UNCONSCIOUS
“To be, or not to be: that is the question….”
“To sleep – perchance to dream
ay, there’s the rub” as Shakespeare put it.
Hamlet’s questions doth make cowards of us all –
unconscious all - sleep walkers all – but questions
can also wake us – as we sit there in the audience.
To be or not to be audience – or to act, to be the actor.
Too many days, too many ways, I’m unconscious.
Unconscious of my princely, prophetic and priestly
callings. Unconscious of God’s will being done –
and God’s call for me to be the reason I was created,
thought up, gifted and put here on this planet
at this time and place – to leave the audience
and to stand up on stage and play my part in life.
Unconscious of my conscience – blocking it out
too many times. Unwilling to accept the reality of
my big sins: sins of omission – my unwillingness
to listen, to really listen to the other, to see and be
with those I label “the poor”, “the dumb”,
“the weak” and “the worried”, “the slob”.
I’ve never walked in another’s shoes.
I’ve never helped another to help them
to lift themselves by their own bootstraps.
Unconscious that there are people who love me
and I neglect them or don’t acknowledge them – or
there are people without whom I would not exist –
and I didn’t thank my parents enough
and they have been gone a long time now.
Unconscious of the earth – and its screams,
“Stop dumping on me. Care and clean me up!”
Unconscious of the machines and systems
that we rely upon: hot water, cold water,
red and green lights, those who maintain bridges
and sewerage – and those who drive semi’s –
bringing milk and cereal and peanut butter and
a thousand and one other conveniences
to stores – gas stations. Then there is electricity,
unnoticed till a storm when it’s knocked out for a time –
knocking out TV and the evening news.
“To sleep – perchance to dream
ay, there’s the rub” as Shakespeare put it.
Hamlet’s questions doth make cowards of us all –
unconscious all - sleep walkers all – but questions
can also wake us – as we sit there in the audience.
To be or not to be audience – or to act, to be the actor.
Too many days, too many ways, I’m unconscious.
Unconscious of my princely, prophetic and priestly
callings. Unconscious of God’s will being done –
and God’s call for me to be the reason I was created,
thought up, gifted and put here on this planet
at this time and place – to leave the audience
and to stand up on stage and play my part in life.
Unconscious of my conscience – blocking it out
too many times. Unwilling to accept the reality of
my big sins: sins of omission – my unwillingness
to listen, to really listen to the other, to see and be
with those I label “the poor”, “the dumb”,
“the weak” and “the worried”, “the slob”.
I’ve never walked in another’s shoes.
I’ve never helped another to help them
to lift themselves by their own bootstraps.
Unconscious that there are people who love me
and I neglect them or don’t acknowledge them – or
there are people without whom I would not exist –
and I didn’t thank my parents enough
and they have been gone a long time now.
Unconscious of the earth – and its screams,
“Stop dumping on me. Care and clean me up!”
Unconscious of the machines and systems
that we rely upon: hot water, cold water,
red and green lights, those who maintain bridges
and sewerage – and those who drive semi’s –
bringing milk and cereal and peanut butter and
a thousand and one other conveniences
to stores – gas stations. Then there is electricity,
unnoticed till a storm when it’s knocked out for a time –
knocking out TV and the evening news.
Unconscious of You – God – You who keep
this whole enterprise going – You so silent,
so silent, you so aware of the heart beat
and vascular system of gulls and bugs and cows,
You, God, still creating the core of the earth as well as
the furthest galaxy. Oh my God, I’m unconscious
in my core and in my furthest circumference of my self.
and vascular system of gulls and bugs and cows,
You, God, still creating the core of the earth as well as
the furthest galaxy. Oh my God, I’m unconscious
in my core and in my furthest circumference of my self.
© Andy Costello, Reflections 2010
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