They are too old,

Too old to fight,

Too old to stir.

But they were fighters once…

He with fists that bruise

And her with sharp claws

And teeth that tear.

You’d think they would have found

Another room, another world, another life

To share.

But they stayed instead

And fought it through.

For the fightingest souls

Are steady.

To a passion deep within

That stays.

That stays and fights

And Fights again.

Not like those who fight to win.

But like those who cannot leave the fight.

Till they’ve discovered what

The fighting’s for.

And once they do

They fight some more

Till all the anger’s worn itself out.

And like the coals

Of an old fire

Smolder and warm

And warm some more.

Till smoldered out

They cuddle in for warmth.

Two sweet old souls

Whose fight is through

Though lingering there

The fight itself worn out to fighting

It sits alongside them

Of a summer evening

Just the three

The boxer, the alley cat and fight itself

And watch the sun set.

She leans back against his shoulder

And rests

Her gray hairs

Against his cardigan sweater.

Their breath is slow now

As is the case with old people

And their knees too bent

To contemplate another rise

And so they linger

As does fight itself

One tear slipping from his cold eye

And running down his charcoal grey cheeks.

He sits along beside.

For strange as it may be,

Porch swings are made for three.

But his tear is not

For battles lost.

Nor for battles that could be.

For he is also old

And weary of the strife.

But caught by some strange affection

To the two

Who would not accept defeat

He’s found in his old age

A refuge sweet

In the love of two old fighters

The ones he couldn’t beat.

This is the Beggar’s Bowl,

The weekly edition of my podcast                                                                          

Wherein I highlight one financial principle of the new life

And beg for spare change.

Children need a healthy sense of low.

If raised with too much, they come to expect it.

Many a marriage has been ruined 

By a partner whose expectations were set too high.

For this reason, set boundaries around the things that they possess.

But do not say that they cannot have a thing,

Only that they cannot have all things.

One way to do this is with space.

You might give the child a small space in which to put their treasures.

The only rules: that they keep it clean and organized

And that their possessions fit within the space allowed.

If a new treasure doesn’t fit, look at the old.

Is there an unloved thing that can go?

If not then consider a slightly larger space. But be firm.  

Teach them to keep only those things that they use and cherish

If done with love, and patience,

The children will self-regulate 

And grow into an understanding 

Of what is important to them.

If you find these podcasts useful, 

Please consider a donation of 50 cents.

The links to do so are in the description.

To donate: https://paypal.me/thetracklesspath

...so God created man in his own image. In the image of god created he him, male and female, created he them...

A fleeting morning miracle...

There is a higher justice, but we will only find it as we put our trust in God.

These Words I Give to You - a Poem

I am here when, in my silence, vain and foolish thoughts

Scream and proudly boast that careless words would heal.

I am here when inward longings fall helpless into unnamed chasms

And when dark shadows hide our faces from one another

And taunt us with what we think we see.

I am here when I cannot see you

And when all that's left is the memory of what I know.

Like a lifeline, my fingers hold tight their grasp of the rope,

The end of which holds the truth of you.

And for that truth, I hold tight with other hand, my tongue,

And wait, for words that are my own and not another's.

These words I give to you.

An Impromptu Poem - Discarded Things

Here are a few thoughts about the folk song “500 miles” by Peter Paul and Mary and about the Parable of the Prodigal Son. The song was originally written and sung by Hedy West and titled the Railroader’s Lament but the lyrics may have been derived from an older folk song. The song was covered by Justin Timberlake, Carey Mulligan and Stark Sands in the 2013 film Inside Llewyn Davis. The Parable of the Prodigal Son can be found in Luke 15.

“Lord, I can’t go a-home this a-way”. That is a haunting lyric. “Lord I’m one, Lord I’m two, Lord I’m three, Lord I’m four, Lord I’m five hundred miles from my home.” Is there any other way to go home than as we are. You know I wonder if the reason we stay away is because we believe home is where the successful are, and why would losers like us want to meet with that. It is not the father that we fear so much as the older brother - the one who never risked anything and doesn’t know what it is to lose all and not be able to look yourself in the mirror. To be honest, it is hard for me to understand the older brother in the story. I have never known anyone who didn’t sell their birthright for a mess of pottage, only those who cannot or will not see that they have and I feel increasingly uncomfortable around that sort. We have so little to talk about. The father on the other hand, I get. And it is obvious that he understood the prodigal. He might not have spent his wealth with harlots, but it appears at least that he understood what it was to be deeply wrong and terribly ashamed. You might say that it was fatherly affection that prompted him to slay the fatted calf and throw the party. I am sure there was some of that in it but consider what you know of fathers and sons and reconciliations. In most cases, the returning prodigal is met with skepticism and the reconciliation is slow and paced commensurate with the prodigal’s improved behavior. This father seems to understand first hand what it is that the prodigal has had to overcome to return home. I may be stretching the point, but the meeting of these two is so moving that I have a hard time not believing that the Father did not understand.

And then there is this party with special gifts - a robe and a ring. Rings historically denoted ceremonies wherein there is a transfer of authority. That seems like a strange thing to do for a nasty prodigal. A party perhaps, but the ring and the robe go over the top. The brother’s angst is somewhat understandable considering the lavishness that was poured over the one that was lost. But the strangest thing about the story is how it all turned out. In the end, it is the prodigal who feasts with his father and the “faithful” son who needed no repentance is left outside - and that of his own accord. The other thing that is interesting is the fact that the father and the prodigal end up in the same boat financially. The father tells the older son that all that he has is his - the older son’s. The father is leaving all of his temporal goods to this oldest son who wouldn’t come in unto the feast and soon the father, whether through death or a transferral of deed, will be left with exactly what the prodigal son has in the way of earthly possessions - nothing. And the older brother who could not see his way to rejoice with the prodigal is left with what he wanted in the first place - to preserve at all costs his worldly inheritance.

It is an interesting story and a hopeful one for anyone far from home. “I can’t go a-home this a-way.” Maybe not. Who knows but what the father which seems so far from our humanity knows better than anyone else what it is to be loosers like us. What if the reason we chose to risk our inheritance in the first place was becuase we knew that there was something the Father knew that we did not and we desired to grow up and come to know that compassion which prompted the Father to slay the fatted calf and to bestow upon the wretched the choicest of gifts.

God Bless You,

The Trackless Path

Letting Go - an economic principle of the new life.

People have begun to treasure the spirit of a thing more than the thing itself...