Bright Sadness @ Café Revelation

A Spot of Tea
Originally uploaded by Aaroneous Monk.

This little snippet was written during my second year of medical school. I was sitting at my usual table at Starbucks in Broad Ripple studying when this "epiphany" hit.


Bright Sadness @ Café Revelation

It was the second week of Lent that I found myself studying in the corner of a coffee shop near my apartment. It was probably not the best place to concentrate on my studies with music playing and people coming and going, but being home alone had its own kind of distractions, too quiet, too isolated, too boring. The front and one side wall of the café were two large plate glass windows that met at the street corner. I would constantly find myself watching the flow of people on the sidewalks as they appeared beside the building, traversed the corner, and either crossed the street or continued on in front of the café. It was at this moment of distracted people-watching that I was seized by a deep melancholy.

It seemed to me at that moment that everyone and everything, including myself, was hopelessly flawed and disfigured. I desperately wanted everyone and everything to be good, beautiful, and full of light. I wanted to be good. Growing up I’d been taught that evil was intrinsic to human nature and that it permeates all things. Sitting in that coffee shop I received like an epiphany the truth that evil is not intrinsic to creation and that, in fact, creation glows with a divine and pure light. Evil is simply a thin curtain between me and this divine reality. It obscures the view, it dulls the edges, and to some extent it separates, but it is just a curtain and when I die I trust it will be snatched away.

The Fall

Clearly Obscure (was Backyard Theotokos)
Originally uploaded by Aaroneous Monk.

A few years ago I learned that the bishop over my former parish where I'd first become Orthodox had been removed from his duties and put into treatment for alcoholism, among other things. I spent a lot of time walking and lost in thought that day, feeling it was sad, but not without meaning somehow.


****************

I read about the fall of a bishop today.
It makes me sad and prone to wander.
I took my dog to the park and let her run.

He was my first Archpastor in a new-found Faith.
He is a lonely old man with an alcohol problem.
I imagine he’s been feeling pretty small these days.

I hear a voice pick up the leaves like wind and say,
“Bless God for the coming of a fall…”

Why do I use such shoddy materials to build a life?
I indiscriminately build, pell mell, without much thought.
It is a poor strategy, short-sighted, a flim flam thing.

How long does it take for something so precarious to topple?
I need something to come and shake it daily, a test.
Otherwise its collapse becomes inevitable, a matter of time.

I hear a voice pick up the leaves like wind and say,
“Bless God for the coming of a fall…”

I think of a story of the foolish building on sand.
I think of a myth where a boulder need continually be pushed up a hill.
I think of the Golden Mouth praying for help to make a good beginning.

The Sacraments as stones and the Spirit as mortar.
My structure continually shaken without bringing despair.
The grace of God to start again, more humble, more obedient, more careful.

I hear a voice pick up the leaves like wind and say,
“Bless God for the coming of a fall…”

The Dog Who Fell to Earth

This is a very funny picture of a melancholy little dog who has had a string of bad luck. I commented on the photo to the effect he reminded me of David Bowie in "The Man Who Fell to Earth" where he plays an extra-terrestrial who feels alone, dejected, and mad at the world. Below is a fun poem inspired by the photo and the exchange between me and the photographer/dog owner.


Biding his time
waiting for the cup of sadness to brim
before unleashing his terrible power
upon an unsuspecting humanity

Howl at the moon if you must
the irony will not save you.

Watching "Jazz" on PBS

A few years back I was watching a segment of Ken Burn's mini-series on the history of Jazz. The TV was the only light in the dark room and I was in some kinda weird melancholy mood. I noticed the rug in front of the hallway had a corner that was bent upwards. This somehow put me in a poetic frame of mind... and there you have it.


Watching “Jazz” on PBS


There’s an upturned corner
to the rug
that allows me to pass

Miles is playin’
with a sublime serenity
angry faced

(the music opposed
to the man)

His dark heart
a great mystery
honey from the rock

Coltrane rises
from his shadow
finds the dark unknowing
in a golden “S”

Someone comments
“It’s the closest to religion I ever got”