The Grace of God




THE GRACE OF GOD


An Encounter with the Holy Hobo: Johannan





I recognize him because of the phenomena that surrounds him...



the red tailed hawk that swoops by my window
and lands on the roof top near the corner where he stands,




and the butterfly that lands by his feet,
bright orange wings batting like winking eyelashes.






I ask his name and he gives it to me in full.



I point and we scurry across the wide road, momentarily free of traffic.




Together, we wade across
the expanse of the two black rivers.
As we stand upon the island in between,
the wind grabs at us inquisitively.







I look


for the underground labyrinths


in every city I come to.




I know now I was right,
he is who I thought he was.



I was on Shasta and I saw a giant.




He told me it wasn’t time for me to be there.


I didn’t have a guitar then.




We pause at the threshold,
I introduce him to the lord of the house
and he is welcomed into our sanctuary.
I fetch a chair, and we sit him by the cold hearth.









Guitars and Jesus.


let me tell you everything with a song.


I am a rolling stone,


with no home down




in this world of sin and woe,


living on the road,




I am so blessed,


god has given me the power


to just walk away


from everything…




if the other option


is not to be able to live.



I am one of the last


true believers


in the church
of Timothy Leary



Tune in,


turn on,


and drop out.




I have twelve times


and now


I don’t have to


anymore,


because


I’m already there.





I am so chained and shoed beside him
that blew in on the wind.
Like a hermit crab, the voyager in the invisible labyrinth,
sits in our chamber, and sings us a song.







We things that live, we pay the price
and thank our lucky stars that we could.
Everything he says here is understood.




Out there in the land of the heartless walking dead,
they don’t see the god.
They see a frail and nimble old hobo bent under his pack and hat, lugging his guitar along with him.

They shout at him, hold him suspended so that I can read the signs that surround him, and fly across the two rivers, my green robe flapping behind me.










Why don’t you take your kingdom back?


These things are proven to me as time goes by…


I have another world that I visit,


I saw a leprechaun near the railroad tracks


He looked just like me except he was all green


I asked him his name,


because that’s what you do when you meet a God.


And he said,


you don’t need to know my name.







I stood there for a long time, looking through the glass,
knowing I should speak to him,
thinking it was not what I had been sent to do.




I left the window to return to my work,
but without my consent my body brought me
back to the window…he should have been gone by then,
the window should have closed,
but he was still standing there
and the hawk the color of Indian clay
sliced through the blue to perch over his head.






And that was how I came to hear him,
and listen closely, as he sang his songs and told his tales,




and for a moment,


through the dirty clothes,


and the frail hands,


and the beaten body,


a pure tone of life and freedom rang firmly in our chamber,


resonating deeply even after a long time had passed,


and the secret pathways kept it vibrating,



sending echoes into the pasts and futures,


chanting the news


that the very grace of God


had stopped here


for a moment




and had a drink of water


to soothe his parched throat.








Send any comments, suggestions or questions to jc@viasinistrae.com



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