Thoughts Have Hands

Some like it hot

Others want it cold, and ask for ice to go.  It matters not.

Some travel the world to see the sights, 

Others read books about what they want.

It matters little. 

Some talk gray matters to death. 

Others spin in circles and make no sense. 

It matters not unless you must listen.

Some stir up plots and egg on resentment. 

Others disrupt the flow of authority and 

make good trouble

Some do wonders without light.

It makes a difference.

The world brooks no resistance,

Upsets aspirations, laughs at certainty,

Unfolds indifferent to complaint or fine argument,

Unleashes surprise

With no surcharge. 

Some respond with idols to distract from signs of conflict,

Others hold down the fort, refuse to budge.

Stubbornness makes room for blame,

But offers no permanence.

Some look too far in the future 

Fail to embrace moments of joy, 

Miss eyes that smile back.

Others stay busy,

Worry too much, 

Wonder what will happen?

Does it matter?

Life weaves in give and take with threads of pure gold to purchase meaning in hope or in grieving,

Enough for all to hold close without deceiving.

Invisible to some who fail to breathe with empathy in the presence of another. 

A mountain stream will cleanse a body that’s willing, but not a mind full of ill intent.

Some claim the heartbeat of connection too faint to hear, and

Wait for less impaired ears.

Others don’t care or live in fear of misdirection. 

Some listen to suffering, and

Expect quick relief.

Others practice forgiving of victims, shamed or dying.

Listen with patience for sounds of ethereal music,

played with sublime precision

for everyone living,

Once heard, loud and clear, will bring 

Change for us all.

THH

3/10/25

Start walking, don’t look back, for home beckons you stay; it’s no longer your own and could break your heart, stymie conviction. 

A mind filled with doubts, fearful of ghostly warnings, empty of knowing, sees the road ahead dimly: 

A thrill to face, a bit foreboding.

A distant star caught your eye, 

Your interest tickled by a flicker of light, you risk the chance. 

Throw off your cloak of self protection, trudge into a thicket of thorny expectation, take a first step, and then another, packing courage, ignore inevitable pits, and follow your call into  wilderness.

Leave behind home and friends, forge ahead, follow dreams with little light or apperception.

Marked with your blood you march in hope of avoiding a heated conflagration 

Read signs painted in their own dried blood by strangers and the occasional prophet, pointing in various confusing directions.  

The path forward twists and turns, tiring your vision and moral attention.  The ups and downs batter the heart, disrupt the mission.

Finally, you find a place to call home. But your skin, thin and bruised, carries once painful scars. 

You think you might settle down when you stare with dismay in a mirror, seeing how much your changes, then bravely smile back at what has not.

You shed tears at old wounds and put on a fresh shirt, head out the door; the journey engaged ends when your ashes are planted in dirt.

But for now you have a good friends who don’t make fun of your appearance and can relate to similar mistakes. They know the struggle and the cost of strong.  

From years of living in solitary you have learned what it is to be alone, but now you enjoy the sweet pleasure of sharing the tales of adventure and laugh at your sempiternal search for the mystic.

And in exchange of deep conversation you may recognize this consolation: faithful living often brings a slow and beautiful transfiguration.

THH

3/4/25

The reality of mountain tops come home when you look down; that’s when it hits you square in the face.  Below every mountain lies a valley in need of grace.

Now you are high; you can touch the blue sky. You are talking to Gd. Your conversation transparent as fresh air.  

Overwhelmed by intimacy, you find agreement within yourself and in the mystery all about. 

Somehow the pure joy of breathing feels like knowing, of being loved and of loving, like the first person to stand in the garden. 

Communication flows like wine; fulfilled in the moment, you are ecstatic; absorbed in oneness, held by your lover, freed by a friend in the singular sacred.

Then the time lapsed movie scene shifts to an inevitable climax; you find yourself in awe of the mystic connection, but shed tears outside the theater looking in.  Time stopped, and now starts up again; your attitude hangs by a thread between wonder and regret. You ask was it real or a day dream?  

Maybe you should build an altar before you go down to mark this place of special knowing? 

Silence pervades as you descend the mountain.  There everyday life awaits your return.  You long to stay having found bliss. To get back to the joy that is slipping past. The Cheshire Cat who made your heart skip, a wry smile fading to dark.

Nagging your mind, full of mundane obligations, each calls your name. You feel the pull between staying and telling the fantastic story to people below. 

You walk down the mountain in wonder and silence, basking in after glow.  Suddenly you realize sharing the ineffable is quite impossible; your words will sound unnatural, short of relating the warmth in your heart. 

People wait below with serious questions. What can you say?  How can you share the extraordinaire?. 

The crowd jostles for position, cries out for information, begs for inspiration.  In all too human exasperation, you hate the demands but bless their hope. You recognize the desperate search for magic of intervention.

In the grubby world where people exist, you offer grace.  Wistful for not being home, you hope your friends will come along.  But the deaf can’t hear the music of the spheres and the blind lack a vision of kin-dom. Some people dripping in gold are starving, while the poor are abused for even trying to buy bread. All admire your hope but the burdens of life makes them fearful. So you go to work, and try to heal the broken.

You offer a glimpse of earthly abundance and wait with patience to unveil the kin-dom but earthly rivalries dim human vision and keep peace at a distance.  

Mountain top reverie is foreign, easy for the divine.  And you know your peak is beyond even the chosen: greedy and in pursuit of another scapegoat, it’s hard for them to climb a spiritual mountain. 

And crowned by scandal, suffering performs a shameless dance before your cloud of unknowing.

And in every valley human toil never ends until all rivalries stop their infernal brawling.

THH

3/1/25

I am who I will be

A challenge to the wind

A lonely rock shaped by chaos 

Sinking in the deep.

I am mass and energy swirling in space 

A universal plea defying time

I am protons and neutrons knotted by gravity,

I am an electron moving too fast to

Explain my identity. 

I am resistant to change 

I am persistent playing my entangled game 

I am inconsistent seeking what’s new.

I am emptiness seeking connection

I am striving for validation 

Unsure of the name I was given 

I am a merchant of half-baked dreams

Selling success to all who listen.

I am wadded up paper,

Thrown to the floor,

Discarded thoughts,

Left on their own to slowly unfold

I am spread out, frayed at the edges. 

I am often illegible, not exotic, a common script longing to be deciphered.

I am narratives torn from my drama,

A performer, seeking direction.

I am a half written script 

With endings doubtfully imagined, wanting rewrites or a bigger part.

I am an offender uncomfortable with redemption 

I am my own mystery thriller full of apprehensions,

a master at deception, tempting fate,

A juggler with arthritic hands, 

Posing for a smidgen of human attention,

An actor in pursuit of a standing ovation. 

I am a poet scrawling words on scrap paper to catch artistic inclinations

I am a seeker of rhymes with aging balance.

I am unskilled labor pining for work. 

I am innocence grown old and romantic.

I am digging at my hidden roots.

I am wistful of branches too high to reach.

I am a leaf yellowing on the tree.

I swing with summer breeze

I am turning golden soon to float free.

I am bold but full of aging wisdom.

I am disordered entropy.

My consciousness sails west to meet sunset.

I remain an incomplete mess as winds blow me along to an unknown home.

I am grounded looking at sky, feeling the earth under my toes.

Through looming branches,

I reconstruct trips aimed at the sky 

I am desire attached to memories I want to last.

I am a brittle leaf curled up in hope. 

Love will warm me in the sun.

I am winter snow

Taking the shape underneath 

I am molded by gloved hands 

into fragile art, 

A singular eye catcher, 

Left in sunlight to water the earth.

I am open space dancing with time 

I am a temporary, too fallible to understand

I am who I am. 

THH

2/26/25

A preacher, some called teacher spoke to a crowd about abundance

and a special kin-dom very near.

With ears accustomed to broken promises, and suspicious of the words from another ecstatic prophet, the crowd hoped to hear more.

Starved for a message to fulfill tradition,

Ready for ancient hopes to be confirmed,

Hands fingered empty pockets in anticipation,

He spoke of a kingdom found within, available for the asking.

But his call to love enemies and turn the other cheek or walk an extra mile made them grumble.

A strange place to begin a faith journey thought many burdened by debts.

Angry with their long suffering situation, they hungered for victory over known foes.

Full of desperation, they looked for a mighty king, to bring the kingdom to fruition.

To win power in a final apocalypse, and be rid of woe. This was the message of abundance listened for.

The crowd pressed hard against the man, forced him to climb into a boat. And there he spoke loud and clear over the water so every ear could hear.

He proclaimed all are blessed, including the meek and even the weak. He assured them everything will be revealed and all will be satisfied in God’s Kin-dom.

But the crowd wanted blood on the ground. His peace looked puny. And in spite of the man’s reputation for making good wine they left confused and thwarted.

Crowds are never pleased if expectations go unmet. No crowd sees truth until the innocent lay dead and the earth splits open.

But the enemy to be feared is not the one expected. The crowd wanted to conquer their oppressor, not uncover internal demons.

If this story rings in your ears it may remind, when fear wins elections year after year, when habits rule without reflection and abusive practices go unchallenged, when cynical campaigns of lies and fake news blind eyes to facts, then hate takes precedence and escalates by degrees of humiliation to physical retaliation.

Then all we have done is repeat the sad case of the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Rivalries rule our hearts until we face the envy within and humbly seek to be forgiven.

As the crowd wandered off, the man looked ahead and strolled the shore to sit with friends he met before. Fishermen repairing nets after a long night’s work, bone tired and wanting rest.

The man invited them back to their boat. They knew with the Master work never ends. So they rowed into the deep and let the nets down where he said; and the catch was more than the men could haul in. The boat nearly sank by the weight of fish.

Amazed by the gift of abundance, they knew the meaning of God With Us.

And one named Peter, exhilarated by this miracle was transformed; and before his friend fell to his knees and called him Lord.

For this huge catch would feed his family and the village for a week, so Peter believed the kingdom had come.

And the man said to him, are you impressed by catching fish? Come let’s be fishers of men.

And so the message spread a wide net, and to this day we seek this kin-dom of abundance and hope it will soon come.

But our hearts ruled by desire for control and sundry comforts, fears there is never enough.

When the man said to share with your neighbor so no one will be lost, few followed considering the cost.

And still we ask who is my neighbor?

Must I treat this other like kin?

And quick we are to remove the speck from the other guy’s eye and ignore the prejudice hidden under our skin.

Blind to abundance we covet more and more.

THH

02/06/25

Dwell 

Under the Oak tree 

It’s fine

Sit and enjoy the air.

Look up,

Behold blue sky, 

As it peeks through 

Long grey, brown branches. 

Stay present in the breeze,

Trace the evolution of each branch, 

In sinews of twigs, stem, and

Fleshy green leaf, 

Watch them wave cheerful little dares,

Or offer serious prayers.

So to are we lifted up by the wind,

Twisted this way and that,

Dangled at the end of each generation,

Clutched by limbs of inheritance 

bent by chance.

Required to trust hidden strengths,

And transcend arms of connection,

Believe in communal bonds of promised affection, 

Never to be broken.

Hold fast to habits learned by living,

Dream of love never ending. 

Sustained by planted oaks,

Rooted in soil believed fertile,

Grounded in our Tree of Life.

We dance with the whims of wind, 

Struggle for balance,

Seek innocence, and 

Strain to keep fragile hope alive

In the face of coming circumstance. 

For leaves will dress in majestic 

Colors at their autumn ball,

And school our hearts 

In the art of the fall.

THH

01/30/25

Thanks be to God for leadership capable of standing up in front of the most powerful elected official on earth and proclaiming the gospel of Jesus Christ. Not only did Bishop Budde share the good news as any good Christian preacher would do but then she looked the president firmly in the eye and clearly made a plea for mercy.

Literally begging the president from the pulpit to be merciful to the many marginalized people in our country who are living in fear. She pointed out immigrants are an important part of our economy and statistically less likely to engage in crime than other groups. She spoke of the fears transgender people have related to their treatment in schools and in health care.

Her comments should be commended. The thoughts she offered were straight out of the New Testament. It was a normal message of the good news that should be familiar to any Christian. Yet in these hyperbolic times full of radical Christian nationalism and right wing cult thinking, Bishop Budde is being condemned for speaking the truth. Anyone who takes such a step can expect the powers that be will react negatively. We have ample evidence in scripture itself: think of John the Baptist or Jesus when they warned people of hypocrisy and mistreatment of the poor and widows. So Bishop Budde stands in a long line of prophetic men and women who have stood out from the crowd and stated their truth, calling the powerful to account for their meanness and violent behavior.

It is ironic that we celebrated Martin Luther King Jr’s birthday on Inauguration Day. Dr. King was one of the modern day practitioners of such truth speech. His call for equal treatment of black and brown people and for economic justice led to his assassination.

We need to stand up with him and Bishop Budde along with others willing to call the powerful to account. We must condemn unjust or vengeful tactics in pursuit of a political agenda. The lies and ugly insults thrown around with no concern for consequences or impact have become all too common in our current political climate. We are a divided country and all sides have a right to their perspectives and opinions. However no one should be able to control the narrative and force their views on the body politic. It seems disagreement itself is not to be tolerated in this country. Yet we were once a proud democratic republic and free speech and freedom of association were the norm for centuries.

I write today to make my own position known and to advocate for tolerance and mercy.

I believe too many Americans have succumbed to a climate of fear fomented by dishonest brokers with an ideological agenda aimed at feathering their own nest. These politicians and oligarchs ignore the harmful effects of their policies. The powerful have implemented a program geared to scare the unwary into compliance, while promising flag waving political results that are largely illusory or illegitimate. The reality will harm the very people they won over, and fill the coffers of the rich while cutting much needed programs to support the less fortunate. The game works until the results begin to produce pain or panic. I think it likely buyers remorse will set in soon but the damage done to our country in the interim could be severe.

I think it is worth taking strong public positions against policies and enforcement actions that harm minorities. It is critical that the powers that be find it impossible to act with impunity. We must hold them accountable and Bishop Budde has done us a good service by taking a strong stance, face to face with the president in favor of mercy and against meanness. Thank you Bishop Budde.

I can only hope that your example will be the first of many strong appeals for mercy and tolerance. Personally, I think Americans have been fooled by a con man who is willing to say anything to get his way. Too many of our people are complacent and too comfortable with their lives to think seriously about our present age. So far Trump Rex has been very successful in achieving power and influence. I think he is best characterized as Trump Rex, but he remains vulnerable and mortal. So it is incumbent on good citizens to stand firmly against his lies and attempts at intimidation as well as to work diligently to defeat him at the polls as quickly as possible. Speak truth to power my friends. Stand up for the weak and vulnerable. Stare the hate and fear mongers in the face and tell them no. Hell no!

Tom Hardin

Expectations change with loss.

As once cozy days lapse into a weary haze.

Normal takes a sabbatical;

Home sickness pervades like the first night of summer camp.

Difference introduces herself but seems unfriendly and

Fails to seduce.

Forward feels foreign and awkward,

Confused you remain silent,

Seek solace in mirrors,

Watch strangers stare at flat screens in the airport lounge,

Memories smile as you reminisce.

In the barroom mirror you see shades of greed and envy reflected in the airport lounge,

The expected no longer nurtures 

The elixir of intended destinations wears thin.

And the coffee has grown cold.

Then a voice announces time for boarding, 

You walk to the gate, numb,

Wish you had ordered a stiff drink,

A one way ticket in hand.

From the airport window, you notice

Yesterday wave a distant goodbye;

You buckle up your heart for an uncharted flight.

Peer out a tiny portal at what once felt like home, 

Hear echoes of ghosts roar in loud jet engines,

Take flight to an unfamiliar destination,

Grip your seat, lean back and turn from loss,

Begin anew.

THH

2-9-25

On polar winds

Winter lumbered in.

Tenacious little flakes fell,

Covered dying grass on frosty hills,

Spread across once busy streets,

Closed off thoughts of hurriedness.

Snow fell through the night 

As worried eyes chanced rest.

Forced plans to go on hold,

And weather took control.

But morning light,

Dispelled threads of concern,

When awe struck eyes saw the show:

Ice crystals that fell through the night

Joined in one solid bank

Of new fallen snow 

Shimmering white in sunlight.

Nature’s persistence dazzled the mind:

Offered slices of immediacy 

On the knife edge of now,

Opened veins of silence within,

Shaped inconveniences of time

Into a moment of zen.

THH

01/11/25

Started a fire in the stone hearth,

Flames lit up quickly enough,

Danced in the air,

Heating our cold, out stretched hands,

Warming up hearts in the firelight 

Eager to snuggle

Side by side,

Ready to bed down for the long winter night.

Flesh touched flesh,

Your blue eyes sparkled in the firelight

Home fires glowed

And love warmed the night.

 

Happy by the fireside,

Near you tonight, 

And may it be so

Throughout this new year.

THH

12/31/24