In my latest arrangement, Ms. Piggy flirts with the dirty old man. She leans back, at ease on the sheepskin rug, legs crossed. Seductive. The ICE agent, the Lamb, and Nemo bear witness, pleased
with their soft contradictions, thus suggesting there’s a God.
For most of us, it really doesn’t matter. The packing has begun. Be sure to take out the trash before your ride arrives to drive you to the Pearly Gates.
In the meantime, we should all be gluing agates and bones to broken glass, carefully framing what we use. Have you made the acquaintance of sticks and stones? Their suspended animation is a ruse.
We are all embodied ashes. We are all embodied dust. It’s what we think we know that keeps us going and what we throw away that tells the truth.
We must sand the imperfections and dig the soft decay from the twisted roots and branches we’ve dragged in. The storm creates a crazy kind of hunger in our guts. This shale with tiny fossils is no match for vicious wind.
So let us wander to the busy beastly kitchen and scrounge for scraps we can eat and comprehend. When leftovers are reheated, they become more than when they started, and there’ll never be an end.
Julian of Norwich is seated at our table. All shall be well, and all shall be well, And all manner of things shall be well, she tells our inner selves.
That which falls apart shall reassemble. Ashes cleanse the glass and enhance the unruly garden we call home. And when the holy storms die down, dust settles into sediment, congealing under pressure back to stone.
As you continue to diminish, finish your work with glossy varnish to protect against the ravages of too much sun. Safeguard the subtle shadings and hoard the necessary joys of passing on.
The river gives you walking sticks and songs. The land has offered sustenance and stones. But reality lands hard on brittle bones.
It’s all too beautiful, the sunsets and train wrecks, the intentional offspring, the adopted ducks, the bad ideas, the sheep and goats, the bombs and tender mercies, the labyrinths and weeds. It’s all too beautiful to leave behind.
And Yet.
Graceful decreasing makes room for increasing. The Baptist knew you can only wash a few before your hands grow too cold to be trusted. Step down, aside, and forward. The Greater Whole is waiting by the fire.
Come warm yourself. The guests are gathering to honor all the good you’ve tried to do.
Offer your acceptance speech in lavender while the evening light plays havoc with defiant greens and blues. In scenes yet to be enacted, you may not recall your lines so pin them here and there in red behind the sofa or underneath the lamp.
Short visits with an honest God 