Transcendence in the Temple

 

This place more than any other 

helps us see what is always present

but seldom seen, or so I believe.

Like a Midwesterner who has never been to the ocean

but sees a painting of it and recognizes 

on some limited level its power and beauty.  

Except the ocean is truly everywhere and we only 

occasionally catch a whiff of salt on the breeze 

or hear the cry of a sea gull and...

doesn’t our heart long for it in those moments?

***

Apocalypse Now

There was a time when things seemed relatively normal

and we could ignore the accumulation of pollutants in 

our environment (whether social, cultural, or material) which

at its core is a spiritual sickness belching a metaphysical fog.

It was like the gum we were chewing was losing its flavor

until we choked on it, turning blue and gasping for air, looking

for someone to wrap their arms around us and squeeze

but there was no one to be found in the thick haze of indifference.

So we died but kept on living nonetheless with new hungers.

The pollution was our sustenance but what it sustained

was hardly human and we continue on in our fear and alarm

at the sight of others who are not like us, or so we imagine.

***

Pebble in a Tin Can

A tin can came rolling across the road blown by the wind causing me to swerve to avoid crushing it on the way home from the hospital.  It got me thinking about the patient I’d just seen, blown into my path as it were by way of a psychiatric consult.

She was in her mid-twenties, admitted for a large abscess on her arm from shooting heroin.  She was showing signs of premature aging after years of use.  She assured me she was a hopeless case, multiple rehab failures, never able to finish a program before being kicked out.

She was abrasive and sarcastic, quick to pounce on any stutter or redundant question with ridicule.  I felt the stings but left them unattended, not allowing irritation to enter my voice.  I would not be like most everyone else: caught up in her anger, frustration, and impotence.  I was there to help if I could.

My lack of responding in kind wore her down.  Useful information began to trickle out. Her first memory of childhood was of being raped.  Chronic insomnia, nightmares, and flashbacks from smells plagued her.  She used drugs to self-medicate when outpatient treatment was scarce between rehabs.  

Subtle signs of warmth began to escape from her at unexpected times, furtive glances becoming more sustained eye contact.  There was a connection forming on a basic human level, hope and love still in there echoing about, maybe even a bit of faith rattling around like a pebble in a tin can.

***