson

25 Armageddon

They took my joy sifted it under a microscope eye and called G o d a chemical in m y cell and offered to remove it so I could live normally.

O n Finding A Small Kitten

One tiny helpless creature Wandering alone on the road. W h y should I have bent over to pick it up? It was early morning, still dark, the street was wet from the last rain, A n d it seemed to come running Straight to m e from nowhere.

Now she lies sleeping, curled, confident, full, and trusting. It is I w h o a m wandering now. Over and over life, Sometimes running, sometimes sauntering, sometimes quivering as the kitten was w h e n I picked her up this morning.

Can the ache be stopped by such a tiny creature? C a n doors open simply by bending over to pick up a stray kitten—

26 doors that before were bolted s h u t — impenetrable by any means? B y so simple an action those doors will open?

If that is so, what is our life, this life that w e live? Kings might tell you it is a mighty empire. A n artist might tell you it is the satisfaction of the feelings finally expressed and communicated to someone. A skier might say it’s the wind and the snow and the power of gliding d o w n a mountainside A minister might say “It’s G o d — You must trust and love God.”

But this small kitten doesn’t k n o w G o d — or skiing, or art or empires. But there is something satisfying to hold it to watch it e a t — to laugh w h e n she falls over.

The kitten was running because she lost her home. W h e n a mother loses her child she becomes desperate— not w h e n the child is held safely next to her.

27 W h e n a father has no child he wonders why he has worked so hard— not when he anticipates giving everything to his son.

The skier looks for a mountain when he’s in the valley. A king searches for his subjects when he has none. A n artist looks for his brushes when he has something to tell.

I suppose it is fulfilling your desire that stops the questions. But what happens when a skier-King meets an artist-minister? Can they everfitinto each other’s lives— The King looking for subjects, The Minister looking for a congregation?

Or what happens if your desire is for ice, And you’re half a day from electricity in the tropics. Or if your desire is the Kingdom of Heaven, and You’re only half a heart there?

Sara Mazumdar

28 T h e O g d e n Rescue Mission

7 pm service fill out form: name, address, soc. sec. number, Christ accepted bean stew served outa bottomless pot talk of potata pickers comin’ ta town stumpjumpin won’t tell ya nothin’ Idaho farmers mention of thefirstb u m kernal that avalanched a life toward this narrow valley the struggle back up without boots reaching for a hand the lord’s anybody’s the arms too short the slide back d o w n into this life of borrowed pajamas milk expired freedom gone stale theorizing as to which alley & from whose hand your next close shave is coming 9 o’clock pillow acquaintance 6 o’clock rise & cough into the alcohol fog of concrete pasture empty belly sermon

lloyd howell

29 everyday i see them… staring at silent reflections in dirty store windows; or counting cracks in sidewalks, as they stumble down smokey city streets…

they walk with one shadow searching for answers in the lonely faces of passing strangers— silently screaming into a world of echoes…

i see them… and long to lead them to a place brimming with hopeful tomorrows, where someone cares…

i see them… and through my eyes, Father cries…

Ambassador to France

I’m too far gone for that. Call a taxi! “Can you take m e to the Rue de Arnelles?” What a cab driver! I only want peace and quiet. “Watch that child!”

“What! Five francs! I’ll walk next time!” See the stars shower

30 O n the patrons O f Louis’ Cafe, The light shimmer O n that lady In blue, A n d the drunk scatter pigeons. “Fling your hat O n the fountain, old man. That’s the spirit!”

No! I must go back— To that lady in blue Sitting all alone! She’s there! “Well, hello M a d a m . H o w are you? I saw your star shine Your eyes glitter A n d your heart dance on the floor. D o you always attract a partner that way?” “Two coffees please, A n d Pariser Schnitzel for the both of us!”

“Did you see the opera? Yes, they were marvelous! It’s set then, We’ll ski tomorrow at nine. Bring a w a r m winter coat For w e go to the Alps!”

I’m too far gone for that. Call a taxi! “Can you take m e to the Rue de Arnelles?” W h a t a cab driver! I only want peace and quiet. Watch that m a n !

Frank Bisher

31 I a m the child swinging in an empty playground… I a m the poor m a n with wrinkled cheeks, w h o sits on a wooden parkbench, waiting with breadcrusts for stray pigeons… I’m the lone seagull winging slowly over a polluted Hudson, and the hot afternoon sun aching to break through the dark, threatening clouds… Homeless, I scream silently to those whose hearts are shut behind heavy wooden d o o r s — bolted with apathy and coldness…

I am the Father w h o searches— crying…

To Janis loplin, et.al.

I think you have a spirit sprung from frenzy, Janis; Your brain is a kiln, your laughter volcanic. Ringing, room-filling, like brass bells or clanging iron. Splash of hot confidence and sparks of delight.

Get up, Janis, restless star! How you crave to nova! To swim in m a g m a of ecstasy. Your eyes Glisten in anticipation. You find—yes, you find Unlimited Elohim in a needle!

32 Janis, furnace of yearning! burning bush of nerves! M a d for heavens of splendid incandescence, Exploding your quivering heart into shining gas Thatfleesinto echoing darkness, lunging…

You burn hotly, Janis, like an Eniwetok day, Capillaries of nerves bursting, and straining To ensnare a Something. A n d your rollicking, rasping Song heaps aimless branches on your desert blaze.

But your eyes, O Janis, sitting in the quiet dusk, Between song and carouse, they are tremulous, They are lonely, darkly afraid, as a desert dusk! H o w I long to comfort you, O restless one!

Robert Selle

The Angry Pumpkin

had had a bruising childhood the soft spots of which he refused to let harden into scars so all day long the juices flowed like tears and w h e n last I saw him he was drying up totally unprepared for Halloween

lloyd howell

33 Sunflower

You are a flower too coy To look others in the eyes!

Like the sesame seeds wrapped in a sheath, So much is buried deep in your heart! But only a piteous, dispirited soul Dwells in your eyes, Though they burn like live coal.

Under a tiny lamp hanging from the branch of yesternight, Things of which you prated have already Vanished like the dream of a rainbow!

Should the wind have carried your message, though It would still be riding a magic carpet of cloud…

But— In the end, in the end, All things are, of a sudden, Thrown up, lumpy, withered and broken!

Over the crest of a mountain yonder, The glowing sun, chugging along and struggling, slowly descends. Alas, summer’s drawing to a close…

Ye-Jin Moon, tr. from Korean by Dr. Hae Soo Pyun

34 T h e Porch Life

Orange shades and perfume in a starry dusk, night billows in at the seams. W h a t light inside the house beams on the black shape of flowers? W i d e pillow cushion sittings, matted screens and lemonades of pink and green array the petals of a twilight time, unfolding on the fringe of h u m a n hope.

I want the porch life, sitting—there beyond the frontier border of despair, annexed to some n e w growth within the growing darkness, the pregnant house behind and held within the silent zones gone by.

35 W h a t desire drapes the hillside homes, trestles for some sequence still unknown, like perfume held within a nighttime rose?

Leslie Weiss

W e A r e the Lord’s Paint

We are the Lord’s paint, His masterpiece w e ain’t. W e did not turn out like H e planned it; ‘Cause before the paint could dry Tears were in His eyes, His masterpiece lay there in pieces.

Now who can recall, W h e n the painting fell from the wall, A n d G o d had no h o m e for His love.

Yes, we’re the Lord’s shattered frame, but the painter is not to blame;

God’s love is give and take, A n d this is man’s mistake— Thinking the Lord a tyrant, just a ruler.

God needs man for His master plan, and m a n must accept his role.

36 But m a n has been known to object to being God’s object, yet God’s sole objective is love.

Independence isn’t freedom, it’s the blues. M a n is happiest being used. Let the Lord use you, and H e will make you great.

God does His work through man and he w h o lends his hand, H e showers with gifts in abundance.

He’s our Father and Subject. We’re His children and objects. H e throws and w e catch.

Now what greater joy, than to catch God’s pass or be His reflecting glass. W e make visible God’s inner heart.

Yes, we are the Lord’s paint, His masterpiece w e ain’t. W e did not turn out like H e planned it.

‘Cause before the paint could dry tears were in His eyes, His masterpiece lay there in pieces.

Now who will embrace defeat with the painting still incomplete; thefinalbrush stroke is man’s heart.

O h , Father… so long You have hovered overhead— just waiting for a chance to share Your heart with m e . . .

and i make You wait so m a n y years— so m a n y lonely nights.

now i make You wait so m a n y times again. unwilling to bear Your pain; pretending i a m too weak; i ignore the tears i k n o w are falling at m y feet from Your e y e s — You are so close.

Oh, Father…

if-\T”T I il~VC*Cy

TO F I N D T H E A N C I E N T

All Roads Lead to R o m e

Fleeting darkness, Fleeting night, Wandering, wandering For God-sent light. Asking in dark alleys, D o w n dark streets, D o you know, D o you know, anyone, Where the people meet?

Subtle smiles That tell of God Are all that I’ve heard. Fleeting dark smiles Promising a mystery Having no words. Lying cold In dark night winter. Afraid of growing old, I see them quietly smiling. Neither distant nor cold.

Shadow smiles Full of might, Wandering, wandering For God-sent light. Asking in dark alleys, D o w n dark streets, D o you know, D o you know, anyone. Where the people meet?

Sunshine people, Moonlight ones, Where have all our people gone? W e seek them,

42 Must find them, To find the ancient road; For this world leaves us not a prayer To find our way h o m e alone.

Fleeting days, Fleeting light, Wandering, wandering For God-sent light. Asking in dark alleys, D o you know, D o you know, anyone, W h e r e the people meet?

Carolyn Nelson

Pilgrim on the silver waters, Seeking for the Tree of Life, Every footstep is a prayer. That might be received tonight!

In your eyes are tales of travels, Darker roads to distant stars, But to learn the simple secret, D o w e need to go so far?

We are held, and we are guided. B y the O n e w h o goes before, Taking on the burden for us, Shedding tears w e never know.

Pilgrim on the silver waters, Seeking for the Tree of Life, Every footstep is a prayer, That must be received Tonight!

Gerry Servito

A man comes Stands as tall as an evergreen Weathers the seasons with a lark’s tongue Survives the playful, ignorant Carvings on the bark. Outlasts thefirein a thick rind A n dfinallyis seen standing alone, Majestic, fathering the crop of the newly planted.

Frank Bisher

A sun, alive in light, flies with wings extended, sweeping the expanse. A breeze, drawn from the rhythmic movement of feather rays, blows across m y face and through the reeds and grasses A n d as it passes a great song arises. M y ears delight in the cosmic symphony A n d drawn up in heaven’s happiness I come, armsfilledwith flowers, one for every hour love has claimed. A n d in this sweeping song I hear a voice proclaiming, “The Lord is coming.”

44 Father’s R o c k

I saw its splendor in the winter w h e n ice glazed its beauty upon its tender face and snow of cold water of ice. But the sun still shone its laugh and Stars danced in dreams and the spirit still stood in joy. Somewhere there awaits a spring w h e nfishjump and toads croak and trees of leaves sway a sway Rushing trees and wishing seas and there the Rock stands waiting. They wait to b o w like a graceful swan in water and air and as children waddle like ducks trying to copy the way Father smiles in splendor, H o w silent a rock can shout “The Lord’s a coming!” But tears c o m e forth Because they can’t prefill They wait for spring w h e n birds of dreams c o m e true and unity stands before hate Love ways open like blossoms of trees W h e n Father’s Rock waits for Spring waits waits waits For Spring

Leona Eagle Eye

45 Even I Get There

Rejoice you impure in heart for your time of personal controversy has arrived for your unpleasant struggle to start but do not curse your blessing

You are also under his eschatology against your own unfree will but you are apt to willfully reject ignorant of what really happens to you

A few cursings and swearings will be considered as not heard for love has taken control of you a crying heart waits only for your response

Finally tears will appear upon your once stone cold face for you to finally see who you are truly you

Impossible task of thanksgiving it doesn’t matter for forgiveness is greater than words or deeds

Adri de Groot

look today in the night to that concave shell which covers the earth and we know as the sky if there were not so many clouds we know

46 the sky would be populated with a million twinkling shiny points each guarding us reaching out to say there is light if you but see there is truth if you but wait and are patient for with the dawn all the light you will need or can stand will be brought forth

david bruner

Sprouting from His Desire

Fire raced across the sky tonight, All creation gave a mighty shout. M e n , w o m e n , their families Raised their heads, Their hands, A n d embraced as the news came.

Groanings, O f rocks, streams, and wood flowers, Heard throughout the centuries, C a m e no more.

Visions of loveliness, Shimmering and aromatic, Sifted d o w n Through the petals, the waters and pebbles, Nurturing creation With the sweet milk of new life.

47 And then, Sprouting from His desire, The two trees.

Not of This Earth

Out of certain shortcomings can only grow certain truths inhabitants of this earth why aren’t you more careful

Out of your darkness light cannot be born this mud cannot offer clean pearls

even though wise words were spoken your ears were already destroyed and you said you saved yourself by just killing it

one came smiling offering you new hope your children’s children are also to live

looking backwards you developed your hearts but true depth is not in the underneath rather should you turn your faces up forward is the man with a new heart grounded in your Unknown

48 Yet it is a miracle that some are here among his… this is no hope for you and yet it tremendously is

This truth is born out of something different he prays you will…

isn’t it enough for you to have read this?

Adri de Groot

P a r t F o u r

S I G N S O F P R E S E N C E , L O V E

A N D M O R E

T h e Traveler

His coat was softly colored blue, the road brown beneath his feet.

“Where have you been?” I asked the traveler, “and perhaps you could sit awhile?”

I pondered the aroma of his aged and dusty clothing, and its fragrance enchanted m e ; Inviting him in to drink, I thought of Jesus,

“and going for such a long way has tired you not?”

I fixed my gaze to the elements of his character, and his smile answered quickly, then faded back into the lines and paths of his journey which were left etched deep and w a r m within his face.

As he spoke, he drank the glass of wine I had offered him. His voice was weathered and its rasping addedflavorto his story.

When he had finished all he had meant to say, he leaned his chair back against the yellow wall and drank another glass.

And I too had sat and drank a living wine, a sweet and seasoned spirit.

52 His coat was softly colored blue, the road brown beneath his feet. Cynthia R. Bergman

H y m n of Jesus

Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s. Render unto G o d what is God’s. Here is the due I give to Caesar. I a m the due I give to God.

Blow that flame of life a little higher. Give yourselves to G o d and be consumed. I have c o m e to cast on earth a fire. W h o will lose himself to be the fuel?

Graham Brodie

T h e Air W a s Bright

The air was bright— Shining sun swept the golden field Leaning back against a t r e e — m y Beloved smiled— Surely, this is heaven.

With eyes that danced andfirein his heart, he inquired as to h o w I’d b e e n — If it had taken all eternity I felt he would have listened to m e . H o w is it, he, w h o has so much, can love m e w h o has so little?

53 I wanted to say good things, to give him hope, and confidence; I wanted to be the opposite of all those w h o hurt him before. But I couldn’tfindwords, so I just said, “Fine.” A n d smiled.

Sara Mazumdar

The day was long upon the hill, A n d their laughter hung within the wind. White butterfly danced above their heads A n d love was between them. Colors, green and blue, gold, The great quilt of counterpanes Mother’s hands had sewn, They spread beneath the white birch tree. Crackers and milk became a royal banquet For two noble Queens whose Kings were away, Building kingdoms in lands beside the sea. A n d there came two guests to dine with the m e a d o w queens, Sir Robin and His Royal Highness, Sir Bluejay. The M e a d o w Kingdom had never seen such a banquet for such a pair: So wonderful and beautiful, these Queens. The crackers and milk werefinishedsoon, A n d the eldest, whose hair was darker, Remembered the time of day; and she, Remembering her mother’s ways, beckoned the younger To lay her head d o w n upon her lap, A n d together they sang softly, quietly, still softer yet Until the m e a d o w was silent from their laughter, A n d except for a small breeze the M e a d o w Kingdom slept.

Soon the afternoon had gone, A n d in the beginnings of the evening, they awoke.

54 Small sighs of satisfaction rose between them; They began to move again, A n d the lightness in their hearts brought forth laughter For the day was spent in patient m e a d o w waiting To greet their Father’s returning from the land beside the sea. From the tree to the end of the m e a d o w lane They could n o w see their Father coming. Their hearts werefilledwith wonder, A n d the eldest took the younger’s hand. They went running, running, d o w n the m e a d o w lane. White butterflies danced alongside them, Golden flowers bowed as they went running running to greet their Father. The day was long upon the hill, A n d their laughter hung within the wind. Their Father’s arms embraced them A n d love was full between them.

Cynthia R. Bergman

M y Mother, she brings many presents of love night after night, like Santa Claus, Always she is busy but she comes to m y room every night. Sometimes, she scolds m e then w e cry together I love m y mother most in the world. Her beautiful heart which is like the clear sky can’t be compared with anything. She seems to want to care for every person She is more beautiful than any flower. Her heart opens everybody’s heart to the beautiful and joyful world. It can’t but touch everybody’s heart: I wish to live in her heart forever and eternally. “ M y Mother” will be the words I love the most.

55 1200 Hands Clapping

1200 hands clapping—all around me— like jungle rains on the tin roof; filled with God’s love God’s tears— God’s joy. Waters gathering—shining faces— pure and swelling the rivers. The End at last bursts open; the flood cannot be turned back!

600 voices lifting as one—in prayer— like Niagara waters: white, falling, thundering; filled with God’s power God’s determination God’s victory.

Waters rushing—excitement gathering— filling, brimming the ocean: “The waters that cover the seas.” Thank you, oh Father! Thank you!

Barbara Ten Wolde

After Yankee Stadium

A proclamation was made But two days past That w e were resolved at last To build our h o m e on solid stone With our o w n bare hands A n d all w h o partook From the greatest to the least Would be free to shelter Beneath our roof when the rain comes Yes and even when the sun is too hot!

56 For one word we hold above all The price we are glad to pay for our desire —Unification— Stands free. Or simply put: — O n e World Under G o d —

Alistair Farrant

Washington M o n u m e n t

Meet us at! So they did, didn’t they, in their hundreds of thousands!

And now a dream fulfilled Is once more But a dream A memory Ofjoy

The songs were sung The dances were danced The prayers were prayed The Word was given And those who stayed Sawfireworksfrom heaven

So many faces in the crowd Old young black white yellow red W h o could dare say “God is d…”

Through it all there you stood noble needle W e give you much thanks And offer you a blessing Of eternal merit.

Alistair Farrant

57 “ A Sign of Presence and Love and More”*

Golden leaves have always touched me As a sign, a sign of Presence, and love, and more. What of this life, I ask, and what of m y death?

In my mother’s dark, warm womb I didn’t particularly care to m o v e out, A n d certainly didn’t know what was to greet m e outside!

Yet, here I am, and the golden leaves touch me— Signs of Presence, and love, and more.

Your precious eyes touch me, Melinda, Though their color escapes m e ; For, in them, too, are signs, greater signs O f Presence, and love, and more.

What a womb we’re in, Melinda, A n d what’s to greet us outside!

I didn’t relish my birth—’twas a rugged journey From w o m b to outside. A n d fresh into m y n e w world, I was amazed At the lights and strange sounds that greeted m e .

Can I go back inside?—I surely wondered! But, then, m y mother, w h o m I’d never really seen. Touched m e , and loved m e , and caressed m y closed eyes With feather-light fingers, A n d throughout m y little being I felt her lovefillm e endlessly A s I nuzzled her bosom.

Her heart sent pulses of Presence through my diminutive soul. A n d her bosom fed m e ‘Till I slept within her arms.

58 W e await a second birth, the whole bunch of us, Melinda. The stars and heavens embrace us A n d urge us to be born Yet another time.

Our Mother must be anxious to deliver us A n d tofillour souls with her Presence!

Can we go back!—We may surely wonder. But, I have a feeling, n o w that I recall m y beginnings, That our Mother will be waiting To touch us, and to caress our newborn eyes With her feather-lightfingers—thefingersthat have caressed the Ages With Love.

Yes, Melinda, golden leaves have always touched me A n d reminded m e of love and more. But, your precious eyes reveal a golden dawn That touches m y heart Like no leaves could ever aspire to do, A n d tell m e of Eternity, and Love, and More.

•Composed on November 29, 1976, in Washington, D . C , to Melinda Durrell, age 15, of Alexandria, Virginia, who is dying of brain cancer. The Washington Star was reporting about her and showed photos of her with her family and alone.

59 G o d Speaks

Open your eyes and see Me. Open your eyes and listen to Me. For I am Love Eternal, unchanging subject.

Wherever you go, I am, And wherever you stay, I am, For I am everywhere Wholly present.

Even to the utmost particle of matter M y being resides within you; D o not deny M e for I am jealous Of that which I am a part.

I am not possessive, You may have all of M y infiniteness.

Michael Breedlove

I love you, my son, More than you’ll ever understand. I’ve watched you grow each moment, Seeing what a great man you’ll become. I’ve given up many things for you, But you’ve more than paid me back with one of your smiles. You’ve disappointed m e and hurt m e when I saw you hurting yourself. You’ve surprised m e and pleased me. You’ll never know how special you are to me. But now that you’ve grown to be a man, You can give birth to your own son, And you’ll understand why I love you.

Jim Stephens

60 D o You Need M e

Do you need Me I am there. You cannot see M e : yet I am the light you see by.

You cannot hear Me: yet I speak through your voice.

You cannot feel Me; yet I am the power at work in your hand. I am at work though you do not recognize M y works.

I am not strange visions, I am not mysterious. Only in Absolute Stillness, beyond self, can you know M e as I am.

And then but as a feeling & a faith, I am there. Yet I hear, yet I answer. W h e n you need M e , I am there. Even in your Fears, I am there. Even in your Pains, I am there. I am. You & You are in me; Only in your mind are there midsts of “yours & mine’ Yet it is only with your mind you can know and experience M e . Empty your heart of empty fears.

When you get yourself out of the way, I am there. You can of yourself do nothing, but I can do all. I am in all. Though you may not see the good, the good is there.

I am there because I have to be. I am there. Only in M e does the world go forward.

61 I a m the law in which the movement of the Stars & the growth of living cells are found.

I am the Love that is the law’s Fulfilling.

I am Assurance.

I am Oneness.

Leona Eagle Eye

A Revelation

Why must I wait for you to come to Me? W h y don’t you let M e come with you? Is it that you can’t visualize M e sitting in your chair or your car, sharing your table and your thoughts, interested in your daily existence?

Is My place in your life to be relegated to brief visits everyday or so? That is not enough for M e . I hope it is not enough for you.

Above all else is your willingness I seek. It is not that you should bring to M e that which is you, but that you actively express desire to leave behind all that is not of M e . I would not have you arrive here as empty shells, waiting to befilledwith whatever I seefit.You have been created once, and it is only the superfluous trappings which need to be removed.

62 Approach not in emptiness but in nakedness. The self you seek to protect is infinitely more beautiful than the ugliness with which you hide it. Your coverings serve only to keep out the light and heat, not to keep them in as you suspect.

You speak of ridding yourself of your ego. Is not your ego yourself? I would not have you without wit or feeling. O n the contrary, M y desire is to have you dedicate all your thought and love to M e . I would assume that you seek union not merely to please M e , but to please yourself as well. Love seeks a return on its investment, or it could not exist. D o you realize you question M y wisdom w h e n you speak of your unworthiness? If I didn’t think you worthy you would not be where you are. You are not capable of judging your o w n worth, and it is notflatteringto M e to have you constantly test M y judgement.

I want and need your individuality. Without your unique personality, the universe would not be complete. This self which is peculiarly you finds its counterpart in M e . It is the excess which is an abomination to M e .

Must you have it otherwise?

P a r t F i v e

S O C O M E S T H E S O N

Aha-Lani-Sha (Love-Sunshine-Navajo)

aha-lani-sha aha-lani-sha love sunshine in Your smile after a rain through the clouds fresh You came reaching forth Your finger of light stretching earthward upon the dawn You touched m y heart m y life was blond

david bruner

A power in the atmosphere That drives away the clouds of fear— They’ll melt or burn or disappear. Electrostatic syncopation, (All m y demons on vacation!) Prods m e as I stroll along To sing the world a freedom song.

Ah la la la la la la A h tisfineto feel so holy Watch the world go roly-poly, Twitching, switching, zinging, swinging To the rhythm of m y singing.

Tail wagging dogs advancing, Freckled, smiling, children dancing, Ants are breaking ranks and prancing Round and square and helter-skelter, Moles emerging from their shelter! Trees upon their trunks are beating! Bees in unison repeating In strange tongues m y song of greeting.

Ah la la la la la la A h tisfineto feel so holy, Watch the world go roly-poly, Twitching, switching, zinging, swinging To the rhythm of m y singing.

67 W e All K n o w the Lovely Signs

We all know the lovely signs— Butterfly on a rose in the catholic dawn Fragrant aromas in every bridal chamber A n d little lambs herded by one strong shepherd.

We often live under the dark signs— Lightning in parched trees, rocking ocean Long night beset with strange dreams A n d cats stalking Cinderella’s slippers.

So we take the middle road Sandals and street shoes light on calloused feet Courage on our left, heart on our right A n d hope before us all the way!

Frank Bisher

When I gaze upon the brilliant sun I don’t lower m y eyes. I don’t fear its glorious fiery light, for, within m y heart, a thousand suns rise.

Constantine Tsirpanlis

You gave me a flower. I didn’t k n o w what to do with it, So I held it between hot d a m p little-girl hands, A n d it wilted away.

68 You gave m e a flower. I promised to treasure it forever. So I pressed it between the pages of an old book, A n d there it browned.

You gave me a flower. I thanked you politely A n d placed it in a vase on the mantle For everyone to see, But you didn’t look at it.

You gave me a flower. I caught your eye, and w e laughed. I thanked you, Then put it in a juice glass on m y dresser W h e r e it was special to m e Because it was for m e , and then you smiled.

Alice Hellerstein

A beautiful morning is dawning A bright new day has begun, and the birds are up and singing Beautiful morning welcome.

Sing a song for the morning, O h sing a song for the sun! Roses have strewn the nighted sky In the path of the rising sun.

Sweet summer days are dawning W a r m summer days are dawning W a r m summer days have begun.

69 A n d the morning breeze Barely touches the trees, A s the trees gently sway Welcome bright day.

Arise little children Arise with the s u n — C o m e dance in an age fresh begun.

Carolyn Nelson

The sun walks over the horizon like a silent priest swinging incense that hovers over the lakes and nestles in the valleys.

The sweet smell of life comes to tap m e on the shoulder. M y sleepy body resists, and pouring from the heart it enters m y breath and taps on the doors of m y heart.

“Wake up,” whispers the chanting inside. Like a flower m y feelings unfold spiraling outward until m y eyes blossom like the petal of a rose, and m y body dances in rhythm with m y breath.

70 Flowing from God’s Eyes

Flowing from God’s mountain top, come purifying waters, Crystal clear alive with truth, Cleansing the crude debased inherited sin, Purifying waters.

Flowing from our Father God, come revitalising energy, Powerful, thorough life-giving, electrifying, Giving life to dead cells, Revitalising energy.

O Father God, copious tears now flow from me, Purifying waters cleanse m y sin, Revitalising energy gives m e true life, W h e r e death once dwelled, dawning within m e , Is a love of compassion, faith is m y fortress, I claim you… m y Father.

Barbara Burrowes

So Comes the Son

Gently stirring the air, Lifting the heaviness of the d a y — So comes the breeze.

Melting the grayness of winter hours, Warming and reviving the earth— So comes the sun.

Loving me as I was born to be loved— Loving m e as I was born to b e — Loving m e as I was b o r n — Loving m e as I w a s — Loving m e — Loving— So comes the Son.

Alice Hellerstein

W E L E A R N H I S H E A R T

Night-Prayer

Oh God, the golden light of the m o o n warms up the earth,

the burned earth the cold earth the parched earth

dried up like Your children w h o , far away from You soaked her with their blood

men against men m e n against nature m e n against G o d

thousands of years the same tragedy thousands of years the same suffering thousands of years the same hopelessness

thousands of years the same golden shining moon beautifies, comforts and revitalizes, eternally reflecting the sun.

Thea Jaschok

74 O h Father

Forgive my ignorance of Your courage, Forgive m y ignorance of Your wisdom, Forgive m y ignorance of Your suffering, You pioneered a path.

A path of sacrifice… for m e and those like m e . You still give of these qualities: Even though You see m y ignorance of them Forgive this ignorance of Your patience. In m y blindness and selfishness I did not see, could not see, their true value. I see clearer now, I want to love.

Mark P. Wells

If Y o u Aren’t In M e (Si n o estas en m i )

If You aren’t in me I don’t feel life. You are like the water that calms m y thirst, like the light of day that illuminates m y life; if You aren’t in m e

75 I don’t feel life. Loving others, I feel I’m loving You; prayer is m y strength, and m y faith, eternal hope. If You aren’t in m e I don’t feel life.

Isabel Malaga

W h e n I Erase M y Errors (Cuando Borre mis Errores)

When the misfortune of others isn’t in m e happiness, but sadness, w h e n the hatred between m e n isn’t in m e satisfaction, but m y pain, w h e n the injustice done isn’t in m e tranquility, but weeping, w h e n for m y evil action I erase one by one m y errors and feel m y soul repentful, I shall look for consolation in prayer.

Isabel Malaga

It was a rich day And I remembered m y prayer hour And how I did not think of my life.

The rain poured down hard and the slurring wind Tapped against the silver window As m y prayer softly pondered The scene of Christ’s suffering. H o w the world has forgotten H i m — God’s only begotten son,

And how my prayer crescendoed Through the sacred room As I saw the sad, liquid eyes Of m y Savior Lord.

The once pressing rain subsided, As my prayer moaned with subtle joy To know God’s grief.

It was a rich day And I remembered my prayer hour And how I did not think of my life.

Robert McCauley

77 N e w Horizons

I can see over the ridge a n e w life, a new direction, a new determination. The closer I c o m e to it the brighter the old one becomes. The fonder the memories become The less I see of the new A n d I become lost in the maze of the past.

I suffer, like mankind, from hindsight and reluctance to act on vision and foresight. “It can’t be trusted.” “It hasn’t been done yet, so h o w do w e k n o w what lies beyond the past; it might destroy us.” Hindsight is safer, it seems.

But those New Horizons torture me. They’re There. Always. I wasted m y life skittering back and forth. But They’re There, Always. Always haunting, taunting.

No rest. They won’t c o m e to m e . Chained to the ball of the past, I can’t go to them. The light on the other side of the ridge is bright and warm. A n d the sound of confident speech is very pleasant.

James Hammond Robinson

78 In the darkest moments w h e n it seems that I will be crushed, I imagine myself floating as a cloud, very silently watching the sky. N o one else is n e a r — only G o d and I are looking into each other’s eyes. W e c o m e closer, drawn together in love. The sun, m o o n and stars disappear.

I see nothing except m y Father, and I race the wind to His open arms.

I’ve been ground into a pale powder. The wind is not strong, yet it’s strong enough to keep m e from collapsing into a soft pale pile on the floor. I’m spread thinly through the air of the room, barely perceivable as a cloud of dust. Evil walks right through m e . I bide m y time and tie m y wounds and prepare to m o v e forward, again.

James Hammond Robinson

79 Evening Meeting

We see you standing there, smiling in shyness, an expectant question in your eyes.

Who gave you the strength to lead us?

We have been thinking of ourselves today. Our situation, our goals, Our mission, our responsibility, our problems. You have been thinking about us: h o w to teach us Father’s heart, h o w to show us Father’s w a y

How many tears did you cry behind closed doors before coming to meet us here? But n o w smiling shyly, You ask us about our day.

And so we tell you: our deeds, our thought, our feelings, all our experiences of this day. But w e have no words to answer the deeper question in your eyes.

Who gave you the strength to love us?

We never suspected at all h o w near G o d was to us at evening meeting tonight.

Karen Miller

80 G o o d Morning, Heavenly Father!

Good morning, Heavenly Father, I offer thanks that You gave me this n e w day.

Today I will greet Heavenly Father and Nature with all of my love.

The sun and the clouds, mountains and rivers, trees, grass, and all theflowers,everything is so beautiful. All of creation expresses part of m y nature.

I love the dawn. It breaks night’s darkness and lights the way. The sky is very deep and clear blue, an expression of purity. Mountains never move. They show us unchangeable determination. The Trees are great because they grow obediently day by day. Rocks are valuable because they are so hard. They represent strong will and faith. A n d birds sing God’s cheerful message to our ears. I love the dark because it brings out the stars, and the stars give us hope. The rain quenches the earth and brings back life. I love the rain because it cleanses m y sin and makes m e pure. I love the wind because G o d is there speaking to m e . Because I a m a microcosm of the cosmos I can understand that all of these things are an expression of God’s love to m e . I pledge in return I will love God. I will offer to G o d m y prayer, m y love, m y power, and m y everything.

I love the young people because they have the power to believe in the future. I love old people, they have years of experience and m u c h wisdom, but nobody listens. I’ll ask. I love rich people because I can see God’s blessing behind them. I love poor people because they long for the ideal world. I like businessmen because they are trying to take responsibility for this world. I like housewives because they sacrifice themselves entirely for their families. I appreciate arrogant people because in them I can see m y sin. If I don’t meet them, I also become arrogant.

81 I appreciate egoistic, selfish people because I understand h o w hard I a m to God.

Everyone is to increase my love and make me pure. Today m y enemy, tomorrow m y friend, m y brother and sister. Through this I can understand God’s love to m e .

I am a slave of good habits. If I a m sad, I will sing a song. If I a m glad, I will offer thanks to God. If I want to judge, I will bite m y tongue. W h e n I have a complaint, I will repeat, “I offer thanks to God.” W h e n I a m worrying about myself, I will repeat, “I don’t need to worry about myself because Heavenly Father takes responsibility for me.” I don’t have any words of “can’t” and “impossible” because they make m y heart hard. There is nothing I can’t do because I do it with Heavenly Father. Today is the last day, and I want to make today the best day. I will do tomorrow’s things today. W h e n I speak in a small voice, I will repeat, “I’ll speak up with a big voice.” W h e n I a m struggling, I will repeat, “Heavenly Father, you are right, but you suffered a long time all alone. N o w I appreciate suffering with you together.”

I will study everything because I can respond to anyone as an actor or actress studies rejection, anger, laughter, smiling, suspicion, seriousness, and doubt. The people’s eyes are round, square, big, small. The people’s mouths areflat,round, big, small, m a n y kinds of mouths. To research the people is thefirstaction in order to understand people, to love, to unite. It will m a k e m e great. I will work together with Heavenly Father; I have confidence and I never give up, I have confidence and I never give up, I have confidence and I never give up.

Zenichiro Hayashi

82 M u c h W i s d o m Is Yet to be A d d e d Unto U s

How could I retain those splendid words which came out so mightily after I had overcome myself

There was darkness and I was afraid for no connection could be found no one was there and yet I felt surrounded

And I cried out to the One still unknown even w h e n m y talk was familiar that did not help to bring closeness yet (oh h o w I hated m y ugly selfishness) H e was there comforting m e I tried to kick m y surroundings away they had suddenly become m y enemies I cried out for tears for m y eyes were too dry m y talk too artificial

Then He must have come for suddenly the world changed and I could walk back over it nature had paved beauty under m y feet carrying m e lightly to m y destiny

No paper was there, only enough to write “ M u c h wisdom is yet to be added unto us”

Adri de Groot

83 W e Learn His Heart

A group of flowers reached out to me And told m e of the special-ness of God. M y heart throbbed as I saw Him there The delicate lavender wound round with green. They seemed to say, “I love you.”

Why have I been so blind before? Oh, yes, I loved theflowersbefore— But never felt like this!

And God was there in a face The eyes were hurt, but loving I felt His heart so strong as I reached out. I cannot wash that memory from my heart.

It’s happened before—and it was fleeting. But this is not the peak—the sweep As you become forgiven, or when you are loved unexpectedly This is the road—not the peak—I am inside.

God was there as I talked with one I love There was a newness and meaning to his features. I could not but stare—and search God’s heart, And love Him more for the beauty of His creation.

I want to gently caress the whole of the earth And m y heart is full to bursting— The air is vibrant and moves with His love Everything calls out to me, “I A m Here.”

I want to hold this moment forever— That is the promise He gave. You mean, there is more to come? It’s hard to believe love could be more than now.

I feel like a young lover, with God and I. M y feet dance as I walk my daily chores.

84 He seems to be wooing me, and I delightedly giggle—and run to Him.

The bigness of His heart I know from stories past, Of His thousands of years of searching for man But now it seems part of H i m — H i s infinite self A part of His face, I can touch, and love.

I belong to Him, and He to me Because I am free, and He is He.

Sara Mazumdar

P a r t S e v e n

I M A G E S O F A P O C A E

T h e Dancing Ladies

Strung were the crepes of red and gold, Laid was the carpet green. The breathy music of autumn was playing w h e nfirstthe ladies were seen. Hidden in summer’s valleys they were; A n d at summer’s end they came All dancing in the sunlight In pairs and threes. All dressed the same, Twirling and parting and back again. Nimbly did they dance, Gliding-floating-jumping-twirling. Not one would rest or stand, But all joined in merriment. White gowns dancing wildly all Until wearied, but trying still to dance They began to fall; A n d even the wild exultations, The furious music, did not die But struck the feet of the autumn leaves To dance and fall by the ladies’ sides. Never have I seen such dancing, Surely not again Until snowflakes are falling, Caught and swirled by winter wind.

Carolyn Nelson

88 Harebell*

The surf’s lashing cruelty, spurred by the wave foaming wind, seems only to tickle the granite and caress the motley lichens, despite its ogre rantings and army-like battering cadence.

The ferocity of the lake is felt all along the mute shore, but anguish can’t penetrate the crevasses of columnar rock as long as the zany harebell, perched on a mere thread of a stem, can shake its violet head in laughter.

Howl as it might, the wind cannot stupefy the lithe dancer with the sun drinking b l o s s o m — tripping and whirling in m i m e , tenuously attached to scant soil deep in the age wrinkles of rock.

Rage rankles in the surf’s heart as it pounds, like a giant’s fists; the wind at itsflankprying, but not loosening the tight root of such a loosefluidlaughter, doffing petal ends in mirth.

*Harebell—a well-known perennial wildflowerfound in the mountains of Pennsylvania, the Sierra Nevada, and the Rockies. Its wiry, erect stem plays a large part in its resilience.

89 Laughter conquers the vengeance of storm waging water and wind, the sun spotlighting the herd amid the lichen fan club. A s lissome as a trapeze artist, the wiry harebell in dance.

David Grabot

O n the Closing of the D a y

The evening is coming. The light is turning, quietly slipping from the brightness of afternoon into the gentle grey-blue which will eventually catapult into blackness. Every day the light performs its gracefulfinale,often unnoticed in this towering city whose buildings obscure the more spectacular performance of the setting sun. I notice, though, and most of all I love this turning- time between day and night.

This evening, a silent rain is falling. Brief flashes of subdued lightning accent the otherwise soft sensation of fading day. Across a background of shifting clouds a single seagull wanders, dipping towards the river, and then rising again to meet the falling sun. The Hudson responds in rippling waves to the drumming of the rain upon her, the dancing of the rain into the river’s open heart.

Even in New York these subtle dreams daily are performed. There is no city strong enough in its cold impersonality to completely obscure this world’s inherent beauty. Searching eyes can detect Creation’s beautiful, plaintive, lonely song beneath the troubled voices of the city. This song alone brings comfort to m y inner heart.

Kathleen Tyman

90 Colorado River

There the dark gash lay, like a brooding animal, A long salamander or legged centipede. There it lay, tensely poised as if to strike, Though like an undulate spine of dark bone Bristling with processes andfilledwith unknown nerve.

But it was far worse than this! for science’s lens C a n halter a beast or a bone. But this huge gash, This ancient crack in the crystalline earth, Cradled an unknown Water, a River, Washing, washing along its bottom in darkness,

Dark, rushing as the wind, seminal, spiritual, Pouring in mystery. This seamy thing was deep A s the sea, and dark, nestling this rushing thing in its w o m b . So, Powell* was compelled To probe the abyss, this intestine of the earth.

The seminal stream bore him briskly in his boat of Courage and Determine, whisking him throughout A thousand miles of fear and mystery Which became, through his magical sextant, Waterfalls,flingingtheir foam into the sunlight,

Deer and boars descending the Escalante gorge, Columbine and white pine mounting the high canyon, Sandstones, heaping huge sheet on sheet, the earth’s skin. Crowned by the red-gold Salton Basin sand; Fossils, summing up God’s gospel of creation!

Robert Selle

*John Wesley Powell (1834-1902)—American geolo- gist and ethnologist who explored the canyons of the Green and Colorado Rivers by boat in 1869.

91 O n a Breezy Morning

Morning— Mist ballets In between tree trunks.

Flow, cosmic flow— There’s je ne sais quoi* Stirring but intangible In a morning.

Sobbing— Thin as a silk thread, Loud as an uncontrollable blubbering.

Gentle breeze Undulating the waves—likefishscales.

Blubbering of rustling leaves whirrs Around the rim of m y ears.

Rippling waves on the water Dashing against one another, Breaking intoflame-likef o a m s — O n a morn, Flowing, Dashing against…

Now— Morning ballets In between waves offlowingair.

Ye-Jin Moon, tr. from Korean by Dr. Hae Soo Pyun

*Je ne sais quoi—”I don’t know what,” French liter- ary expression of the nineteenth century.

92 Mother Earth

Giving all creation the right to be proud, A n d living in humiliation herself, Still she forgets herself when a seed falls, and bears the weight of the world on her back. Carries the cities, the streets, the houses, Feeds the ever-endless population, lives the pain of the plow, of bulldozer and dynamite, A n d w h e n a forest is laid low in humiliation by fire, It is the earth, the m u d itself, which begins again, to rebuild, to encourage, A n d to strengthen. Truly the earth is a mother.

Even man! In the beginning of time, You were born of the earth, n o w raised by the earth, and to earth in the end you shall return. Perhaps it is true that w e have turned upon the earth, A s a teen-ager rebels, and leaves h o m e , slams the door. A n d the earth awaits for her dearest child, M a n himself, To grow up, to return; Reassuring the younger children, and the plants in the window, “Yes, he’ll be h o m e soon.” A n d smiling sadly but patiently to herself… Like in the movies, or in life itself, She allows no room for doubt; that he will c o m e is certain… A n d his sheets have been washed, and his plate at dinner set…

Elizabeth Reid

93 Song of the Sunset

Summer evening spreading out Before me; behind m e Fireflies flashing, Sparkles of Heaven sudden appearing.

Green trees fade into silhouette, A sky, blue, surrenders and lets The colors of evening conquer its clouds A n d spill their blood in crimson shrouds O f sunset glory, Evening victory.

Donna McMillan

Electric Storm

The night is so alive! H o w can I sleep? A n hour ago m y eyes were weary, M y mind a little slow and bleary, Thinking it would welcome soon the peaceful state of sleep; But suddenly the weighty heat that so oppressed the day was broken. A s if at a signal all of Heaven’s doors were opened To release this mighty shower. I don’t k n o w why, at this hour, Such spectacular drama should be boldly begun, Seeing that most everyone w h o might have wished to watch has gone to bed. (God, w h y not send electric storms as matinees instead?) Anyway, I a m most grateful That this night found m e still wakeful To appreciate the splendor of thisfireworkdisplay. A n d the bright percussive thunder, strength so masterfully portrayed! Before such artistry, H o w can sleep c o m e to m e ?

Kathleen Tyman

94 O n a S u m m e r Morning

As night breathes, rhythmically and ceaselessly, M u r k y mist settles d o w n on the grass.

Dewdrops, racing and skidding Over the runway of grass leaves, Yawn, lazily stretching their arms, tired. Night has been toofleeting,too brief.

Slowly and with tender care, Thefingerof rosy dawn Lifts the curtain of night mist; The chirping of early birds Is carried away by the whispering winds—far and near.

The fragrance of flowers Rudely assails the nostrils like burning incense.

On a summer morn W h e n all things yawn lazily, I would love to become a busy butterfly! Smiles on m y lips, I would love to wake up the misty morning B y pouring a bucketful of cold water Over her sleepy head!

Ye-Jin Moon, tr. from Korean by Dr. Hae Soo Pyun

a late springtime or was it early s u m m e r somewhere in 1971 w h e n it gets dark after ten

there’s a thunderstorm but not m u c h rain I like it and ride m y bike

95 to go study organ in a n e w church of a mental asylum four miles away

I love the thunder it’s bold and masculine and the lightning it gives pleasant shocks

I ride through the woods along the moors and arrive from village to town with many pleasant greens

suddenly I feel the bushes are speaking to m e those reborn renewed by mother thunderstorm

pleasant contagiousness I catch their new life and feel one with all: flowers trees bushes the whole world

indescribable happiness feeling of cosmic purpose God I play for hours unstoppable inspiration

Adri de Groot

Tasks await us at the harvest door. The land laid fallow is n o w fat A s our m e n stream out in the September sun. W e look for more this year than last A n d hope to w a r m the cold, hard winter in our chest. I prayed all seasons G o d would lend A helping hand, tend our character and heart, Give us the tools w e need, shelter, food, A n d sweat to bleed the sultry sun. Still the children wait on empty table, D o their chores, and play as if the stars were theirs. But moments c o m e when their questions wring A tear from m y o w n eye, while father learns The task of harvest is waiting at the door.

Frank Bisher

A Man Has to Come Out of His Cave

A man has to come out of his cave and walk in the sun. Cold, d a m p places are for snakes. Only they that crawl and slither live beneath rocks that protect, under soil that covers and hides and keeps out the air.

A man needs the air. H e needs room tofindhimself to be himself to be a man. H e needs the road to leam the feel of his legs working beneath him. H e needs the wind to learn what opposition is to be able to face it tofindthat not all goes his way.

97 He needs the sky to show him what he has to reach for, to paint the boundlessness— that which he must jump for leap and jump and try to hurdle.

And the sea… with the same rhythm as that which moves within his veins; with the rhythm that is his o w n life. It has to m o v e — o r else die. To look at the breaking waves is to k n o w what it is to live.

To walk into the sun with the wind in your face, to k n o w that the sky though too deep to measure is waiting there always, to feel the rhythm of the sea within yourself— this is to be alive to be a man… and rejoice in the honor of it.

Sunday in South Carolina

Snow speckled mountain fields rushing clouds of softly swirling snow crystal; Little stone houses puffing Silver-grey wood smoke; Happy smiling m a n cooking our dinner in a rusty old diner; Nets of wire fence, a tin roof red barn; Hazy figured hawk in swirling, bitter clouds.

98 Laughing voices slipping d o w n snow covered slopes on empty cardboard boxes, splashing cold and wet; singing w a r m together.

Thank you our loving Father.

Image of Apocalypse

If I could melt, and be the sea, I’d love you in the reverie of tides, that free the dying fire; for evening blues bold orange day, and lights within the water stay.

If I could dance, and be the wind, I’d love you in the promised end, w h e n spring is born in autumn’s bed, and green emerges out of gray.

If I could sing, and be the song of the hummingbird or green frog, I’d love you in the thrumming rhythm, ever-changing, never-ending, bending colors into white…

And I would die, and be the night to love you in the silver light and fragrance of amethyst, where time sifts into crystal rest.

Leslie Weiss

99 The M o o d of the Third Blessing

In the night it was I stepped out of the train that same ancient feeling came over m e the m o o n was leaving a blueish light over the snowy mountains h o w I desired to remain at that station and watch the sunrise over the river h o w happy m y heart was during this bright m o o d of night I almost did not want to leave

For a car I didn’t call I walked it all the way while talking to myself and G o d this road so fresh, greeting m e with trees,flowersand butterflies so it felt even w h e n it was winter actually the branches were frozen the morning sun leaving a crystal brightness in them on the snow coveredfieldsa glitter

Now I could feel like a man at one with this robust and yet so gentle nature the bold coldness amidst the humble snowflakes that had covered earth’s image and had changed its appearance into a fairy tale land yet I and it were so real happinessfilledm y heart knowing that even greater beauties were being prepared for m e

Perfection was only a few steps away yet I carefully walked over the slippery road

Adri de Groot

100 T h e Heart of the W o o d

The farmer has to burn the harvest, Rot has set in at the root But guaranteed some fresh green shoots Shall spring before the summer’s o u t — Promise of such fine and fruitful corn Has turned to grass Short time passing gone to seed,

As for the love of God There came a winter everlasting or so it must have seemed

Burn out my worldly heart, A n d even though a thread of good is left It shall be woven in the body of your love To c o m e to strength and beauty by your grace. If I should turn m y face away and hide m y sin W h e r e would be m y gratitude for him W h o gave so freely from his life? H e knows m e by the hell that I have passed through A n d knows for m e things far more wholesome A n d more glorious, than I could ever dream.

Before the wild twig, broken stem and faceless, Is set for grafting to the tree, D o you not lay it with its wounded end in water, Lest it should perish? A n d for time it seems as though no life will show again Behind the frail and paling leaves, But as soon as it is bound and held, Cut into the very side, A s was the body of our Lord, A pure and cleansing flow of life shall slowly spring from the sap, A n d it shall penetrate the heart of the w o o d

From that garden so long ago, 1Q1 W h e r e two trees stood, At last a pure and cleansing flow of life C a n come, To the heart of the wild wood.

In This L a n d

In this land, There is no “Before dawn.”

Too clever, these people. Don’t try to outguess O r to beat them to sunrise,

As soon A s the rose on the skyline flows

They’ll be there, Not just watching But running and shouting.

I come, In the morning To share their beginning

(A father, I feel, must wake first and sleep last.)

But always one brown Round and energy-surging smile is awaiting,

102 A stare for a stranger, a question, “What’s kept you?”

No, I cannot beat them But if they are waiting Then let m e at least

Wash my face and go greet t h e m —

Oh, Father, I pray Let m e not meet them Empty!

I see they’re awake ‘Cause they never were sleeping.

The night That oppressed them They could not abide.

Fitful and angry A n d restlessly stirring They’ve c o m e to the morning With hope in their eyes.

My Father, The sunrise N o w makes each face Golden.

They watch me, Expectant, A n d silence new falls.

Fork words from my lips A n d m y handsfillwith blessings, For dawn’s of their making, The Truth is their call.

Judy Sullivan

103 O Busan,* T H E KING OF S O R R O W

Looked out onto your deserted ocean waves Where exiled and shackled dreams Pounded the docks, where he poured out His toil with sweat and blood. Only his heart of hope challenged The groaning barge ropes. The pier, your coarse wooden altars of Faith, Sustain the triumph for all ages, Earned by the zealous labor of his Strained, longing heart For Jerusalem fulfilled.

O Busan, THE KING OF PAIN

Found no shelter for his solitary heart From deadening cold and surging rain. Aching loneliness followed your mountain roads And rough valleys to his hollow broken hut. Tense daggers of betrayal did not obscure His passionate heart of expectation. Your shabby hill became a fervent altar of Truth, Outpouring with the Divine Word of God, Shattering the death wish of Your wilderness, for his Victory And the glory of Jerusalem.

*Busan—a Korean spelling for Pusan, the major port city on the southeast tip of Korea. During the first years of the Korean war, it was the temporary capital of the Republic of Korea.

104 O Busan, THE KING OF TEARS

Dashed his burdened figure Upon the soaked slabs offlatrocks Wet from his swelling grief and distress. His trembling heart resounded Throughout the quaking mountain heights. Weeping hostage of constricted visions, His anguished sighs clung to the chill of night. The victim bore offering on your stony altars of Love To purify the black gloom of ages, Elevating the eternalfireof Divine Love In the revival of Jerusalem.

Genie Kagawa

All M y Friends

How can I possibly be lonely? All I need do is look beside m e — there are moles w h o enter m y doors and scurry here and there. Sometimes they even find m y bed attractive. H o w nice to have such good friends.

And on the walls are innumerable moths. They are so patient. They alight and sit for hours. I’m sure they must be praying with m e .

And the corners of the room are the homes of many nameless creatures. Occasionally some larger variety appears. They love m y clothes so much. It’s really a pleasure to have such admirers.

105 There are several families of lizards. So entertaining are they! There is no height too great for them to climb. Their walk is so funny to s e e — m o r e like a waddle. They used to frighten m e , but n o w I’ve learned they are truly dependable creatures. N o night passes without their appearance.

And of course I couldn’t forget the most ambitious of all m y friends—the flies and mosquitos. Sometimes they bring all their friends, families and relatives. They have so m u c h to do. I never see them still for a minute—except w h e n they see m e . They are so fond of m e , They stop everything else to be close to m e .

There is one more variety of friend who comes and likes the center so m u c h he immediately builds his home—wonderful cottony-lacey h o m e all over. H e just can’t bear to leave. A n d sometimes Ifindhim, or her, I’m not sure which, so startled by things I say he is suspended in mid-air. Such depth of heart! There are those w h o can’t even listen to m y words. But not this one!

Truly I am fortunate to have so many friends with such dedication and tenderness toward m e . G o d must have given m e friends to learn from.

Sara Mazumdar

106 Korean Winter in San Bernardino

The sunshine comes dancing into m y dusty window; lightly pouring through mountainside trees, it dots the ground melting the dew. The sun rides low on the crest of the ridge in the morning, while the jewels of the east sparkle in m y mind.

Air is crisp and crunchy cold. The sunshine seems eternal, but it only shines here in the morning. For the rest of the day I’m in the shade, longing for the morning to come again To watch the sun dance Through mystic mountainside trees, thinking of oriental springtime.

Early breeze awakens— The boughs of hillside beauty cast mystical silhouettes upon m y pane. I love Korean winters so much, with silver chimes of coming n e w life That swiftly will surpass today’s dreams of tomorrow. The sun is shining for you and m e .

Launi Wuermly

107 Thank G o d We’re Living in the Days

I jumped out of bed this morning, and thefloorwas talking to m y feet. I drank the same water, from the same old spout, But, oh, h o w it tasted sweet. A n d then I saw, where I thought it all ends, that’s really where it all begins. Thank G o d , thank Father, we’re living in the days, the Days of all Things.

Then I caught me a squirrel that was dying to be caught. A n d then I let the little rascal get away. But you k n o w he came running back and he brought his little friend to play H o w sweet it is, even the bark is blessed A n d the blowing wind finds no sin. Thank G o d we’re living in the days, The Days of all Things.

I met the worms, and the kangaroos too, and the molecules whispered in m y ear. They said, “ N o w you scientists will know the truth cause you won’t conquer us with fear.” A n d n o w w e go to college, at the school k n o w n as Universe U. Taught by thefish,and stars above, W e study in God’s living room. A n d we’re all so glad to be praising the name of the maker of sky, sun and moon. In these days when w e shout his praise even the birds join in singing the tune; A n d w e all thank God, for these very days, These days that we’re living in. W e all thank G o d , and praise our Father For the Days of all Things.

P a r t E i g h t

F L O W E R ’ S T E A R D R O P

O wonderful Christ! M y lifeless, defiled body Is resurrected! • In morning twilight, In the rising morning sun, Saints pray T h y kingdom. • Season of harvest H a s c o m e ! Spread quickly the word of eternal G o d !

Takeshi Ito, tr. from Japanese by T i m Elder and Frank Bisher

*Haiku—Japanese verse form having its origin in the fourteenth century courtly “renga” genre, a hundred verse p o e m written to a lord or lady. Each verse was called an “uta.” Poets began taking thefirstpart of the uta and let it stand as an independent poem, entitled “haikai” and eventually “haiku.” The traditional haiku has three lines of seventeen syllables, broken down into a 5:7:5 pattern. Traditionally, haiku should end in a concrete noun or emotional exclamation and should contain one word suggesting one of the four seasons in which the p o e m is set.

I, a crystal stone, Opened m y eyes to the light A n d answered rainbows.

Alice Hellerstein

Orange sun runs up To the face of a mountain, Peeling back the day.

I feel most certain G o d must leave w h e n w e argue, Just taking a stroll.

Sun passes through clouds Is it a bit of rain there— orflower’steardrop? • Hot baked sands starring— Parched dry by long hours of sun Even sun moves slow.

Sara Mazumdar

Twigs snap in dry days A walk in solitude’s light— Love distant but near.

Fragile flowers dance— The hummingbird in hot hour Loves honey o u t —

113 Graceful woman’s hand W a r m s the man’s in season— Sign of a flower.

Letter to the son In a faraway country, M a y you find a home.

Frank Bisher

Dawn’s new grace of the Father, Which I praise eternally, Is found at point of leaving For God’s large country Envisioned in dreams.

The grace of God overflows With life on river’s surface, Reflecting the blinding light O f His potent sun O n winter’s passing…

I, too, a novice in love, Set out on the long distance O f m y Lord’s stone-weary road, Salvific teaching Spreading through the land.

It seems that God’s spring will come To the disordered earth, too.

*’Uta,’ also known as the ‘tanka,’ has remained the basis of practically all Japanese poetry from the eighth century to the present day. An ‘Uta’ literally means a Japanese short poem. The ‘Uta’ hasfivelines of thirty- one syllables, broken down into the following pattern: 5, 7,5,7, 7.

114 In a boat on the river, The sight of soft snow Melting as it falls.

Rejoice! Spring has surely come To an unfulfilled lover, Nourished by holy heaven A n d love beyond words From hands in the heart.

Your words are fragrance of life, Your words are pure spring water. Pure water from heaven shines Through m y life-giving Lord of heaven’s spring.

Takeshi Ito, tr. from Japanese by Tim Elder and Frank Bisher

The following poems of a Japanese style in which thefirstline is one abstract word, the second line two words, the third line three words, and the fourth line one concrete word.

Love From Father: Flowers on mountain’s Peak.

Heart, Almost broken, G r e w stronger climbing Mountain.

Comfort C a m e too, Quiet as the Moon.

Lori Amundson

Advent, The, 43 Good Morning, Heavenly Father!, 80 After Yankee Stadium, 55 Graceful Woman’s Hand, 113 Aha-Lani-Sha (Love-Sunshine-Navajo), 65 Grace of God Overflows, The, 113 Air Was Bright, The, 52 All M y Friends, 104 Haiku, 101 All Roads Lead to Rome, 41 Halloween, 1976, 24 Ambassador to France, 26 Hands, 10 Angry Pumpkin, The, 32 Harebell, 88 Armageddon, 25 Harvest, 96 Awakening, 69 Heart, 114 Heart of the Wood, The, 100 Colorado River, 90 Hot Baked Sands Starring, 112 Comfort, 114 H y m n of Jesus, 52

Dancing Ladies, The, 87 I Am the Child, 31 Dawn’s N e w Grace of the Father, 113 I Feel Most Certain, 112 Dear Son, 59 If You Aren’t in M e (Si no estas en mi), 74 Do You Need M e , 60 Image of Apocalypse, 98 In Morning Twilight, 111 Electric Storm, 93 In the Darkest Moments, 78 Even I Get There, 45 In This Land, 101 Evening Meeting, 79 I, too, a Novice in Love, 113 Everyday, 29 It Seems that God’s Spring Will Come, 113 Experience, 94 It’s Not So Much, 18 It’s Saturday, 21 Father’s Rock, 44 Flower, The, 67 Japanese Couple, 14 Flowing from God’s Eyes, 70 Fragile Flowers Dance, 112 Korean Winter in San Bernardino, 106

God Speaks, 59 Letter to the Son, 113

116 Light, 43 Season of Harvest, 111 Look Today, 45 Servant, The, 22 Lord’s Stallion, The, 4 “Sign of Presence and Love and More, A,” 57 Love, 114 Sisters, 4 Sisters, 53 Man Has to Come Out of His Cave, A, 96So Comes the Son, 70 Matins, 65 Song of the Sunset, 93 M o o d ofthe Third Blessing, The, 99 Spring Rain, 14 Mother Earth, 92 Sprouting from His Desire, 46 Much Wisdom Is Yet to be Added Sun, The, 67 Unto Us, 82 Sunday in South Carolina, 97 M y Mother, 54 Sunflower, 33 Sun Passes Through Clouds, 112 Name: Man, 24 Sustaining, 11 N e w Horizons, 77 Night-Prayer, 73 Talc, 78 Not of This Earth, 47 Thank God We’re Living in the Days, 107 There’s a House in the Distance, 5 O Busan, 103 These Eyes Have Changed, 12 Of America (Save M y Country), 15 To Janis Joplin, et. al., 31 Ogden Rescue Mission, The, 28 Traveler, The, 51 Oh, Father, 37 1200 Hands Clapping, 55 O h Father, 74 Twigs Snap in Dry Days, 112 O n a Breezy Morning, 91 O n a Summer Morning, 94 Uta, 103 O n Finding a Small Kitten, 25 O n the Closing of the Day, 89 Washington Monument, 56 O n the Ladder, 22 W e All K n o w the Lovely Signs, 67 Orange Sun Runs Up, 112 W e Are the Lord’s Paint, 35 O Wonderful Christ!, Ill W e Learn His Heart, 83 What Good Is a Belief?, 6 Pebble, 112 What Is a Good Christian?, 8 Pilgrim, 42 W h e n I Erase M y Errors Porch Life, The, 34 (Cuando Borre mis Errores), 75 Prayer Hour, 76 World Seemed Good and Warm, The, 12

Rejoice! Spring Has Surely Come, 114 Yesterday, 23 Revelation, A, 61 You Ask M e W h y I’m Here, 3 Roly-poly, 66 Your Words Are Fragrance of Life, 114

ISBN 0-932894-22-4

Unification Theological Seminary • Barrytown, New York 12507