Reflections

A poem inspired by my re-reading of David Jones's In Parenthesis , years of walking inside Grace Cathedral SF, & my grandmother's faith.

PURGATORIAL SOMETHING

I.

I kneel in the silence of candles and incense

here and now is the only space to be

is this a prayer, no and yes

no it is not, yes it might be

holding up all that was a life

taking and changing transmuted into an hour

which shifts, which ebbs, which fails

And then walks out to sunlight, to empty streets

and so here I kneel, aware of smoke and aromas

silent cathedral, wish, dream, sacraments I recall

then let go, no I am not standing, I simply am

all here, all movement stopped for a chance to transform

a back story to a new title

which I am trying to remember, which I hold in my hands

waiting for cup and bread to pass round the echoes

which bounce from here to there to forever.

II

This imagined transmutation is passing

scanning line after line of poems I can’t understand

but read and re-read for emphasis for hope

for love of a deeper dive into darkness then light

“Light after darkness” says the grand old stained glass window

which I look to, my knees aware of the time passing, bread and cup

communion in solitude

is this all? Time to celebrate, to remember “Christus Primatum Tenens”*

*Christ preeminent in all things

III.

Mottos passing away like my age

counting days on calendars, shift the weather, ask the questions

that pass for knowledge, that give something back

but this is not faith, this is just hope against hope

the old ways grandma believed whisper round me

but I can’t translate their song, how long can I go kneeling?

thinking of goof-poets, nonsensical writers keeping up

the rhythms of LSD, the 60’s, and tripping in big city grit

but I read them and smile, I am back, candles and incense

incessant liturgical words come and go through me, through this cathedral

grandmother can I find your face again? Can I hear your prayers

absolve you of all the suffering years, roadblocks of men and life,

I know the answer is no, this does not keep me from asking

“Light after darkness” haunts me, haunted by a deity that is beyond me

yet here I am in the labyrinth of silences, high ceilings, stained glass

continues to look down on me, shall I get up? Pass the cup, the bread away?

I’ve no answers for the ‘I’ used in questioning, what am I hiding?

what can I gain from this long vigil, wanting to be altered, changed,

maybe it’s time to go, maybe it’s time to disperse this fog I’ve created

around me to stop thinking, is this the proper answer,

and so you don’t ask for anything and I get up

my knees are sore and outside San Francisco waits for me.