My Burden is Light

My burden
is
Light.

I am the light of the world.

The light which is in all things,
which giveth life to all things,
which is the law by which
all things are governed.

The light that shineth in darkness,
and the darkness comprehendeth it not.

Take my yoke upon you.
Then are ye my disciples indeed:
Ye are
the light of the world.

A city that is set on a hill
cannot be hid.
Neither do men light a candle,
and put it under a bushel,
but on a candlestick

to give light to them that sit in darkness
and in the shadow of death,
to guide their feet
in the way of peace.

My word
is a lamp unto the feet,
and a light unto thy path.

All ye that kindle a fire,
that compass yourselves about with sparks,
that set yourselves up for a light unto the world
that ye may get gain and praise of the world
but seek not the welfare of Zion, 
walk in the light of your fire,
and in the sparks that ye have kindled -
this shall ye have of mine hand:
ye shall lie down in sorrow.

I Am
the true light
that is in you,
and you are in me;
otherwise ye could not abound.

Therefore, cease from all your
light speeches,
from all your lustful desires,
from your pride and
light-mindedness.

If your eye be single to my glory,
your whole bodies shall be filled with light,
and there shall be no darkness in you;
and that body which is filled with light
comprehendeth all things.

That which is of God
is light;
and he that receiveth light,
and continueth in God,
receiveth more light,
for light cleaveth unto light,
and that light
groweth brighter and brighter
until the perfect day.

Learning to be Happy

Share a "haikaption" (haiku caption) in the comments for this pic if you feel so moved!

My attempts are here.

(reminder: haiku is 5, 7, 5 syllables)

 

Pioche, Nevada

 

Leprechauns have placed

pots of black gold at the end

of modern rainbows.

At Larry's fuel shop,

iridescent oil slicks

bedazzle the drab.

To Subtract Fractions

These are not the words

one expects as a response

to encouragement.

Rather than rebuff

and court further entrenchment

on this battle line,

I laughed. Then we laughed.

Common denominators

being requisite

to solve this problem.

Sometimes we wax improper

to subtract fractions.

The Clothesline

A childhood friend shared with me he'd bought roof-top solar panels.

My wife informed me that we'd bought a clothesline.

"They won't pay for themselves until someone else owns the house,"

he told me,

"but that's okay - it's the principle that matters."

"With 3 kids and 1 in cloth diapers,"

my wife told me,

"it'll more than pay for itself soon,

so we can put more down on the house's principal

and focus on other financial matters."

When I briefed my friend on how we were also using solar power,

he admitted his solar-panel-o-meter shifted 

from showing a surplus 

to relying on the grid

whenever he ran the dryer.

"With 2 kids in sports and 1 in Pampers,"

he shrugged,

"it's just too much work to dry all their clothes on a line."

I nodded knowingly.

I'm glad that the people I know

keep me apprised

of so many meanings of

and methods for

"going green,"

though I am reminded

by some of them

of a Rube Goldberg Machine

as I picture the manufacture

and installation of solar panels

to absorb the sun's energy

and convert it to electricity

in order to run a dryer

while the Amish

go direct from sun to clothes.

Perhaps it's us

who are amiss,

and they are

ahead of our time. 

Of course, the panels power

more than the dryer,

but will they end up

in the same place

as the Pampers?

And is that better or worse

than the coal burning somewhere

to power my washer?

These debates, pro- and con-,

about renewable energy

leave me feeling

hung out to dry,

particularly when both sides 

become more entrenched in their positions than 

the engine oil stain that won't come out of my high school drama sweatshirt,

and especially when my clothesline

wasn't accompanied by a government subsidy.

But 

as I watch my underwear

wafting in the wind with the cloth diapers,

waving at my neighbors walking by,

I feel my worries, 

with the water,

evaporate

into clouds

that I guess

will block the sun for both

the panels

and the clothesline,

as we all get swept along

together

with the Tide.

The First Last Supper

The blacksmith shops

and smelting pots

lie empty

at Zarapheth.

A widow

carries 2 sticks

across

the city gate.

The man of holiness

asks a little water

and a morsel of bread,

the last 

and first things 

of her crock.

Accepting his will,

she presses the oil

from every pour

into the meal

until there is no more.

With fire lit

in the stone hearth,

the dough is altared

and offered.

Take.

Eat.

Drink.

Remember me.

Commending her to heaven,

angels pass over

meal and oil

for the barrel and cruse

that never fail

to fill all her house

with 

the bread of life. 

Verda Farnes

 

My great grandmother

croons her cabbages, couched in

C-major sunshine.

Four diminutive

Wyoming elves lean on spades,

hide near, parched to hear.

Orange Crush

I think I’m patient.

53 minutes after

my pizza is due,

I know I am not.

The best I can do is chat

with fellow suff’rers:

older door dash chap,

mom and her seven-year-old,

mother of teen boys.

Complaining binds us;

a mutual enemy

forges fast allies. 

I’m hot and ready.

I'm supremely frustrated.

Extra most madddest.

Others come and go.

I begin to conspire

with my gollum self

about my precious

ring of powerf’lly scented

dough, sauce, cheese, toppings.

We plot and script out

the politest way to ask

to whine to someone,

to wheedle our way

to two free pizza coupons

or something greater.

The grandma cashier

who should be retired and

playing with grandkids

- she who I despise

as the company’s face but

mostly pity - comes.

Apologizes.

Offers a free 2-liter.

I choose Orange Crush

and gush gratitude

for being seen, understood

before I went and

embarrassed myself

with a public display of

hangry aggression.

Am I spineless then?

Not standing up for myself?

Confrontation shy?

Accepting this cold

soda pop as recompense

for an hour of life?

Gollum shrieks out, “Take

action, Precious… revenge! Give

a taste of your pain!”

I take the pizzas and give a wave. 

I’ve got my spine. I’ve

got my self-restraint. And I’ve

got my Orange Crush.

The Walmart Hearse

On a late night Skittles run,
I saw it
like a royal uber from the inner circle of the rainbow bridge:
a purple hearse in the Walmart parking lot,
as if Grimace and the Ghostbusters ganged up
to treat someone to the coolest last ride ever.

I wondered...
What did the drivers forget that spurred this errand -
Flowers?
Black Balloons?
Funeral Potatoes?
Surely they would know Walmart's coffins are only available online.

Also... 
If I were to die today, what color of hearse would I choose?
Were the drivers simply dead on their feet?
Were the checkout lanes really that slow?

Is this shrine to consumerism the location where someone wished to be buried
in their fleece 😀💖😎 pajama bottoms, too-tight tank top, and tie-dyed crocs,
somewhere between the Cheetos and $5 dvd bin 
just in case the Egyptian pharaohs were right about the afterlife
and you ought to stock up on essentials you may need in the Great Value beyond?

And, am I choosing a similar cemetery as I enter, exhausted, 
in my orange running shorts, Star Wars t-shirt, and grass-stained work shoes,
feeling my will to live wane as I wait in line,
expiring faster than the bologna slovenly restocked by some exanimate shopper 
behind the Equate foot cream?

It kills me how they open the lane to my left 
just as I place my items on the belt after waiting twenty minutes. 

#SaveMoneyLiveBetter