Thoughts Have Hands

We fish for meaning,

Use words to bait hooks thrown into the stream of consciousness,

Wait impatiently to reel in understanding;

Occasionally, we catch a coherent thought,

Clarity snagged from the deep.

Enough to take home

Enough to weigh and put on display

Enough to draw attention

Enough to cause a flurry of fishers

To try the same hook, and

fish the same waters,

Ultimately,

catching little or nothing,

Nothing worth frying up for dinner.

Finally, we see meaning fails to take the bait, and

Long before we stopped fishing,

Slipped the hook

And swam away.

Leaving us to row on down stream

in search of better waters to fish for meaning.

THH

12/29/23

I woke up this Christmas Day.

A day gifts and treats are shared with family and friends.

A day we are told a special child was born in Bethlehem to rest in his poor mother’s arms.

On this day we celebrate his birthday.

But do we not celebrate every child’s natal day,

With a wink and smile,

With joyful reverence,

For every infant birthed in the human family,

Don’t we offer deference,

and compassion

An enchanted reverie?

For each new born

faces the all to human tragedy

And suffers life’s sundry turns

Where human understanding must in fear and trembling learn

to discern the light in all the worlds best offerings

Doesn’t every mother see her new born — son or daughter,

As a special gift to humanity.

As her infant smiles, cries and sucks

the milk of life she is giving,

Savor the thought

She may have birthed a great king,

A doctor,

a teacher,

A Martin Luther King, even

A Buddha or

A Christ,

A messiah who will bring light to answer everything?

She may have brought forth a genius or an apostle of truth and great wisdom for all humanity.

So as we exchange our gifts

and bask in the joy of our own special community,

Let’s recall the fate of Mary’s child

and the innocent slain on our altars

of greed, pride, and thievery.

For throughout today’s unforgiving world few mothers are granted even half their wish. Indeed,

many see the light go out before the dawning of a single day.

What leads us to engage in such savagery

And sacrifice our children

To delusional wins,

Of fighting for power and control

to hold permanently?

Instead let’s strive to remember

the light and the art of sharing,

Instead share the light and make

for our children —

A world worth giving,

One worth living,

Instead let’s celebrate the blessings of incarnate light

this Christmas Day,

Let it warm our hearts

and challenge us all to light the light

in everyone we meet this day and tomorrow too.

Merry Christmas and may we shine the light of Christ in all our living.

THH

12/25/

All things happen

For a reason you say.

Do you mean a cause,

Embedded deep in the span of space time, making this or that come to be?

Or a celestial being looking down from heaven, removing stones blocking your way and smoothing the path before your feet?

A paradise where milk and honey flow eternally and to have it all,

you have only to ask sincerely.

Would you tell Job in his pain and loss, he must have sinned for God is good?

Would you admonish young Issac that everything happens for a reason?

Are your prayers like carrier pigeons delivering requests to angels who wait patiently to make your desires a reality?

Cain and Abel offered prayer and sacrifice to God. Was there a reason for what happened next?

Cain’s sacrifice was not accepted,

And his face fell. Jealous he killed his brother in anger and for revenge. Was this the first time his prayers failed to bring desired results? Did God let this murder happen for a higher reason?

Disappointment marked Cain for the rest of his days. And the text fails to speak of prayers and sacrifices made the next week. Job and Issac survived but at what terrible cost to their humanity.

Are your prayers always accepted? Do your prayers get answered positively?

Amazing how blessed we are —

More amazing still — how we offer gratitude happily for the gifts we believe are justly deserved.

I mean you follow the rules. Make laws to secure your days and ensure your abundance day after day,

But awaken shaken when forgotten and judged for lacking humility.

All things happen for a reason you say

Maybe so then what do you wonder when disappointment comes your way.

And if prayers unlock the future is it the one you want.

THH

12/05/23

Some scientists say time is an illusion.
So how can I waste it?

But every passing moment feels like a mark against me, a failure to march resolutely toward accomplishing my goals,
however vaguely sketched in my head.

When I fail to spend my time well,
Guilt drains time into emptiness.
Time that doesn’t exist.

Oh why did I watch a game tonight?
Why did I spend time on meaningless play?
I could have read my book, or written a poem or called you.

Time is short at my age,
And time flies faster than truth can reveal.
Time that doesn’t exist anyway.

Why did I stay up so late doing nothing important?
Now tomorrow will get a late start,
And I will be behind my time again.

Even if time doesn’t exist,
I know soon I will be out of time;
And not half done with all I want to do,
And my time that doesn’t exist except in the mind’s eye, fleeting moments of narrative, unspoken history,
Will be lost to time that doesn’t exist.

So here I am
Sitting with a past,
half remembered and half imagined, looking to tomorrow,
as though it will always come,
Inventing next moves in time
that doesn’t exist.

Does anybody understand these seasons,
The perpetual cycle of sun and moon?
This well reasoned calendar,
dividing our days and years
as if we are going somewhere
in time that doesn’t exist?

THH
12/4/23

Everywhere

Signs link our brains to chains of being.

We like it,

A friend likes it too.

A crowd gathers and wants to wear, bear,

Or swear by it,

just like you do.

Now it’s a thing.

It’s got everyone’s attention.

Then it’s all the rage

With it

you are the toast of the town.

The sign can be anything

A car you like:

The Rogue, Santa Fe, Tacoma,

Mustang, Tesla, or Ram,

Bought for power, prestige, or a sexy name

To send a message

Receive acclaim.

The question is

what comes first the car or its brand name.

Each speaks to the buyer of the exotic, erotic,

or of powerful dreams.

Then there are the places you go, to hang out, or be seen,

not just a cafe or bar,

but Turtle Bay, Cracker Barrel, Sardis or some other prestigious hideaway

The food may be outstanding,

maybe not,

But it strokes your expectations

And stakes a claim to lasting fame

with a meaningful name.

And we love to wear the costumes,

not just pants, shirts, or shoes,

But eagerly show our colors,

Make a statement for our team:

The hat, the jersey, the makeup themes,

shout our allegiance to flag, party and team.

We identify with colors, mascots,

and fancy jewelry,

or even a too colorful,

permanent tattoo.

We show everybody

who we are

and are not.

And the place to be

Flag the signs of the times

make us who we are

Signs of our identity, our vocation, our ideology.

And this is me,

As we curry favor with our signs

and point to who we are,

or most want to be,

a fine example of the continuing catastrophe,

The same old thing repeated unendingly.

THH

12/21/23

After the shopping is done

And you’ve dusted and cleaned,

put up bright decorations of welcoming

A waiting begins.

No longer obscured by the busy rush of your readiness,

No longer mindful of gift lists,

Or of the wrapping

Finally prepared

there is waiting.

Waiting for music to play

Waiting for the choir to sing

Waiting for family to arrive

Waiting for the presents hungry for the opening.

Waiting in the middle, between prepared and what’s coming,

A quiet space opens in between past and present, between now and then.

Even if for only an hour before the party begins,

there is the moment of sitting and waiting,

The glad and sad wondering.

As you think of feelings, deep and brooding, halfway full

Then strangely turned half empty.

You mine this territory of in between

For words to name the moment

you hope you’ve entered in

You sit,

You wait,

As hopes sweet as maple syrup dribbles through your mind,

a dream-like state poured over

Comfortable hotcake memories,

A brief contentment seeps down your spine.

You always worry have you done enough

Your imagination conjures fears

and your mind is soaked with fantasies of worry and doubt.

Never satisfied —

Will what is coming make a joyful memory, be held up like a prism to enchant,

To encourage family and friends,

Will all resentments end,

Or

lost in old photographs albums

and Facebook lore,

Of those you can no longer hold

Will old wounds open again.

Indeed you will listen and familiar

stories retell, laugh, and then

Recognize you failed once again to make another Christmas Day

A haven for evermore.

Too much wanting

Too many things simmering

Too much remembering

And a weariness for doing more than relenting

So much left unsaid again.

Holiday lights are rarely beacons of illumination,

only nostalgic colors flashing warm visions of Christmas past.

The silent night sung by candlelight

Will bring contentment,

The Christmas Day gathering will be full of laughter and have its charm,

But when doors close on separate journeys taken to far away homes,

You sit with decorations flashing, light and dark,

On a cold winter’s night

Waiting for Boxing Day gift giving.

And more waiting will be coming,

A year’s worth of planning,

As the familiar chill from goodbye

and blue feelings haunt the inside of you and ghosts of Christmas future summon

Hope to come home again.

THH

12-22-23