Truth

Small boat, big seas.

~ peppyulyett ~ Leave a comment

In roiling seas I’d wished I’d skirted –

harbour-seeking all perverted –

the passage to that still horizon

reels me, and my soul is siphoned

down into deep briny troughs.

But though my fears are in the buff

I’ll hunker in the hull of this coracle

and trust it’s buoyant beams arborical.

Inspired by a talk by Adrian Plass, delivered with his usual wisdom and compassion. I am now in a safe harbour, but I remember well the scary voyages I’ve been flung out on. I am now grateful for having experienced what it is to be in a small boat in big seas, and for learning to trust the steersman.

For those still out on choppy waters, know that there are harbour lights shining out for you.

Fruit shoots

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I had such zest and energy

a new skin of sweet piquancy.

‘Don’t take the pith!’ I pled and cried

‘Don’t pare me from ekklesia’s side.’

Uncommon people pulped me down

Sapped me – but, was then I found

out flowed a fresh vitality.

The juice is worth the press and squeeze.

Discarded flesh all crushed and dripped

had composted unwanted pips.

These new shoots – they may be minute

but promise, from the hulls, new fruit.

CROSSED THE RUBICON

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No more shall we be woe-begone,

not since we crossed the rubicon!

Habeus corpus – no unicorn?

That horny time is purged.

The test is always by the fruit,

and moral tales we shall impute.

Our time of ripening (from deep roots)

will sap the bitter urge.

Laughter transports poignancy

and gives the message buoyancy.

A vision, in ascendency,

helps scale the learning curve.

It’s not a stage we’re going through –

we’ve got a solid platform to

reach up, reach out, and show them truths

where light and love converge.

I had thought that being under the umbrella of a spiritual institution was important, but found toxicity there which in turn hindered our creative expression. Not how it should be of course, but there it is. During this time someone ruefully joked that a unicorn must have been slain to account for the gossip there. In fact this mythic murderess was cleared; the ‘body of evidence’ proved unsubstantiated. Not so for someone else in the end though.

Standing for truth and justice sapped our energy, but once done we found a new lease of life. Our puppetry is physical, visually dynamic, and fun, and always with a moral message in the content – so the audience has something good to take away from it. It is part of what has been healing for us as we move on. This poem was written to celebrate liberation from that hard time, and mark the longed-for independence for our performing arts work.

Ashes and oil

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It is not I, but he, indicted –

such sadness of a soul benighted.

Pride has wounded and misguided,

but the critics heart is unrequited.

In brokenness I once was sighted,

yet – of sustaining grace reminded –

ashes and oil are all united,

to restoration I’m invited.

Sleeping Snooty

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Mirror, mirror, on the wall

who’s the one who’s so enthralled

by abusing those who see

past his self-centred deity.

It’s served you well to spin the story,

and yet it’s lost you so much glory.

A little prick – and how do you sleep?

No conscience, you shrug off deceits.

But the greater wheel of justice turns,

what comes before a fall confers

a yarn much spoke of as a warning

to others for whom truth is dawning.

Cognitive dissonance can be a particular problem in the church, where locally and institutionally the impulse is to protect the reputations of those in it’s employ, no matter what. It is its foolish and fatal flaw. It is of course an inherently fallible place – as the saying goes, ‘it would be alright if it weren’t for all the people in it…’ (and I was there too).  And yet truth will often out, in its own good time. It is not always love that covers sin, but many deceits – pride being the most powerful. As we reflect, may we better acknowledge what is in fact ugly and distorted, yet also see the precious facets of hope and redemption within it. Let’s change the picture shall we?

 

EMBEZZLER

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When the good book has been cooked

the flock is fleeced, we all have hooked

into a deficit of Kingdom riches,

squandered as the truth unhitches

from a place of right accounting.

Bottom line – the plunder’s mounting

from one man’s debt and diminution

(rather than make restitution).

Bullying and spiritual abuse are rife sadly. Church has, ironically, not proved itself a safe place for many who are now de-churched because of its complicity and cover-ups. Insecure individuals may wreake havoc in the souls of those who trusted in faith, and the institution is more paper tiger than roaring Lion. It impoverishes us all. But only for a time… watch with interest.

Elephant in the room

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We walk into my padded room

and – yes – there is the pachyderm.

Of course it’s there, all grey and trunky!

‘But what the heck is smelling funky

from that corner?’, folk exclaim

as they exit, in disdain.
I stay perched upon the stool –

I will not run, or lose my cool.

I’m well aware that the steaming stench

makes teeth and hands and buttocks clench –

for fear of clearing up the mess,

for fear of what shit’s in their heads.
Out in the garden, folk relax,

and smell the roses, just kick back.

They may poo-poo my hefty creature

and be repelled by its excretia;

But the soil out here is fertile now

after years of work with my compost, and my trowel.

Stand

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I stand, as prophesied – long pausing

ushers us to what outpouring?

Yoked launches looming, juxtaposing

how our stories keeps unfolding.

I once saw myself leaning against a hard rock wall, achingly tipped slightly forward so my forehead would maintain contact. It was imperative that I kept that connection, no matter what. That immovable impenetrable rock eventually crumbled to dust before me. Something from deep within me was drawn up, something that gifted restoration to the mess before me. I have learned and relearned to not be afraid of constructive destruction.

Darkness is part of God’s creative intention. Out of what is dark, formless, and void comes beauty and order. Out of death comes resurrection. Death and birth are holding hands. It always was, and will be.

At this point of impending transition, I am daunted yet focussed on the good purpose to come. This has always been much greater than I, and I can only stand within it all by grace far beyond myself. It’s the hard-standing of dust and clay that we will be reformed from.

Step up

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What stands upon your landing?

What fear looms dark astride

your courage? Come, step up – you’ll find

you’re armoured beyond pride.

‘Are you man enough?’  The question empowers as much as it taunts. No matter what steps we face, what edifice lies before us, defiance of our own disquietudes – by faith in what is beyond us – is both crushing and courageous.

Man enough?  

We are more than enough and never enough. We are only ever enough when we embrace that we have had enough of how our prideful fears constrain and restrain us. The sacrifice is only really in giving up ourselves in the truth of our helplessness, for the possibility that our downfall will be overcome by something greater than the sham we’re futilely projecting.

Whatever scary monsters lurk around the corners of our minds, man!- they can grow when we daren’t look them in the eye. Come on up, you have it all within you you know. Take the step. Enough’s enough.