Liberal, Conservative, Independent

Pragmatism—I use to think of myself as a liberal but as I got older I found myself realizing that people who call themselves liberal could be just as self-righteous and obnoxious as people who call themselves conservatives. It was all about the “I am right—you are wrong” game which is one of the worst games human beings can play. If you carry it to the extreme, it is OK to kill the people you don’t like. I don’t want to play that game. So what does that make me? A moderate? A centrist? Someone sitting on the fence? So I started to call myself a progressive. That worked for a while but soon I realized that many progressives had not thought through how their ideas would work. So I called myself a practical progressive…too many syllables.

I have come to think of myself as a spiritual and political “independent.” My faith and politics are based on values, not creeds or ideologies. I support civil liberties and oppose racism and sexism not because of politics but because I love justice. These values are respect for all people. Respect for the Earth. Respect for all religions, cultures, genders, and races. Respect for learning and knowledge including art, music, literature, philosophy, theology, science, and athletics. The love of justice and compassion and the sacredness of life.

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American Tea

The time honored tradition of English tea, So unlike American morning coffee, Always in a mug—to start the day. English tea is in the afternoon— More like the Japanese tea ceremony To give a ritual presence to life. The saucer so important to balance the cup. Americans find the saucer a nuisance. It’s what is in the cup that matters. Even the English drink coffee in the morning, American tea is at lunch—and iced— Ritual presence not forgotten—just ignored Americans drink tea in mugs. Mugs don’t need saucers.

I have heard so much talk about the soul But little evidence. Perhaps there is no Evidence. Evidence, by its very nature, Must exist in this world, in time and space. Perhaps, the soul doesn’t exist in time And space. The ego does. The id does And so does the self. Look at the evidence. Hunger. We eat day and night, if we don’t We starve. We drink soda and booze… And coffee. We work for money. There’s never enough. We spend So much time thinking about sex Which we sometimes call love. It’s Us against the world. We’re right, You’re wrong. Do unto others what Gets done to you. The soul is silent. Not really. The soul is singing—songs Of Joy, Praise, Thankfulness, Love. We can’t hear them because of the noise Of self, the noise of the ego, the noise Of the world to which we cling like A drunken sailor. Sons of A...

Buddha Socks

Buddha Socks Days do not number The miss-steps of my soul’s journey Years and decades of seeking and searching Lost and looking—occasionally knowing Only for a moment with certainty Before the trance of daily life and doing the laundry Overshadow insights that would unlock The mystery of socks tumbling in the dryer Socks don’t know emotions— They just know our feet. They wrap our heels and toes unconditionally Paying no attention to the emotions of the moment The funeral, the wedding, another day at work— The socks are just there for us After a day of being very human We take them off and toss them into the laundry Perhaps socks Are the Buddha (I don’t know the original dates on this. It is actually two separate poems which I found in old journals and merged into one poem I luv it…)

CurranPoem

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