Real Time

This will be a poem in real time.
I mean now, right now.
Contemporaneous, simultaneous.

In older days it was current or present,
In days gone by it was recently or just now,
But now it's real time because anything else would be..

Well now that you ask, what would it be?
If it's not real time, is it false?
Is this false time though as soon as I say it..... because that was then?

It seems to me that once again we have found a way
To take a word and obfuscate
A way to blur and complicate

Real life, in real time sounds much more cool to me
Than living now authentically,
Not falsely then, quite recently.

We are keeping it real,
See it and hear it before you feel it
False time is so three nano seconds ago,

We often reject the past as false
Because only time right now is real
Because truth lapses. Apparently.

But does real time make sense when alone
What if real time only makes any sense
When it's together with its friends, past and future.

Time whether false or real is a line not a block
It came from somewhere and continued on
It's not just real because we believe it, notice it, or regard it.

Time will outlive us, precede us and humble us,
It's not real because we say so,
We are real because time made time for us.

Really....

Late fall in Minnesota

Snow, blowing across the swirling misty ground
Smooth curved and contoured like waves are the drifts
White tops are raised to a peak and then blown like dust or sea foam
This sea is powdery and the wind over the face of the Earth is dusted by it.
 
Blustery, biting and sharp is the wind that lifts 
the last remnants of the crispy brown skeletal leaves. 
I shield all the more intently my face from the wind
I am blinded by gusts of ice laden air.

The sounds of movement change in such days,
The crunching and squelching of this time is a distraction 
I plod like a man through quicksand lifting and pulling my feet
Retrieving them from the all too welcoming snow, my face glowing

My legs and my arms, my face and my hands start to ache as the temperature drops
The cold freezing in my nose and the burning of my lungs
Take some fun out of this white wintery wonderland
Then I think of the months of this cold yet remaining and realize

Its not winter yet.

A Christmas Thought

This is the time of year when by tradition we remember the incarnation. So many things have attached to the time we call Christmas with nothing to do with the meaning of the event so remembered world wide. At times it is easy to forget that this is about something as simple and commonplace as a birth. An event that will be replicated many thousands of times in the time it takes me to write this thought for you. For some this is a cause for celebration, for others a time of heart searching, but for all those giving and awaiting a birth it is a time that will not come without notice and every birth is in some ways an incarnation of that which was not at one time on Earth.

So what of this birth? Not a normal birth, a virgin birth. Not just a child, but a child of promise, a child prophesied and a child with a destiny of both joy, wonder and sadness. This was a life that would begin with cuddles, hope, straw and swaddling cloth, but would end in despair, rejection, thorns and nakedness. This incarnation was like no other though, for the one coming in flesh had been alive even before the world began, and His incarnation was merely a clothing of what had always been, in sinew, muscle, bone and skin. He laid aside incorruptible glory and took on corruptible flesh.

Angels would celebrate and proclaim this birth, the great and the small would take note of His arrival and come to kiss, or come to kill, but all would be mindful of this child. As a refugee or migrant He first grew in Egypt, escaping cruel persecution and genocide as the murderous spirit of Pharoah rose up again , and was played out in the actions of a Jewish king.  Like Pharoah he murdered hebrew sons in the hope of keeping down the deliverer. He failed, and only served to prove that nobility is not always found in kings and that Rachel weeping for the loss of her children is a fearful painful thing.

So this Christmas remember this remarkable birth,  who would grow up to be Savior and Lord. From His incarnation to His thorned coronation his power was not diminished at all. An obscure working class man from a small Roman province, who died young, with no money or power to his name in Earthly terms, no worldwide marketing machine, no internet viral presence. This man will be celebrated by billions of people in a few short days. For Christ the Second Adam, the Lord, the King, the Savior of the World still longs for those that still do not know His name or know the Gospel to come to Him, so that He can come once again.

For God so loved the World that He gave His only begotten Son, so that whoever would believe in him would not perish but have everlasting life. The life that would not stay in the tomb so cruelly sealed, the life that would not leave the people of the World helpless, the life that would make a way for us to be reconciled to God who were enemies and estranged, the life that is abundant and gives life to all who come to Him. 

This is the best gift of all, the Christmas gift God gave to us all. Take it or leave it. Reject or believe it, but let every heart hear the truth of it this Christmas, and always.

A Cross Stick

Christ.

Christ the wonderful, the prince of peace, the dayspring from on high

The reason for the season, incarnation beyond reason

Holy child  and God most high, desire of nations born to die

From the womb to tomb so soon, plucked from life while in full bloom

Jesus

Has

Has ever a life been so lived as this one, one of service from incept to end

From a small obscure town of no pride or renown, comes a life of One all could call friend

But no ordinary life was this One we speak of, no historical monument He

He lives even today, despite one little break in His life 's long eternity

Redeemed 

Redeemed is a word that's not usually heard, since it speaks of repayment and debts

For most of us here those are words that we fear, filled with failure, some shame and regret

But these are no ordinary debts that we owe and no timely repayment will do

For these debts our whole life could not ever repay so He came, and He paid them, for you.

In

In time and in space, in eternity long, it's so hard to know how to explain

When spatial awareness doesn't come in nice squareness  and a circle seems best, but again

This is not space time stuff it's more wondrous than that, beyond fourth dimension is this

In time's fulness He came, in a way prophesied, that made Heaven and Earth come to kiss

Suffering

Suffering comes in many forms but none of them are pleasant

Its reach is long and its power strong over president or peasant
It knows no boundary of time,neither language sea or mountain
And each of us all, whether large or small, will drink from this unpleasant fountain

Torture

Torture speaks of twisting, cruel vengeance and torment

Where something is extracted by the human frame being bent.

To the guilty or deserving,  to the innocent it can come

  To Emmanuel, Man of Sorrows, to the Holy yet punctured One

My

My, me,mine and menim, ownership is nice if the property's not venom

But what of a poison for no one to own, that will kill everyone with possession

A thing in each tribe, every creed and each heart that has found an unknowing reception

Its a cancer inside that will kill us for sure, no reprieves, not get outs, no exceptions 

Abominable

Abominable is a funny word its so long and so little if ever, heard

For Snowmen perhaps, Yeti, Sasquatch too and for other things we would consider absurd

But do not be lulled by its five syllables, or its strange peculiar meter

Cursed, and damned, Hell-bound, lost are all serious stuff, and they fall in its grim parameter

Sin

Sin to us is the final word and the common bond between us
Its a thing that we think will serve us well but in the end demeans us
Its the why to the what, and the coz to the huh? our indictment for cosmic high treason

For when all has been done and the carols are sung, its our sin that's the reason for the season

So this Christmas time give a thought for the past and a thought for your future days too

Don't be fooled by the tinsel the glitter and all, there's a Savior and Father whose waiting for you.

May this time as you give all your presents and love, and you savor the joy of this season

Bring to mind A Cross Stick that it all led Christ to, and what He gave for the world and the reason.

For God so love the world that He gave.......

 

This is  the first of what I hope will be many new posts. I have shed my old skin, sadly not enough of it, but come back not as 3xl, but as Apolit. See the profile for more details.

This will be a short intro to a new phase, but I hope it will give you enough of a taste of things to come. The word nostalgia, comes from old Greek, meaning "pain for home."

One man said it very well when he said that we spend half of our lives trying to get away from home, and half of it trying to get back. This blog will be best understood in that way, and like my dream will be full of warmth humor and emotion at surprisingly encountering old friends, dear ones and life meaning givers.

Home is antecedence, security, source, wellspring and foundation. Home is warmth and belonging, but it is also tension, a departure point and a place where we break the placenta and leave the womb, perhaps more than once, in setting forth and breaking out into the realization of our own created self and the consequences of walking into the light and dark of the world.

For Alex, father, grandfather, spiritual mentor and the man of my dream.

Apolit

On Visiting

It has been a week since passion three and I started on the road for our graduation trip to merry old England. There have been a few memorable moments and many ooh aah times when we just enjoyed the road, each other's company and the incredible English countryside. It really is something. The lake district was as ever breathtaking, a train ride over the pennines provided several comedic cultural moments,not to mention blogger fodder but the interesting highlight to me is always the visiting.

In the Midwest we "visit" with people. We do not pay a visit,we just visit. We do not take people with us we "take people with." The truth is, that visiting can reveal and explain for us many of the things that we have "taken with" in life. Visiting is an invaluable and vital reality check to us all. In fact a good visit with friends can bring life and recalibration to many parts of our catalogued misconceptions that we thought were true. History is shared story after all.

This is what makes friendship and visiting one of life's great pleasures to me.

For passion three, being there creates the strange and unremitting realization(so necessary
for every teen)that they have a history that is shared and somewhat owned by others. Even at a young age she realizes that actually, she has forgotten much of what formed her and discovers that in finding out who you are, it is oft times best to see yourself through others' eyes.

The dearest friends are those who have shared your history, and can play it back to you with
footnotes, explanations and sometimes, corrections. It is all too easy to misframe our history or to lose our balance on the tight rope of memory. Our history comes with feelings, emotions and perceptions that are not facts, however strongly held to be so. A visit with those that have shared those memories can sometimes reverse the sinking of the good ship ego. Visiting is like nectar and ambrosia to the wearied heart. To hear from those who have known you, love you, and only desire your best is medicine and family, and not be missed for anything.

Live life to the full, memories included. Understand that its on the foundation laid in your past,that you will find the boundaries of your future yet to be. Tend and maintain those foundations as they provide your life's strength and context.

Remember your old friends, honor them,consult them, hear them, visit them.

Okay I know its been ages.

The Joy of a Mid western summer


When the winter is here you all wish for a change
But the summer's wet calling may catch you as strange.
In the depths of the winter its so dry like desert,
A white coated landscape, a starched linen shirt.

But the summer can catch you not ready or primed
When tornado and hailstorm are apt to remind.
Its damp, dank, and steamy, they blame the dog days,
Humidity, torpidity, to walk is a slog in multiple ways.
Smells, swells, quells any and every impulse or drive,
Rains, drains and siphons your will and melts your urge to survive.

Seattlites grumble about their dry rain,
In Phoenix the dry heat will itch and cause pain
but here in the midwest despite being so nice
Our precip is always too much or too ice.

Temperance is nice with weather too you know.