Echoes and Moments

The Pilgrim: Part II "There were many at first," he breathes and goes on, "The Road was busy with those like me who wanted To flee the flames of a city, a nation, tearing it Self apart and casting the poor to the grinding stone Like Babylon, Rome, great Persia before; The Empire claiming Godhood for all to cling to, and kneel." "We wasted no time with our things, we  Have seen enough of material gain, spending long Days and years working for scraps of paper now Burning with all the banned books and seditious  Speech read aloud as hate; all we did was claim that this Road was more than a myth, more than the hope of a fool." I dare interrupt with a smile, the first to my lips in long Weeks as the autumn chill cuts into thin skin: "Hope? Is Not hope the very thing that proves the fool as wisest of them All? He has wasted his riches for nothing, and in Nothing he Finds the very truth he sought all his long life..." and we St...

It's not a coincidence she looks like an Elf princess... Considering the dirth of negative press, critical reviews, and general shade thrown at the DC Cinematic Universe since Henry Cavill groaned and yelled his way through Zack Snyder's overcooked Man of Steel in 2013, I was greatly pleased to see much in the way of positive feedback surrounding the franchise's latest offering, Wonder Woman. Since origins stories are necessarily difficult endeavors with regards to the source materials, fanbase of comic readers, and general public, I am always willing to cut slack to films that stick to the basics of all good filmmaking: character and narrative. While the superhero genre has saturated the screens for over a decade, I was reminded by a friend that before Robert Downey Jr. launched the Marvel Cinematic Universe into its current reign as a box-office juggernaut with Iron Man in 2008, the vast majority of regular joes/janes (myself included) were more familiar with the DC l...

Heaven in 2017. As the shards of my consciousness reform after the inevitable energy drain received in the aftermath of an intense five-day urban program (and the final project for my ministry with InterVarsity), the depth of my awareness for the wounds of young people returns. When the reactive depression recedes like a strong tide, and the wind stings my face beside a salty shore, and the connective tissue in my thoughts, emotions, and passions resume their normal furious pull -- there is another, deeper crisis in miniature, the point where my courage falters, a split-second where the absurdity overwhelms and paralyzes. In a talk I gave at the end of Day Three of the program, I described the work of French novelist and philosopher Albert Camus, who evolved from the same colonial European milieu that produced Derrida and dialogued with the great existentialists (whom he never enjoyed being lumped in with). He is famous for giving flesh to the concept of the Absurd, which in br...

The Pilgrim: Part I Howling wind gives way to gentle rustle: Pine needles and old bark sing to the coming night And the Great Silence greets my evening light, a  Single candle gleaming bright amidst the black without While these sinews twist into the posture of peace, I hear A knock, and wincing, I wait.  The heavy breaths shatter whatever prayer was mine Before this night: one of thousands upon this mountain Closed in by stone, by wood, by skin, flesh, and bone, A temple to perennial truth, each breath a new liturgy As wind drawn in swallows the dying world outside and Returns an exhale full of Light, simple, furious Love.  A second knock, and remembering Benedict, I  Turn the rusted iron and the heavy wood gives way A weary man staring with flint-grey eyes, hollow And streaked red with pain, there is perhaps a look of  Shock, as if he never knew the world could be so cruel and  Full of hate.  Commentary on Stanzas 1-3: ...

The Last Cup We recline, The last bits of meat, figs, and dates roll around The bronze, the wood plates and cups - a testimony to Enemies made friends through the long journeys now Complete in this room, this upper place prepared By a Stranger. Take comfort in the smiles, the Laughter that will soon be forgotten, soon fleeing fast As you scatter into the night, frightened by Swords and clubs, the chains, the Whips and chords wrapping tight around My Bleeding arms and legs as I walk, Never to see My Face like this before you again. Conversation quiets, the chuckles hush, and Attention clings to me again like so many Afternoons before the crowds in my Galilee, these boys and men still fresh From lives lived among them who now Remain Outside it all. "Why is this Night distinct among all others?" They stare, and I lift this wheat, simple flour without yeast Fired in clay and baked for sustenance As it was in generations past. "Remember the Ni...

I Am Tired (A Lament) I am tired; my eyes trace another stone Hurled from hateful hands, flying unhindered To crush my bones to powder, my blood to rivers Again the death I fear reminds me there Is a fool's hope for escape. I am tired; my nose fills with smoke As fingers fling matches burning Pillars of flame sear my hair to cinder And their snarling laughter purges This heretical body of its unholy love. I am tired; I stare into the rifle's barrel yet again, My eyes obscured from my neighbor's face Hidden behind a black helmet and plexiglass shield, The land their people stole filled with black smoke Trailer traffic, and a long, steel dragon swallowing Oceans of black poison sucked dry from Earth. I am tired; my shoulders ache under the weight Of this beam thrust upon my shoulders, the Jeers of the crowd now hurled at me, though I Was minutes ago just another pilgrim here for worship, Now staring into the face of a bleeding man who can Barely ...

My mind is busy when you enter, the first one who comes today The space where I work full of books and writings, all Testaments to my people, their pictures covering my desk. Your question is innocent, yet opens wounds again You did not know, and so I answer in truth: "When you ask 'What part Indian are you?' it reminds Me of the way this question was used to separate my people From yours, defining lands and breaking treaties." Yet you persist, and still you ask; the wound becomes A chasm of blood, driven into me like a knife Ten thousands generations deep. You say you know my city, but you do not. All you want is for me to endorse your cause, but No cause will ever heal the war between us, one That wages on because of questions like this, when Our people become numbers instead of flesh And these answers never satisfy your need to Go home justified before your Maker. The violence is done, you shake my hand and leave As I return to the space an...