Scotch in a glass: two fingers of Laphroig;
I cheat and add ice to ease the slow burn.
On my deck in a steady breeze
sitting under a canopy of stars and full moon.
A dull hum of traffic from the distant freeway
alternates with the honking of geese in night flight.
Silent questions that need asking,
only God isn’t answering. Not yet
though over the years I’ve learned
to give Him time.
Henley sang of talking to the moon over thirty years ago.
Tonight I do the same.
Last week I received news that makes it necessary for me to step back from the daily Lenten blogging I was doing in regards to the book Divine Intimacy. I had too many irons in the fire as it was, and now that fire has been stoked to a volcano. As such I’ve had to stop this series in order to focus on things that matter.
The lines above were a stream of consciousness that I pecked into the ColorNote app on my smartphone late last week after a lengthy conversation with an old friend via personal messages. I was already sitting outside on my deck under the moonlight when she and I began to converse about life, its challenges and possible next steps, and of moving forward. A company vice-president by day she is an aspiring musician and songwriter by night. After sharing a few of her lyrics with me she encouraged me, and not for the first time, to give it a go. I don’t think that’s a medium I am built for but I admit that once you start looking around you do find a lot of possibilities. But in the end I’ve avoided poetry or lyrics because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the emotions I’ll find buried beneath the rocks and life’s terrain that I laid to rest a long time ago.
Let the dead bury the dead.
My lines above are not meant as lyrics. They were simply my inner musings intersecting on a night in which I was considering the possible future while absorbing news from the present and reflecting on the past.
I was just talking to the moon.
And the wind across the plains
Is all that now remains
And the night shakes loose the names
But they never quite go back the way they came – (Don Henley)