Michael's 'Deep Thoughts'

Snowstorms are lonely
An empty house, a blocked drive
Solitude: God’s gift
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The shelves are so full!
It is difficult to imagine how so many could be written
So few ever bother to hold the pen so long
Yet every year there are hundreds more

Whole buildings house books
The life and ideas of just a few people
The dead still speaking to the living
For a dusty volume still catches a person’s eye

A generation passes, yet the thoughts seem current
One hundred generations pass, and there is still human sympathy
People think the world changes quickly
Yet people change very little except fighting to survive the world around them

Today is a good day for a story
The wind will blow cold outside
The mind is tired, searching to say something clever
Tomorrow I must write, but to write a man must read

Not all reading can be about analysis
Sometimes one needs fun
To get lost in a story
To escape the point of view that surrounds us

Searching the shelves, a book enters the hand
Now to open it and begin to read.

Planning to have fun
Nothing has to be perfect
My friends are my friends

The task is somehow finished
The eyes are still open
The body moves so very slowly
Why does sleep come so slowly

The eyes look over the page
They know that the task has been finished
The mind goes on the callendar
The todo list has another item checked off

The mind goes to the duties of tomorrow
The body is tired of meeting duties without profit
Meeting deadlines without hope of pay
Why does a man work for what is not bread?

The heart worries these days
Counting hours and expenses
Disapointment follows disapointmet
Soon it will be rationing and counting pennies

In this world, one man plants, another eats the harvest
Yet while there is life there is hope
Tears begin to stain the face
And the night turns into daylight

The voice shrieks in the head
There is no answer, for a child is right
A strong concept of fair
Frustration when it is violated

How does a child know the rules of fairness
He may try to cheat the rules for his favor
Yet he knows the naughtiness of cheating
Every little resource is counted

A child’s eyes seem more precise than statistics
Counting and judging each moment
Learning the life lesson that only the artificial is fair
Crying does not change this truth

One question comes to the adult
If nothing is “fair”, why do we insist on fairness?

Poets are a strange lot
Confused about things the world takes for granted
One says beauty is only skin deep
Another states it cannot be found in a mirror

Is beauty what is on the surface?
Is beauty what is deep within?
Can the classic philosophers define beauty with math?
Or could beauty be in the eyes of the beholder?

Seems perhaps the problem is with the word
For it means so many things to so many people
For one, beauty tickles the eyes
For another beauty brings comfort to the soul

In beauty the cleverly stated idea?
Is it the ideal shape, or the picture of good health?
Can beauty be found through figures?
Can it be refined through statistics?

Is one beholder so much different from another?
What changes perspective?
Can something be lovely to one, and repulsive to another?
Is it possible to see through another’s eyes?

Perhaps beauty is in the mind of the speaker
The lexography changing from mind to mind
Could each man define the word slightly differently?
If so, how do we ever communicate?

Do poets decide what such words mean?
Do philosophers, or lexographers?
Can the meaning be turned into other words?
If so, would it destroy the poetry?

Is beauty truth, is truth beauty?
Could truth be in the eye of the beholder?
Could truth be only skin deep?
Could the poets be wrong?

I have not had the opportunity to deliver a new sermon, even after starting what I hoped would be a series, so this follows my sermon on Ephesians 1. For those who want a second opinion, I recommend the one delivered by Charity Sandstrom at Emporia Friends, or if you prefer ancient preachers — then Chrysostom’s 4th homily on Ephesians.
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