Last Words

Anger is a cruel, boring slavemaster; action a thrilling, infinite hero.

Why be petty when I can be powerful? Grimace when I can be graceful? Beauty is inside.

Each day is the best of my life and may be my last.

So what?

I’m not guilting myself over a bucket list. No tidying up or giving back while there’s still time.

My bucket overflows and Death won’t ask if my bed was made or demand a count of my charities. Death don’t care.

Yeah, a radical mindset for a onetime priesthood aspirant, who genuflected and prostrated to a vision of death on the cross.

Jesus finally got through to me despite superstitious kundalini: My good mind and soul always has been enough.

A well-lived life means laughing at myself and with others. If eternity has any requirements—which it doesn’t—laughter is prime.

Ha ha ha! Last words.

Be the Reason

Someone close to me is suddenly dying of lung cancer. A cross-wearing acquaintance, when I told him I wouldn’t be socializing much, lectured, “There’s a reason” and after listening too long I blurted, “Yeah there’s a reason he has lung cancer and a reason my family died young: he smoked cigarettes 40-plus years as did the others.” Scoff! That was the response.

Oprah would advise, “There’s always a lesson.”

Get off the phone!

In Christian and Jewish Bibles, Job’s friends blamed him and insisted there was a reason for his tragedies and trials. Finally YHWH (God) got sick of listening to their lame blame game and pretty much said, “It is what it is so shut up!”

Do I sound angry? I hope so. But I don’t want more family and wealth than ever, like Job got at the end of his ordeal.

I just want the dead to come back and the dying to live, and to let you know that 87% of lung cancers are caused by smoking. I don’t have the stats for heart attacks and others but we all know anyway…be healthy, my friends. Be the reason.

Second Sight

  • I looked for light and found only darkness, so I entered the darkness and learned second sight.
  • My friends betrayed me and I betrayed them, so I forgave us all and threw a party!
  • I saw the world going to hell in a hand basket so I jumped into the hand basket, grabbed its handle, and pulled up.
  • I saw children frightened and alone—I saw myself—so I joined their cause.
  • I read the news and was discouraged, so I read further and deeper and learned about Dr. Nott, who removes snipers’ bullets from pregnant Syrian women trying to escape their country.
  • I was told there is no god and prayer is meaningless, and then I found this daily prayer from an atheist religion:

Elderly Dr. RitaMay all beings be peaceful.
May all beings be happy.
May all beings be safe.
May all beings awaken to
the light of their true nature.
May all beings be free.

Malala tells the world a bullet can’t stop education


“I raise up my voice – not so that I can shout, but so that those without a voice can be heard.”

Malala Yousafzai of Pakistan, who survived being shot by Taliban gunmen last October because she advocates education for girls and shares her views with Western media outlets. Video of her recent speech to the United Nations.

The Hospice of Lost Souls

When I was good
You treated me bad
Now that I am bad, I fear what you’ll do to me

In the health of youth, violence and illness struck me down.
Now in old age, should I seek health again? I have no reason to believe you won’t punish me for it.

God, I want to live a full, beautiful life, with a skip in my step and a glow in my smile. I’ll wear pinafore dresses and curl my hair. I’ll forget the failures of adulthood for the innocence of childhood.

I know the dangers. Were I to regress to innocence, health, and happiness, you would hurt me again, like before.

I can only go so far with you, and I fear I’m near that point. If my life gets too good, you’ll destroy me anew.

Oh God, show me the flaws in the this formula, that I may abide in the light of life, and not in the hospice of lost souls.

Snow Boy Fountain

Seething Rain

Seething rain
Why do you bury your claws in my back?

You pelt my head with stones
Rot my feet in brine

You rust my car
Destroy my wood

You feed on my dry
Run on my wet
You dribble and spit all over everything I own.
Why can’t you stop?

The plants aren’t growing—they’re drowning.

Wicked, evil thing, you—rain
Go back from whence you came!

Let me weep
My own tears
Let me create
My own rain

I have enough
I don’t need you
Go to a parched land
Seethe there again