In the Cathedral of the Eucalyptus (2/2015)

Well into the third mile I am out of breath

But still reeling. 

In the

Cathedral of the Eucalyptus Grove

I will not be  censored.

Pent up emotions 

Explode from my chest

Shaking my vocal folds,

Demanding my tongue give them shape.

The Angelus? 

This is what I am screaming

Over the din of a nearby chain saw 

(It is almost noon on Sunday; it is a tradition that I miss )

The ground quakes with the crash of another tree. In the cathedral the wind sounds like the trees are weeping 

For their executed kin. 

My eyes fixed on the icons 

revealed in the shapes of fluffy clouds.

Pleading with the Immaculate Holy Mother to Intercede on my behalf.

I enumerate my ill defined grievances Disappointment, hurt and anger

The cruelty abandonment and fear. 

My

Sins,

Some of which I have confessed

(but keep reclaiming)

Others I am not ready to confess

Then there are those I do not want to admit I should have to Confess at all. 

Sins against my fellow travelers on this journey

Sins against societal constructs, 

Sins against the standard operating procedures 

of this post modern, western civilization. 

Sins possibly against God,most likely against Others

And most certainly 

Against myself.

Right and wrong

Good and bad; 

Relative terms or absolutes defined by

No more than the whims of 

culture, law, politics, fads and religion?

How trustworthy are the dictates of my own conscious? Are there exceptions? Can we bargain in light of our faulty institutions?

Holy Mother Church

Bride of Christ

Entrusted with the solemn duty to interpret 

God for mankind.

She has been marginalized.

Her message hijacked.

Established to continue the ministry of 

Christ here on earth, 

For temporal security, power and wealth

She has been so badly abused by her protectors. 

She has been shamed, twisted and manipulated All in the name of love.

Robed men in councils

Write encyclicals with 

Authoritative definiteness 

Paternalistic Fathers speak on her behalf 

Dictating to a sleepy laity

Circumscribed 

Trickle down gospel 

Diluted like Sunday School apple juice.

More has been done to make God

In our own image than to revel in the 

Grandeur of his.  

She waits patiently

They no longer understand, 

Quietly watching with loving compassion

How will it all play out?

Her curators

Her protectors

Her defenders

The message of the ages, 

Lost in translation. 

Holy Mother Church,

Light perpetual illuminates her threshold.

Her offspring coming and going

At all hours parce her words 

Until only piecemeal denominations of 

Partial truths remain.

How calm

How patient, 

Is the elephant 

Humanity struggles in self-imposed 

Blindness 

to comprehend. 

Here in this cathedral

Still obscured by trees and

Pink heart- shaped leaves

It is revealing itself 

Bit by wrinkled bit.

The weight of guilt heavy now 

The familiar pressure of imminent tears 

Brought back to basics

(pleading like a Dickensian orphan),

"Give me this day my daily bread 

(My conscious has found her voice )

Forgive me my trespasses 

(My particular poison is enough for me to avoid: )

Lead me not into temptation

(It is so pervasive)

Deliver me from evil." 

Inhaling deeply 

There is forgiveness 

Dare I say 

Absolution in this place 

Hail Mary full of

Grace, the 

Lord is with thee...

My lungs fill with the scent of mentholated diesel 

(it won't be long now, the demands for new housing will take down this little cathedral too)

Exhaling “Holy Mary Mother of God 

Pray for us sinners

Now

And at the hour of our death.”

Standing, stretching on a stump, tightening my shoelaces.

Inhale Hail Mary…

Exhale Blessed art thou..

Faster and faster each footfall

Making my way towards home

Inhale: Blessed is the fruit…

Exhale : Holy Mary Mother of God …

A rosary on the run.