TWO ANGELS

TWO ANGELS

Two angels whisper in my ear;
one speaks of ecstasy, the other of fear.
One holds me to earth, one beckons on high;
they vie for attention and breathe a deep sigh!

And though they are sent to do a great task,
neither wins my focus, when politely they ask.
So both swoop around, both tug and both pull,
as though to provoke me, they dance round my skull!

One swoops with a whoosh, to lift me on high
to heaven presumably (for "salvation's nigh").
The other he beckons and holds me to earth,
he whispers of eros, says, "heaven is dearth."

Two angels have my attention.
Two angels speak of ascension.
One speaks of spirit and of "higher" things,
one offers ecstasy, of body he sings!

What shall I choose?  Who shall I be?
I'm really quite torn, oh God, can't you see?
When I'm a good boy, reading my psalter,
I love it, enjoy it (but I'm dreaming of Walter)!

Oh how can it be that to dwell "up" with God,
we're to shun earthly beauty?  I do find it odd!
Aren't You in each atom?  Don't You see all?
Aren't You everything, large or small?

Aren't we swimming in You and in Spirit,
when we  do the dishes, or well… even "it?"
Aren't you there in the midst of the naughty,
watching each detail- please don't be haughty!

Surely dear God, You just wanted to see
What it'd be like to be him, her and me.
Surely You're all, from dog doody to dishes,
to be sensed in soft grass, and in our sweet wishes?

Surely it's You we encounter each day,
in all our experience, and not just one way.
Surely we must not be only prim monks
chaste and laced and in a deep funk!

For suppression is never, I fear, a good thing,
nor is a heaven, requiring prim wings.
And shadow embraced, played with and expressed,
turns deep inner rumblings to that which is blessed.

When will we finally know in our pates,
in our hearts, souls and bodies, that secret most great:
that we are not sep'rate, from all sensed and seen
that we're all made of stardust, wherever we've been?!

Wherever we go, whatever we do,
prim, "holy" or sexy- none is askew!
All is expressing, seeing just what it'd be
like to be you, like to be me.

Lifetime to lifetime, on terrestrial sloop,
we're learning to swim in the great cosmic soup;
and each ingredient is important, you see,
each little you, each little me.

And to say, "God is this, but God is not that…"
to proclaim that to see Him, you must wear a blue hat
is silly and sad, a most frustrating folly
(and, don't you see, you might miss cuddling Wally)!

For God is present in things unimagined
in lives you might judge, in acts that have gladdened
the body and being of many a person
though some find it prudent to warn, "this will worsen!"

Oh can't we all, just stop all the drama,
if it's not the Rapture, it's poor Mr. Obama.
We just seem to need to imagine what Dad
(or the Universe or heavens) say is quite bad.

How 'bout we all stop incessant projecting
of fantasy into reality (and spiritual inspecting),
It's all well and good, to look deep inside,
I recommend it, each day with the tide…

But let's live our lives, full to the brim-
We're swimming in spirit; we're already in Him!
And surely He hates not shadow or sexing,
or these sorts of things, which prim folks find quite vexing.

Surely it's time, to integrate souls,
and give up the "shoulds" and "oughts" of old...
to release the grip of judging puritanical,
and let go the hold of the tiresome and tyrannical!

But can we do this with ideas like our past?
Does it behoove us to climb up yet another mast
of a great "new" ship we're calling ascension
which sounds much like Rapture, I'm sorry to mention!

No, I think to suppress what is called the lower
is to tell that old tale, which makes us all slower.
We're supposed to be rising, all alight, all aglow-
but will there be fun without sex? (I'd like to know!)

I'm sorry to query, and I'm "just askin' "
as the kids say today… I'm multi-taskin'!
I'm talking and speaking and wondring and thinkin'
'stead of drifting to nod, winkin and blinkin.

No, Muse would not let me, rest or sleep,
till I spoke of two angels, and my questions repeat
to those who're just pon'dring (as are you?... as am I)
just what this new earth will be like in the sky!

Yes, those who are ready, who've let go their "low'r"
will rise up with earth (those low'r won't know her).
Oy-veh my dears!  What's on my mind
is "this sounds like the Rapture… be good, or left behind!"

So these are my thoughts, summer two thousand twelve,
These are my won'drings, bout God, heaven, self.
I have to say, if  I must give up sex,
and food and sleep, all things less complex…

I'm really not sure, if I want to rise!
Will I feel like Em'ly, of Our Town, in the sky?
"Goodbye to hot baths, to sleep, waking up,"
I guess I am textbook, resisting rise or sup.

I am a good fellow, trying hard to be kind
(although I acknowledge shadow in mind).
What shall I do?  Who shall I be?
I'd acquiesce, but would I be me?

Am I the only one with two angels?
Am I the sole person who'll miss lox and bagels?
Tell me I 'm not bad, to casually mention
that I'm none too certain... of this new, great ascension!