A Plea Some struggle to restrain the storm that broods in every soul-cell. They struggle to quell the looming eruption Or the gut-wrenching whimper that rumbles and hiccups on the crest of unstoppable sobs. Their fear demands, “Just how supreme will this court get?” Others teem with pent up joy released and celebrated. I hear the preacher pray: May we respect one another. May we listen deeply. May we refuse violence of word and body. Respect Listen Refuse. c. Rita H Kowats June 26, 2022
Month: June 2022
Release The Talking Heads
We are wrapped In Rapid-fire thoughts Ejected with rapid-fire words. We leave no wiggle room for being, From whence comes truth. (Even Molly of Denali’s mom Tells her to slooooooow down.) Spirit, Where are you? Have we wound you round so tightly That we’ve stifled your every nudge Nestled in the recesses of our souls? Unbind us. Peel off this tyranny of constant chatter And take us home to that spacious center Where you frolic with abandon. Release our Talking Heads. c. Rita Hemmer Kowats June 11, 2022
“And Jesus Wept”
My friend Jim wrote this poem in 1987 to tell the story of that year’s Gay Pride Parade in NYC. He was an extroverted mystic, fitting no one’s mold. Jim lived enough years after that to see some progress toward justice, but this was a bleak time. May our tears be for joy this year
Corpus Christi: New York "87" Sunny Sunday in late June. Thousands march. Joyous and free. I joined. Searchers and seekers Walking with dignity and pride. Approaching the Cathedral: A contradiction! Blue barricades, blue flashing lights On cop cars and paddy wagons; Blue shirted police arm to arm Protecting the Cathedral. A Crucifixion? The front steps blocked by A blue Army in blue berets (looking psychotic) Shaking rosaries, thumping Bibles Yelling “Sinners Sinners” as we passed by. “Shame, shame, shame,” we murmured Softly in reply. I looked for Jesus beyond the barricades. Not there! “Thank God,” I said. At 3 o’clock the parade stopped. Silence A city fell silent. Bells tolled. From the Village up Fifth Avenue. Coming closer and closer Passing over us Until the whole sky was filled with Colored balloons. My heart burned within, I remembered all who died of AIDS. Gazing at the heavens, I watched a great loving God Gather balloons, holding them high In God’s bright blue sky Above the blue baracades, blue lights Blue armies & blue shirted cops. My God gathered these children, Sons & daughters into a peace-filled Eternal embrace. I wept. Turning, I saw two older women, Pioneers and witnesses of the movement, Weeping and holding each other as they Too gazed upward. EASTER and ASCENSION. CHRIST HAD COME AGAIN. GLORY TO GOD! Peace to you and me! James L. Becker 1987
Beauty Cannot Be Banned
Beauty Rises Beauty rises. No matter what. It rises from rich loam and from tomes teeming with dreaming. A sunflower in Donetsk region lifts its face, offering seeds to a waiting lark. One errant seed clinging to a claw drops into the rubble of the besieged city. The seed pushes up through a crack in the rubble. Beauty rises. No matter what. c. Rita Hemmer Kowats June 2, 2022
Spirituality Without Borders: Reflections on Spiritual Practice 