A wellspring of muesli bubbles up in my gorge

Piling food in me to change the facts

But a thousand acres of uncomfortable emptiness

can not

will not be filled by it.

Only, it seems,

the imposition of work with these two hands

Swimming in God’s Living Waters

To be in direct contact

with all that I sow, reap and delight in.

…

Doing informs being

It is stuck in our heads

where we suffer

The centrifugal force tilting us helplessly ever inward

’til there is anomie

and only me

Adrift

where waves deafen

and swells threaten

…

By doing we incarnate our life force

Pouring liquid potential into solid form.

Like molten gold in a crucible

So also with Spirit, in its carbon-clay receptacle

Something to hold fast to;

And stake out a plot of earth where,

When barbarians come shrieking at night,

We make our stand

…

By doing we are not hoping

In vain

That the crucible will merely fill itself once we take stock of it

Awareness alone is no wiser:

We must both see the pockmarked ground and set out at once.

An earnest voice – maybe my own –

not quite heard in the wind:

“Human beings, not human doings!”

Cute

Echoes from a pre-COVID world