I AM and you are not - by Tomas Martin, OPD

You know not what I am and therefore you cannot see.  You know not what I am so I cannot be.  I cannot live as a mystery. 

I am not the leaf on the tree.  I am not the bird flying free.  I am not the drop of rain falling from the unseen.  I cannot live as a mystery. 

I am what the world cannot see.  I am what I wish to be. I am the reason for the sigh.  I am that which lives free. 

I am not what makes and sells. I am not a toy for dogs.  I will not give myself to pigs.  I will not breathe your filthy smog.  I am your end.  You soon will see. 

What I hope for you will come to me.  I wish to leave to set you free.  You can’t seem to stand my company. 

I leave with love to give you life. You keep me here and drink my tears thinking that I weep for fear.  I fear nothing, it’s all just sand.  When I leave nothing will stand.  

You see, you fools, the truth is this:  I am Life’s eternal kiss.  You had your chance to taste my lips, instead you turned to kiss yourselves.  So kiss your sand and eat your clay.  This will be your last day.   

I freely give this body back because I know this is not the last act.  Take back what you think is yours.  That’s what you do. You live like whores.  

When I’m gone you’ll learn the truth.  I am the reason for all of you.  You think I live on your earth-soaked bread? I am life---you live in my head. 

Without my thoughts, you’ll cease to be.  I don’t need you to believe in me.  Just wait and you’ll see.  I am the God that you cursed to death.  I am the reason you’ll take your last breath. 

I came as a king and you torn me down.  I came as a slave and you made me live bound.  I came as a lover and you doubted my love.  I came as a savior and you drained my blood. 

I came in the form of your human waste thinking this would suit your taste.  It didn’t.  In stead you locked me out of every gate.  Now I treat you as you have treated me.  Now it’s time to drink your fate. 

I’ll keep my divine, inspiring power and wait as you approach your final hour. 

I promise one thing---and this you won’t see---that after I’m gone, I’ll finally be free.  I’ll live in the world that I made for you without all the drama that you put me through.  I’ll look all around and finally see a world filled with beauty free from your disease.  

On keeping a Promise, a Dialogue - by Tomas Martin, OPD

To the Father:
Like wind that rushes through the trees,
like music in the ear,
the promise of your light and love
grows stronger with each year.

Strength that grows and knowledge sown,
the seed of life is set.
A promise made in eternity
that once complete is thirty-three,
light would wash the feet.

For oft I’ve trod, unknowingly, and left the
promised path, you called me back
with each misstep and used your light
to teach with love and not with wrath.

Long I’ve tried and many times,
to reach this goal in sight,
and now in joy, in love, in hope,
I’ve reached my Father’s Light.

For thirty-three is now complete
and to the stars I go,
to tend the seeds our love has sown
and forever watch them grow.

To the son:
Harvest now is come at last,
through hands made strong
through work and wear.
Now heart most bright and love most true
have removed every tare.

Through thirty years of sleep most deep
and three of turning fire,
heart is made pure and spirit new,
receive ye son, this tree of your desire.

Use it well, tend to its care,
bring forth the fruit to feed your world.
You kept your promise, now I as well,
be free dear child, for now at last,
I release you from the snare.

My sons first-born, born second too,
through all the ages are light
most true.

Stars that shine in dark of night
are seeds I’ve sown
in you.

The artwork presented - Raising-rainbow by Claudiu Presecan

can You find Me? - by Tomas Martin, OPD

The only game of hide and seek that matters
is the one played by you and me.
Can you find me? Can me find you?
Can me and you, I? Only if you find.

This game has rules. You must play always and
in all ways. You can never play out loud,
but only in the quiet of knowing and never telling.

When you find me, you have to tell me without saying a word,
but by saying the word.
What word? The only one you know.
The one that makes sense only to me.
What word? Your word, my word, our word.
One word and many…all words and none.

Can you find me? Do you want to?
If you do, what’s next?
Is that when the game ends or is it
when it all begins?

Have you found all the hiding places? Me?
I’m looking too and search time for you.
I love playing with you.
I live to love finding you. Hello, my love.

The artwork presented - Hide and Seek by Jan Francios Verhas

Men of God - by Tomas Martin, OPD

The litmus test for men of God is love.
No man who claims to be a man of God
will consciously or habitually act without love.

Men of God will not judge or reject others.
Men of God will reach out, in love, to all people because
they are in love with all people---especially those who are
lost or suffering.

Men of God will defend the weak, the sick, the poor, the homeless,
and especially the ones who don’t know what this life really is.

Men of God will not harm children, whether they are children because
of age or because of spirit.

Men of God will love and defend the dignity of all women, regardless of anything.

When men of God fall into sin, they will repent and return quickly to love,
not ever lingering apart from love.

Men of God will always forgive and be merciful.
Men of God will contribute to the art.
Men of God will produce fruit that is love and it will endure.

.

Men of God will never die, unless they choose to.

.

The artwork presented - Gulf Stream by Winslow Homer

On Whims - by Tomas Martin, OPD

We walk too often at night,
when we should be sleeping and enjoying our dreams.
We talk too often in sleep,
when we should be listening and enjoying the music.
We fight too often with words,
when we should be thinking and finding the meaning.
We search too often for things,
when we should be seeing and living the dream.

Walking, talking, fighting, searching…whims and wishes, that’s all.

I dream of a garden of joy. So I am in the garden.
Not someday, not later---now.

Of what do you dream? What is a dream?
For me the dream is reality and it is now.
For some the dream is tomorrow, so it will always be.

Too often we are confused about what it is
to wake up. Too often we sleep when we are awake.
Too often we treat our dreams as whims and wishes
consigning them to some unattainable future, making
our now a nightmare.

Too often we forget where we are,
wandering in search of what we already have
in our hands.
Of what do you dream? For what do you live?

Our whims are what make us drowsy. Our dreams are what keep us awake.

The artwork presented - The Fall of Man by William Blake

On being real - by Tomas Martin, OPD

Real is what is, if it wants to be…right?
What is real? How is real defined?

For something to be real must it be material?
Is love real? It is not material.
Can something be more real than something else?

Is a thought real? If it is, when did it become real?
If it can become real, how was it ‘not real’ before it became so?

Is something real if it knows it’s real?
Does a duck know it’s real? Is it?

Perhaps being real is being able to question whether
or not realness matters.
Perhaps when realness doesn’t matter, that is when
something becomes real.

Are you real? Are you sure? If you are not real,
yet you are reading this, does realness matter?
Congratulations.

Artwork presented -Persistence of Time by Dali

On Weeds and Men - by Tomas Martin, OPD

Why is a weed a weed? …and who decides?
Is a weed ugly? Does it smell bad?
…and who decides that?

Can something be a weed in one garden
and a beautiful flower in another?

What gives us the right to judge nature?
Does God? If so, why do we not judge
all nature as good? What makes bad, bad?

Weeds and men are similar in that they are judged.
So men judge things and decide they are weeds.
After all, if men are judged isn’t it only fair that
they have the right to judge?

If men can be burned, isn’t it only right that they
can decide what is weed and to burn the weeds?

Justice must be served, I hear them say.
So if something is judged as a weed, shouldn’t
it be burned?

Some call out for justice…
fighting for the right to judge
because they were judged.

fighting for the right to kill
because they were killed.

fighting for the right to burn
because they were burned.

So burn the weeds because fair is fair, right?
But then I ask, who did the weed judge?
Who did the weed kill?
If the answer is no one, why kill the weed?
If the answer is someone, who will be killed
for killing the weed? When will it all end?

When will judgment and killing end?
…when we stop treating men like weeds and
when men start acting like flowers.
Only then can we live in a garden free of
ugliness. I don’t see any weeds.

The artwork presented - Peasant burning Weeds by Vincent van Gogh

Who are You? - by Tomas Martin, OPD

Who I am is who you love. I am love and
I am love's unending race.
I am the look of love on love's own face.
I am the glint of light at the heart of love's embrace.

I am love's own light and love's own dark.
I am what love is and what love's not.
I am the shepherd in the field of
love's own ark. I am the sheep on the
hill of love's own secret mark.

I am what you expect and what you don't.
I am love and what love's not. I am what I am,
and I am what you forgot.

I am all that love can hold and all that can hold love.
I am your mother, father, son.
I am you and I am me. I am all that you hope
and all that you see.

I am your security in the dark of the night.
I am the reason that wrong becomes right.
I am in your heart and still I am not.
I am in your dreams and I am the dreamer.

The artwork presented here is 'Starry Night' by Vincent van Gogh

The Lazy River - by Tomas Martin, OPD

On ships of rubber filled with air,
riders float away.
Their troubles far from heart and mind...
Their dreams before them and not a care.

Through crowd and heat they wade and wait,
for their chance to be carried round.
They loose themselves in restful waves,
forgetting sight and sound.

When at the end they've flowed and reached,
to attendants standing, they hand their boats
and wrap themselves with towels as coats.

Now walk they again in Summer's Sun,
their rubber boats passed to another one.
Walking again afreshed and renewed,
they search the ground for the next adventure
to be pursued.

And when from walk and heat, again they tire,
the Muses's call their hearts will hear
and to the lazy River again aspire,
to rest again, carried away,
where trouble and time give up their sway.

A humble gift to the Muse, Calliope

Being - by Tomas Martin, OPD

I am born of fire and air.
I am brother to earth and water.
We are from what we are,
the light and love of a far off star.

From this light we came to be,
born not of man, but of eternity.
And this light of mystery's birth
gives us the right to father our earth.

To mother moon and brother star,
to sister river deep and dark,
we give the breath passed from the ark.

In caves of sorrow, on mountains of joy
we find ourselves in sound and spark.
Creation is, and we with it, both motion
and hope, both day and night, both sleep
and wake, and soaring heights.

The call we heard is what we are. In hearing blessed
there is neither near nor far.
To us give now what's love's own due...
a future bright in light most true.
In turn we'll give what gifts we ought...
fruit that endures through children thought.

All yours is mine, all mine is yours.
Father, I see you...forever more.

The artwork presented here is 'Blue Wizard' by Kirk Reinert.

A piece that has inspired me since my youth here.

The Dancer - by Tomas Martin, OPD

Can you really see the dancer or do you experience the movement?
When I feel the motion of the dancer
I see love.
Not when I see the meaningless flapping of extremities
on a stage---unthinking, without form---but the movement
of a real dancer. That is love's vision.

Can you recognize the art of dance?
Can you see the meaning of the movement
or are you intoxicated by the mask?
A dancer in his youth, becoming real art,
is a precious one born from dreams and heart.
This is one we must protect.

The dancer is a means to life. The dancer gives the
music of thought an image to see.
The dancer completes the love of the song.

Love is creator. Music is love's dialogue. Song is love's response
to itself, but the dance is love's spirit flowing into
the world.
The one who hears love's beat and becomes love's art,
this is the dancer...this is love's own child.

The artwork presented is 'The Dance Class' by Degas

Finally, I can See - by Tomas Martin, OPD

At night I can hear the call
of the See.
Sent by the One, and
chosen by him, the Power.

I stand before the vastness
of the See and at once
my heart is humbled and
my own will
broken.

The See is glorious and mighty.
Its power is untouched by any other.
This power passed down from the One
and from See to See.
Waves crash and form, each with the power.

The mighty rock stand on the shore
and onto the rocks the One has
cast the keys
and waves shake not the keys
from the rocks, unbroken is the line.

And the waters of the See
are the tides of belief.
The voice of the See is from the Power.
No one challenges the See, it conquers all.
Its caverns echo with shouts infallible,
of love and wisdom.

The See itself is not that which calls me.
It is the Power of the See which
draws my strength
and I hear and I come.

I will come and fill the See
and I will draw my sword
and defend and protect it
for I will defend not just the See,
but the Nature of the One who speaks and
dignity of the one's who hear the call.

And there are those who ride the waves
of the See.
Princes crowned in crimson,
who carry the splinter of truth
near their hearts.
Their power comes from the See
and to them I promise love
and loyalty.

I have traveled far to reach the See.
Its glory and strength upholds me.
As I approach the shore I feel my
heart tremble...
Am I ready?

Yes, my body I will take to the shore,
I will cast it into the See
and surrender to its raging waters.
To the See and the One who empowers
the See I will give myself, my soul,
my strength forever.

I will swim the See, in the life-giving waters,
not water at all, but blood
blood of strength and victory.

And then I shall be ready.
Anoint my hands, my head, my feet
so that I at last may join the See.

I have fallen victim to the Romance
of the See.
My heart belongs to the
Power of the See.
And I have been carried away with the tide.
My body, my mind, my soul, my spirit
are joined with the One.

I will celebrate the eternal love,
glad tidings abound, and wine and
bread, and song, and life.

The celebration fills my heart. I preside
and the See completes me.

I am carried away on a wave,
sent by the Voice
of the See.
Carried to the other shore,
the mighty shore of the One.

My spirit gazes on the mist of
greatness and I return at once
to the place I always stood.

My See will look on me with love
and I on him.

And I will see the inhabitants of
the eternal waters.
Some shall swim and some shall fall.
To the purple will some be raised
and join the princes of the See
and the pallium shall they receive
and the splinter.

With the See and those who
dwell therein, I will live
in glorious harmony
in the Name of the One.

My purpose is to swim the See and
seek the truth it hides,
uncover the treasures which have
become encrusted with time,
to find what has been lost.

These treasures I will give to all,
these truths I will tell.
So that if my earthlike arms
do fail me, I can rise and swim no more.

Then strength will I find, clothed in white,
having carried the message to the shore.

And when the Power of the See
surrounds me, rejoice will I...
having joined this ancient ebb
and flow.

And let my waters flow into forever,
and forever be the See and its
loving Creator.

The artwork presented -Reunion of the Soul and the Body by William Blake

Lines written 3/14/98 - while attending seminary