Life Unstifled

Slow walk

     my breath

          hold it

Pause fretting to allow

     fragments of light

          from the periphery

Pulsating glimpses of

     wonderment

          healing

Life stories unstifled

     hope lifted from

          obscurity

Enfold pernicious

     despair into

          love reservoir

Reminder to

     control the focus

          decide the feeling

Standing off balanced

     in the mud

          seeing still the stars

Once and always

     move forward with         

         hope infused story

     Kang Koo Ri was lifted from the lifeless form of his mother in a valley of death and taken to the
orphanage. He would not--could not smile until the little girl broke through. When I took the picture
during the forgotten war in 1952, he was more like the little boy who couldn't stop smiling.  I was reminded of their story when I wrote this poem.
     *I tell more of the story in my YouTube video "The Little Boy Who Wouldn't Smile".

Soul Focus  

6,544 miles away

     fifty years in

          the rear view

Pilgrims welcomed

     contemplation imprinted

          to emerge time to time

Zazen discipline

     introduced redirecting

          wandering minds

Weary travelers

     surrendered to the moment

          eased the soul

Truth pulled through time

     meandering life choices

          now reliving moments

Footnoting the negatives

     counting the Yes

          opening to the possible

Emptying the trash of

     misused dreams

          restarting the balance wheel

Worth the trip

     still surprised by joy 

          a clearer focus

Fifty years

     and counting

     It was the winter of 1969. A down-in-the-dumps student was hiding out in the campus ministry lounge. I was her campus pastor. I pushed, "What would you like to do, where would you like to go?" Finally,  a timid tearful response, "Japan, I suppose, but that will never happen." I ran with that.

     Long story shortened: the next summer, 16 of us, mostly students, took a self-guided independent tour in Japan. We booked our own travel and made our own arrangements with friends we mostly met along the way. 

     We spent a night in a Zen Buddhist Monastery on Lake Biwa. At 4;30 in the morning a monk beat on the prayer board, calling us to a Zazen meditation practice that brought the three week trip into focus. The student said it was the best part of the whole trip.                                                                                  Max

       
         Cannot avoid death
          Moments passing
          Value this moment
          Things change quickly
      *Prayer board inscription

Inspiring Truth

Sitting alone

     warming sun

          windshield filtered

Sifting ideas

     through unfocused

          leisure

Mindless images

     without traction

          then

Through an opening

     distant door with

          all due deliberate speed

A wheelchaired young woman

     self-driven determined

          focused my glance

Rolled to a driverless

     car door opened pulled

          into position sitting

Deftly disassembled

     placed chair behind

          drove off

Left behind

      an image

          uplifting

I was left

     with no complaining

           for now

     The young woman had been shopping in the Supermarket. My wife saw her in the store and was struck by what she took to be an almost defiant I dare you to try to help me attitude. We will never know the back story; why she was in the wheelchair, what her personal life is like, none of that.              

     However, we can safely assume that here was a person taking charge of herself and not wasting time in self-pity. Her story is her story and I can leave it at that. My takeaway is a rewarding afternoon. 

*3.6 million wheelchair users in the United States is is a fact. $2.9 Billion wheelchair industry is a fact. The undetermined number of persons who choose not to be defined by any so-called handicap is the inspiring truth.

Agewise

On the descent

           through the cloud

                no visible data

A moving finger

          vaporizing as it wrote

                challenged

Now to story repair

           age privileged

                life revisiting

A revisionary pause

           regrasp the dream

               unleash the spirit

Look again

           love the story

                coasting permitted

Live it another way

           going gracefully

                into the dark night

Sing the song

           in half-light

                syntax recast

Meandering paths

           palpitating dreams

                nothing left to fear

Vision

           looming

                beyond the horizon

  

I had to shut down my laptop as we descended so I saved my file to the Cloud. and watched the soft damp clouds outside the plane dissipate as the runway came up to meet us. Thus began this poem.

At my age I have the privilege of taking a look at a long past as I consider my disposition to face my future.

This poem is my reflection and my offering. 

     Max Hale

Thank You for Your Service©

The Lord called and young 

     visionaries answered 

          hearts spilling over hope 

               energy in a rising tide

Raised a voice for the good empowered

     community practiced hospitality

          absorbed hostility showed a path

               for a better world

Old now in touch with

     a different reality 

          vision yet diminished capacities

               lonely in the crowd haunted with

                    was it worth it

Thirsty for a welcoming word from

     someone who remembers the alleys and knows

          how to say thank you

Enter stage left

     a pastor unhindered by full time

          duties sets out to feed grateful hearts

               hear bygone joys and troubled 

                    dispositions offer clues for clearer paths 

Annuitant Visitor upspirited returns home

     more visits to superannuated 

          servants later

In cities hustle in unfurnished plains

     beyond the mountains

The good and faithful will be

     warmed by the smile and hear

Thank you for your service

     on behalf of a

          grateful larger church

*The poem was inspired by a trip I took with my wife, Maurine, to visit retired clergy and/or their spouses in western Nebraska. We traveled over 1100 miles in that visit and visited 12 folks. Maurine, a retired clergyperson herself, is one of many Annuitant Visitors whose mission is to check-in annually with the over 6,000 retired clergy in the UCC, to listen and say thank you.

My Mother's Secret
Shared with Trembling Love

A swift hit of nicotine hidden
     in a small can unlabeled snuff
          may be Garret Sweet
Unrevealed to curious eyes in a
     coin purse tucked
          in her handbag
Kept her secret
     and nobody knew
          nobody
I tell it now fearful of her chastising
     from beyond the chasm
I honor her memory but
     cannot resist the primordial
          urge to tell story
Between a chuckle and
     a tear I tell what I
          know is true
Remnant bit of nicotine
     potent still perhaps
Transparent love for her
     children always

     Mother was scrupulously clean and morally straitlaced yet tender and gracious in the moments that counted and she was guided by gentle humor. Although quite vocal about her politics with which I almost always totally disagreed, she was a very private person. She would not have found it funny to learn that I knew and shared news about her surreptitious use of snuff, a minor moral indiscretion, if you will. But this is such a good story that I had to tell it. I will pray for forgiveness if I have to.

We Must Not Go Back©

            Max

                                                                                          

I gave a ride to

     a student of color

The Mayor said why don't

     you go back where you came from

          I was closer home than he was

               so I reminded him

Half a century later xenophobia

     fans the flames still

          shreds human dignity

               incites the worst

Fed by incipient racism

     metastasized in culture

          all are victims

Relentlessly searching

     for an antidote
Racism our national debt
     pay it with justice                                           
          underwrite our future

It costs too much                                                                 

     to go back

    

When I had my Dad's old 1964 Volkswagen truck restored, I replaced the small outside rear view mirror with a much larger one. I knew that if I was going to drive it with its fifty horsepower engine I needed to have a clear view of what was behind me. That old truck became a treasure trove of stories but more than that, it became a metaphor. It is enough for me to say here that as important as the past is, if we don't learn and move forward we lose our way. There's nothing new in today's blood-letting racism and bone-chilling attacks on all those who differ from the perpetrators who themselves have lost their way. Except that we are gradually but surely accepting it as normal. It's enough to make one cry-- or look for a way out. We see our past clearly. Here's to new dimensions.

Give Away the Guns

Life Support©
by Max Hale

Take away the guns

so simple

until it's not

Breath slowly

center

compose

Mine to keep or

give away

Choice be the neighbor

welcome everyone

who welcomes everyone

Culturally multi-task

punish perpetrators and

sponsors take guns

succor survivors

This day's bloodletting worse

than the day before and

so it is every day

Shattered trembling we go

not gentle into

dark violence

Unmask offenders

shapeshifters

enablers

Rip off the mask of political

sycophants

Apply tourniquet

stop the victim's bleeding

spring the trap of

vengeance

Growth allowed on common

ground respect fills

open spaces

security

Live together in peace

shrivel in despair

Give up the guns

safer without them

freedom

I Pledge©

there was a war

     it's always the case

I decided to go

     wore khaki and saluted

          a reluctant warrior

               carried a gun

     people went crazy shooting an M-1

a past unredeemed

     present dishonored

          thoughtless patriotism

               unshackled prejudice

                   gorging greed

     defend against all such enemies

engage in search for an antidote

     dance with the stranger

         respect the unloved

              challenge the unloving

honor the veterans

     of war

honor the veterans 

     of peace

the pledge

       revised and extended 

     I joined the National Guard my senior year in high school and thus began a life-long oft-time

troublesome relationship with the military and, at one time, I considered becoming a conscientious objector. I served in the Infantry in Korea during the so-called "Forgotten War" and later surrendered my M-1 in return for a Chaplain's Cross and retired from the US Naval Reserve after twenty years of service. During the Vietnam War I was also a full-time Campus  Minister.

     I honor the decision of those who serve in the military to defend democracy and protect the values of this country. I also honor those who conscientiously resist serving in the military to follow a higher calling as they understand it.

     I am disturbed at the too narrowly defined patriotism and jingoist diatribe that is all too often on display in our Independence Day observances. 

     I wrote the above poem this afternoon but it reflects a life time of rethinking. I offer it not to agitate but to encourage reflection.

                               Max

     

Life less on the Border©

While the coffee is still hot

     evidence incontrovertible

          unrelenting anguish

Little lives rubbished

     caring capability paralyzed

Blanket hot wet

     covers my head

          breathing restricting

               nausea

I cry because I may get over it

Time to dismiss blue devils

Quicksand wisdom

     move sideways

          toward reliable compassion

Refabricate my life

     to fit God's dream

I must center myself before I open myself to the morning news. Otherwise I'm sick the whole day. Families ripped apart, children in cages, decent people turning savage: we're losing our grip on humanity. I know it doesn't have to be this way. I also know it is possible to lose my compassion. That frightens me. I have been told that if one is ever in quicksand the secret is not to panic and move deliberately slowly sideways to solid ground. I can, I will control my rage, dismiss the blue devils of depression, wipe the tears and look for an opening for compassionate action.
                                                                                               Max
                                 

Canyon Reflection

Slot Canyon©

Earth surrenders

        Crevice slices deep

       Light shaft pierces

Dark

         Holy Space

     Slow down the mind

Relax into awe

Be still

Be

Soul-ride the light

              Out of the hidden canyon

                                        Max

   Nearly twenty years ago I took these pictures in Antelope Canyon. Alluvial erosion and fast-flowing flash floods have, over millennia, sculpted natural corridors through the soft sandstone. Even on an overcast day, shards of light manage their way down to illuminate the dark. I found the scene fascinating then.

  Today, I've come to see the light in the canyon as a metaphor for life and most helpful in the darkest days. The first century mystic reminds us, "...The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness: the darkness couldn't put it out."

(John 1:5 The Message)  

Gees Bend, Alabama 1968©

Purdue University students experience soul rich hospitality from economically poor hosts as they spend the night in an isolated African-American community. 

LENT - AFTER THE PARTY WAS OVER©

Reflecting on moving from Mardi Gras to Ash Wednesday in New Orleans with Purdue students fifty years ago. What it meant then, what it means now.

The Day I met Martin Luther King, Jr.©

Every year about this time, I remember the day I walked into the office of the Montgomery Improvement Association and shook hands with Dr. King. It was of no consequence to the Movement but it was a pivotal moment in my life. I share it with the hope that all of us can take the continuing struggle for universal civil rights personally, in our own way.

The first African-American enrolls in Auburn University ©

Nearly thirty years after I met Harold Franklin as  he registered as a student at Auburn, we met and recalled those tumultuous times. 

Race. It's all how one looks at it.©

  3 Lessons of Revolutionary Love in a Time of Rage