(in my bones: one day it’ll all fall out so clear & obvious. oh my god!)
it’s all been said --oh how many times !
so then it must be given to say over & over
is anyone listening then?
but that is not my job
come to the banquet
and some things are too fleeting
too precious in the first place to capture
so just give yourself over to having them
and then do the best you can
a pretty imperfect science wouldn’t you say?
come to the banquet
and one day it’ll all be revealed
all of it. to everyone
across the board --all of it!
and everyone will say of course!
and how is it i never saw it?
and the great one will be there
saying you did the best you could
you saw what you saw and you acted
where you were able and
i am so pleased to see you at last!
and there will be so little blame it will spin your head
because truly blame and perfection
have nothing to do with one another
and you will understand at last
the roar of the ocean that held you close
and that earliest time before you could think on it fulltime
when light itself seemed precious --because it was
and there was a certain sacredness in the very air
--because there was
and your ah-ahs! will cause the great one to smile ear-to-ear
and there will be such rejoicing --just like they always said and
you couldn’t quite understand why
oh my god, no wonder! . . .
and life will be revealed for the gift it always was
. . . and death? and death?
well, you were given all the grace you needed to pass through it
and only you knew that for sure
while the rest could only see your suffering
and here you are my child at last
pretty simple stuff wouldn’t you say?
and no one will ask if you’ve any regrets
how could there be?
and no one will seek explanations
what more do you want?
and no one will test you to see what you’re made of
you’ll be wearing it!
and no one will lead you into inadequacy or doubt
not here, not at home
and other things too you’ll recognize instantly
the colors. the music. probably the smells
and for awhile, say the first few centuries or so
it will keep coming back to you:
it was all there then! every last particle!
how could i’ve missed it?
until you feel the gentle royal nudge
until at last there’s no one left back home to take you to task
until you begin to allow yourself the return
the welcome. the reward. the fulfillment
why of course: the alpha, the omega!
and all every bit can be just be. and nothing’s left to pay
and suddenly you hold it all only there’s nothing left to grasp
and there’s no more to say --not to mention convince or prove
or even resonate alongwith anymore
and your sigh will fill the oceans!
from this smell i'm flowering
by jim rucquoi
(unpublished collection, september 2002)
peacewalk: an ex-con ponders what it can mean
(Posted at ThePeaceAlliance.org, August 26, 2006)
The other day I got an email about an upcoming peace march. They were organizing walks for peace across the country and wondered if I'd like to join them close to home.
Maybe it was because I'd missed out on the era of noisy peace marches, the distance between the sanitized life I was then caught up in and what was happening on the streets having been too great for whatever sympathies I might have had for their cause. Maybe it was just today's weariness at finding ourselves backed into yet another horror of endless butchery. Maybe it was something hidden and altogether closer to home. But all at once here I am leading a peace walk in my hometown.
The preparation, the correspondences have been instructive . . .
In our morning readings last week, mulling over what do I know about peace?, I came upon this from the journal of our favorite poet-monk, Thomas Merton. It was all uphill from there.
Today I realize with urgency the absolute seriousness of my need to study and practice non-violence as an idea. I have "approved" it, looked with benignity on it, have praised it, even earnestly. . . But I have not practiced it fully. My thoughts and words retaliate. I condemn and resist adversaries when I think I am unjustly treated. I revile them; even treat them with open (but polite) contempt to their face.
OUCH! Armed with new humility I began looking at just what sort of activity this could be, this trudging for peace. One more media stunt, I wondered, to get the cameras pointed at our side? Already I was beginning to hope peace itself wouldn't be a matter of securing simply one more commanding height on today's bloody red-blue battle lines.
Maybe I was getting it. I began to see that this violence of mine, of ours, amounted to a failure of imagination. We fight back when we believe there's no other way, when we think we're cornered. Yes, call it knee-jerk by way of mindless, decidedly lower impulses. But what if, at every turn of the road, there always is another way? What if violence was the result of nothing so real on our journey as so much dark smoke of our own making?
The words of hero-peacemakers now rushed at me with new force. I pass them along for the benefit of fellow striders next month whose ponderings may be following similar routes.
From Martin Luther King:
Along the way of life, someone must have enough sense and morality to cut off the chain of hate by projecting the ethics of love into the center of our lives.
From Khalil Gibran:
You are my companion on the byways of life, my helper in perceiving the essence of reality concealed behind the mists. You are a human being and I have loved you, my brother.
From Bon Kai, a Buddhist monk:
You think that good is hating what is bad. What is bad is the hating mind itself.
And only this morning, at the conclusion of her new book which has been my companion for the past few weeks, this bombshell (see, it sticks to our very language!) from Karen Armstrong,
In one way or another, (the axial sages' ) programs were designed to eradicate the egotism that is largely responsible for our violence and promoted the empathic spirituality of the Golden Rule . . . It gave them (us) ekstasis, a "stepping out" from their habitual, self-bound consciousness that enabled them to apprehend a quality they called "God", nibbana, brahman, atman, or the Way. . . The practice of disciplined sympathy would itself yield intimations of transcendence.
A stepping out from Self Almighty. If my walk for peace in a few weeks achieves nothing else, maybe it can signal this much.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Merton, Thomas, Practicing Non-Violence, entry for 8/21/62 in A Year With Thomas Merton, Daily Meditations from his Journals, Johnathan Montaldo, ed, Harper, San Francisco, 2004, p 244
King, Martin Luther,
Bon Kai,
http://antiwar.com/quotes.php
Gibran, Khalil, The Voice of The Poet: On Human Unity (III) in The Vision, Reflections on the Way of The Soul, translated by Juan R.I. Cole, 1994 & 1998 in http://4umi.com/gibran/vision/5.htm
Armstrong, Karen, The Great Transformation, The Beginning of Our Religious Traditions, Alfred A. Knopf, NY, 2006, p 391
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
about the author . . .
Following a term in the Florida prison system, Jim Rucquoi is in his twenty-third year of a sentence of life probation for second degree murder. A poet and photographer (simplysanford.com), he lives in Sanford, Florida with his wife of twelve years, the writer, Adele Azar-Rucquoi. Jim is contact person for a peace walk in Sanford on September 16th honoring Gandhi's first walk for peace 100 years ago in South Africa. Walk for Peace is sponsored by Alliance for Peace, a grassroots citizen action group backing legislation for a US Department of Peace.
The other day I got an email about an upcoming peace march. They were organizing walks for peace across the country and wondered if I'd like to join them close to home.
Maybe it was because I'd missed out on the era of noisy peace marches, the distance between the sanitized life I was then caught up in and what was happening on the streets having been too great for whatever sympathies I might have had for their cause. Maybe it was just today's weariness at finding ourselves backed into yet another horror of endless butchery. Maybe it was something hidden and altogether closer to home. But all at once here I am leading a peace walk in my hometown.
The preparation, the correspondences have been instructive . . .
In our morning readings last week, mulling over what do I know about peace?, I came upon this from the journal of our favorite poet-monk, Thomas Merton. It was all uphill from there.
Today I realize with urgency the absolute seriousness of my need to study and practice non-violence as an idea. I have "approved" it, looked with benignity on it, have praised it, even earnestly. . . But I have not practiced it fully. My thoughts and words retaliate. I condemn and resist adversaries when I think I am unjustly treated. I revile them; even treat them with open (but polite) contempt to their face.
OUCH! Armed with new humility I began looking at just what sort of activity this could be, this trudging for peace. One more media stunt, I wondered, to get the cameras pointed at our side? Already I was beginning to hope peace itself wouldn't be a matter of securing simply one more commanding height on today's bloody red-blue battle lines.
Maybe I was getting it. I began to see that this violence of mine, of ours, amounted to a failure of imagination. We fight back when we believe there's no other way, when we think we're cornered. Yes, call it knee-jerk by way of mindless, decidedly lower impulses. But what if, at every turn of the road, there always is another way? What if violence was the result of nothing so real on our journey as so much dark smoke of our own making?
The words of hero-peacemakers now rushed at me with new force. I pass them along for the benefit of fellow striders next month whose ponderings may be following similar routes.
From Martin Luther King:
Along the way of life, someone must have enough sense and morality to cut off the chain of hate by projecting the ethics of love into the center of our lives.
From Khalil Gibran:
You are my companion on the byways of life, my helper in perceiving the essence of reality concealed behind the mists. You are a human being and I have loved you, my brother.
From Bon Kai, a Buddhist monk:
You think that good is hating what is bad. What is bad is the hating mind itself.
And only this morning, at the conclusion of her new book which has been my companion for the past few weeks, this bombshell (see, it sticks to our very language!) from Karen Armstrong,
In one way or another, (the axial sages' ) programs were designed to eradicate the egotism that is largely responsible for our violence and promoted the empathic spirituality of the Golden Rule . . . It gave them (us) ekstasis, a "stepping out" from their habitual, self-bound consciousness that enabled them to apprehend a quality they called "God", nibbana, brahman, atman, or the Way. . . The practice of disciplined sympathy would itself yield intimations of transcendence.
A stepping out from Self Almighty. If my walk for peace in a few weeks achieves nothing else, maybe it can signal this much.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Merton, Thomas, Practicing Non-Violence, entry for 8/21/62 in A Year With Thomas Merton, Daily Meditations from his Journals, Johnathan Montaldo, ed, Harper, San Francisco, 2004, p 244
King, Martin Luther,
Bon Kai,
http://antiwar.com/quotes.php
Gibran, Khalil, The Voice of The Poet: On Human Unity (III) in The Vision, Reflections on the Way of The Soul, translated by Juan R.I. Cole, 1994 & 1998 in http://4umi.com/gibran/vision/5.htm
Armstrong, Karen, The Great Transformation, The Beginning of Our Religious Traditions, Alfred A. Knopf, NY, 2006, p 391
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
about the author . . .
Following a term in the Florida prison system, Jim Rucquoi is in his twenty-third year of a sentence of life probation for second degree murder. A poet and photographer (simplysanford.com), he lives in Sanford, Florida with his wife of twelve years, the writer, Adele Azar-Rucquoi. Jim is contact person for a peace walk in Sanford on September 16th honoring Gandhi's first walk for peace 100 years ago in South Africa. Walk for Peace is sponsored by Alliance for Peace, a grassroots citizen action group backing legislation for a US Department of Peace.
coming to
time was when the world was where it was
and imagination - what was left of it in my case
could take off from there to fantastic places
uh uh no more: glued to a here & now become fantastic
grounded and useless like all the rest
and still it rains: four days of grey and no one complains
relieved of our sun - who among us could take it?
tho streaks of light manage still to break through
cathedral choirboys lead with a carol
downright indecent in our pommeled refrain
woman rector calls us to prayer
eloquent dean gives it a context
brave imam in arabic so angular
wise rabbi from the deepest of wells
and an aged billy graham with remnant boom: we still have an anchor
grave young president rises to podium & occasion
a father reaches over to grasp a hand, a girl weeps, a man weeps
a couple weeps, jimmy stares intently, bill weeps
starched honor guard with limp battle flags glides by
without so much as a ripple
but the horrible images persist: banking twin-jet smacks into tower
now - again - the same? - another angle? - ANOTHER???
blossoming fireballs, cascading grey plumes
single proud mast starts its stately descent
without so much as a bow to the outrage
no, not real
pixels spring to bearhatted redcoats
a reprieve
onlookers thru buckingham bars clench tiny old glories
they’re weeping
what is this place?
-September 15, 2001
and imagination - what was left of it in my case
could take off from there to fantastic places
uh uh no more: glued to a here & now become fantastic
grounded and useless like all the rest
and still it rains: four days of grey and no one complains
relieved of our sun - who among us could take it?
tho streaks of light manage still to break through
cathedral choirboys lead with a carol
downright indecent in our pommeled refrain
woman rector calls us to prayer
eloquent dean gives it a context
brave imam in arabic so angular
wise rabbi from the deepest of wells
and an aged billy graham with remnant boom: we still have an anchor
grave young president rises to podium & occasion
a father reaches over to grasp a hand, a girl weeps, a man weeps
a couple weeps, jimmy stares intently, bill weeps
starched honor guard with limp battle flags glides by
without so much as a ripple
but the horrible images persist: banking twin-jet smacks into tower
now - again - the same? - another angle? - ANOTHER???
blossoming fireballs, cascading grey plumes
single proud mast starts its stately descent
without so much as a bow to the outrage
no, not real
pixels spring to bearhatted redcoats
a reprieve
onlookers thru buckingham bars clench tiny old glories
they’re weeping
what is this place?
-September 15, 2001
going batty in my bellfry
NATIONAL CATHOLIC REPORTER
September 22, 2006
Starting Point
By JIM RUCQUOI
We are blessed. We live under church bells. Three times a day they stop us in our tracks and remind us who’s Who. How do they do this time after time, every time, without ever losing us or boring us? With three single gongs sounded breathlessly apart in blessed silence; like hearing the whisper of God in the wind.
It’s nothing new. Monks have been marking their days with such music from the first centuries of Christianity. The morning, noon and evening prayers of Angelus are, of course, a short form of the monks’ seven-part divine office. At such times, we are lifted out of our concerns of the moment. Or rather, the concerns themselves are wordlessly sanctified.
No, nothing new. And not that unique to our particular worshiping club, it must be said. Reverent Buddhists hearken as well to sacred bells. And, though their call to prayer takes human form, don’t devout Muslims stop five times a day to do something similar?
But over the years, after ringing the Angelus, the bells of our parish have taken up a new -- and decidedly less compelling -- pealing, something much less transcendent and much less enduring. Certainly there’s a place for hymnody, but it is probably not a bell tower three times a day to the non-soliciting ears, miles around, of a dense mixed neighborhood.
If that wasn’t bad enough, for the past two weeks these same bells have seen fit to blare forth patriotic (so-called) hymns. Three times a day, every day. Why it’s enough to raise Constantine himself from the grave in disgust!
It’s time to give these bells -- and all of us -- a rest. Time perhaps to recall the words of our own poet-monk, Thomas Merton in his "Thoughts in Solitude." “Bells ... speak to us of our freedom, which responsibilities and transient cares make us forget. They are the voice of alliance with the God of heaven. ... They call us to peace with him and within ourselves.”
Jim Rucquoi lives in the historic district of Sanford, Fla., not far from All Souls Catholic Church.
National Catholic Reporter, September 22, 2006
September 22, 2006
Starting Point
By JIM RUCQUOI
We are blessed. We live under church bells. Three times a day they stop us in our tracks and remind us who’s Who. How do they do this time after time, every time, without ever losing us or boring us? With three single gongs sounded breathlessly apart in blessed silence; like hearing the whisper of God in the wind.
It’s nothing new. Monks have been marking their days with such music from the first centuries of Christianity. The morning, noon and evening prayers of Angelus are, of course, a short form of the monks’ seven-part divine office. At such times, we are lifted out of our concerns of the moment. Or rather, the concerns themselves are wordlessly sanctified.
No, nothing new. And not that unique to our particular worshiping club, it must be said. Reverent Buddhists hearken as well to sacred bells. And, though their call to prayer takes human form, don’t devout Muslims stop five times a day to do something similar?
But over the years, after ringing the Angelus, the bells of our parish have taken up a new -- and decidedly less compelling -- pealing, something much less transcendent and much less enduring. Certainly there’s a place for hymnody, but it is probably not a bell tower three times a day to the non-soliciting ears, miles around, of a dense mixed neighborhood.
If that wasn’t bad enough, for the past two weeks these same bells have seen fit to blare forth patriotic (so-called) hymns. Three times a day, every day. Why it’s enough to raise Constantine himself from the grave in disgust!
It’s time to give these bells -- and all of us -- a rest. Time perhaps to recall the words of our own poet-monk, Thomas Merton in his "Thoughts in Solitude." “Bells ... speak to us of our freedom, which responsibilities and transient cares make us forget. They are the voice of alliance with the God of heaven. ... They call us to peace with him and within ourselves.”
Jim Rucquoi lives in the historic district of Sanford, Fla., not far from All Souls Catholic Church.
National Catholic Reporter, September 22, 2006
letter to a young candidate
August 4, 2006
Jeremiah Jaspon
Candidate for Florida State Senate, District 22
PO Box 2801, Sanford FL 32772
Dear Jeremiah,
As we were taking our leave at Lorelle's the other night after meeting you & hearing you speak you asked me, “So then, have I got your vote?” At the time that struck me as unnecessarily solicitous if not altogether odd. Of course, friend. What other choice is there? Given our two-party system, if you're brave enough to take on the incumbents then you must be the one, right?
Your unbounding energy is contagious, besides; the uphill race ahead against an entrenched state senate republican majority seems only to spur you on. Your hard-hitting platform is relevant and finely focused on education, health care, and alternative energy. Is that it, then?
I'm having thoughts. Not exactly second thoughts but new & altogether unexpected promptings. Before we heard you raise the banner that night, whatever civic yearnings we might still have had were altogether wrapped in despair. It had been a long, long time . . .
Permit me a little review. The push for Kerry had taken everything. We knocked on doors. We talked to everyone we knew. We watched polls. We biked around town with signs. We gave money. We simply couldn't afford to do less, not with so much riding on the election. That the worst happened anyway, the thing who could dare imagine, brought us to our knees. I can tell you this much: when I came-to the Sunday after and could no longer ignore all the "W" stickers on the back of cars in the parish parking lot it blew me right out of that place. I haven't been back to church since. Needless to add, neither have we had much inclination to further involve ourselves with such a political process.
AMERICA, HOW COULD WE !
So why go into all this by now ancient history? Because there can be little doubt anymore: politics as usual just will not do. These days it surely can no longer be enough to simply run an effective, hard-hitting campaign.
I hope you can hear these concerns of a fellow citizen too old to forget all he's seen, too troubled not to remember an America he once believed in. This country's in deep trouble. Jeremiah, where's the outrage for our ignoring the family of man, our killing people everywhere, our devastating the planet, our bringing us all to our knees, our tolerating these crooks at the helm?
In other times in state elections maybe we could get away with the belief that there were concerns in our own part of the world fully distinct from any other. Do you imagine that’s still the case? I believe that what’s called for in today’s fouled political climate is a degree of candor and authenticity about what’s going on in the country like we haven't seen for a long time in America. Jeremiah, whoever gets my vote and keeps it is the one who first steps up and tells it like it is, damn the polls and all other expedient considerations. I need at last to hear the voice of conscience.
Your name intrigues; I just looked up the prophet; you must know his reputation better than anyone. Seems it was also a trying time to say the least, the end of a land he called his own. You have much to live up to! I wish your campaign every success in this pivotal time.
best regards,
Jim Rucquoi
simplysanford.com
Jeremiah Jaspon
Candidate for Florida State Senate, District 22
PO Box 2801, Sanford FL 32772
Dear Jeremiah,
As we were taking our leave at Lorelle's the other night after meeting you & hearing you speak you asked me, “So then, have I got your vote?” At the time that struck me as unnecessarily solicitous if not altogether odd. Of course, friend. What other choice is there? Given our two-party system, if you're brave enough to take on the incumbents then you must be the one, right?
Your unbounding energy is contagious, besides; the uphill race ahead against an entrenched state senate republican majority seems only to spur you on. Your hard-hitting platform is relevant and finely focused on education, health care, and alternative energy. Is that it, then?
I'm having thoughts. Not exactly second thoughts but new & altogether unexpected promptings. Before we heard you raise the banner that night, whatever civic yearnings we might still have had were altogether wrapped in despair. It had been a long, long time . . .
Permit me a little review. The push for Kerry had taken everything. We knocked on doors. We talked to everyone we knew. We watched polls. We biked around town with signs. We gave money. We simply couldn't afford to do less, not with so much riding on the election. That the worst happened anyway, the thing who could dare imagine, brought us to our knees. I can tell you this much: when I came-to the Sunday after and could no longer ignore all the "W" stickers on the back of cars in the parish parking lot it blew me right out of that place. I haven't been back to church since. Needless to add, neither have we had much inclination to further involve ourselves with such a political process.
AMERICA, HOW COULD WE !
So why go into all this by now ancient history? Because there can be little doubt anymore: politics as usual just will not do. These days it surely can no longer be enough to simply run an effective, hard-hitting campaign.
I hope you can hear these concerns of a fellow citizen too old to forget all he's seen, too troubled not to remember an America he once believed in. This country's in deep trouble. Jeremiah, where's the outrage for our ignoring the family of man, our killing people everywhere, our devastating the planet, our bringing us all to our knees, our tolerating these crooks at the helm?
In other times in state elections maybe we could get away with the belief that there were concerns in our own part of the world fully distinct from any other. Do you imagine that’s still the case? I believe that what’s called for in today’s fouled political climate is a degree of candor and authenticity about what’s going on in the country like we haven't seen for a long time in America. Jeremiah, whoever gets my vote and keeps it is the one who first steps up and tells it like it is, damn the polls and all other expedient considerations. I need at last to hear the voice of conscience.
Your name intrigues; I just looked up the prophet; you must know his reputation better than anyone. Seems it was also a trying time to say the least, the end of a land he called his own. You have much to live up to! I wish your campaign every success in this pivotal time.
best regards,
Jim Rucquoi
simplysanford.com
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