Christmas eve, 2019
First birth, second birth
Thinking myself
potentially not enough honest or good
by the glares and shade you sent on me
I set about
to be even more than I was already
and thus changed my essential frequency
to something I was not
where I then constantly mistimed the flow
of money, luck, and comfort
on their path to my embraces
after you stole all the money I had made
with quick, accusatory hands
claiming that I was untrustworthy
with anything good
would not respect anything good
would not profit from my expenditures
should have it hid from me where I could not waste it,
consumed it all away from me,
held by guardian dragon’s in the cave of your mouth
cleaning your plate with vigilant eyes, your face a mess
forever
as I worked myself into the dust at your feet, believing you.
Can I forgive what has been done,
what mistakes I’ve made while held in other’s hands-
seeing that my soul by God
is receiving a second chance?
Can I? Can I forgive?
What mountain must I move
to shift the blame and hurt in my heart?
from 12/13/2019
I pray at my desk
and write the joyous love
from 11/27/2019
Thanksgiving Day (sometimes I feel sorry for anyone trying to read these. These are genuine reflections on feeling postures in myself, learned in childhood, articulated through this process of writing. You bare witness to a process my inner vision invited me to, step by step, en route to God).
I’m intimidated by everyone.
Everyone punishes me.
If you offend someone,
what might they do to you?
My being-essence-presence
offends everyone I meet.
What might they do to me?
I tremble.
Which way do I go?
Every direction seduces me
and then devours me, only to poop me out on the other side,
while my own hunger is an absolute hunger, driving me against my will.
My heart- I can’t even speak.
Which way do I go? Do I flee
in every direction to escape the terror,
tripping over tree roots,
flailing like the wind?
“But the wind is always found,” You say. “Note which way it goes.
It is full of its own will and purpose.”
Following the direction of my will, I arrive at God’s feet
so glad I kiss His toes, prostrate,
almost grovelling for the relief I find myself feeling,
and I arrive at joy for His Words He gives me to write.
“My worth,” I say, embracing his toe, indicating His Words.
“But I relieve you of this attachment to harshness,
elevating you to my lap, my bosom,
and provide all your needs,” He says.
I sit on His lap, and every emotion, dark emotions gush out of my pelvis and thighs: fear, awkward desires, shames, all gush out uncontrollable,
as though I’m peeing my pants on God’s lap, all these emotions.
But He’s steady, so, so am I. His lap is unstained.
“In the millions and millions of breathes of your life, so far, I have not judged you, yet. I know what you are, why you are, when you will be.”
I am a sno-cone sitting on His lap, frozen in my emotions and fears, melting.
from 11/11/2019
Poem, by Jason I. Stutz
This is a poem.
It is a flower whose petals unfurl as I write.
I will feel your admiration while you read it
and your heart will open with mine–
could I forget the beauty of your love for me
and focus only on the giving of song?
This poem is a flower
whose stem reaches straight out
anticipating dew,
applause of bees,
moans.
from 11/4/2017, a reminder, today, 2 years later.
I told the Universe
“I told the Universe (when I first became aware of it as a young man) that I must be killed in order to be with it- for, I thought that’s what Love would ask of me, and I have always been a willing servant to Love. I thought Love would ask of me to learn no longer to exist- no self, nothing of me whatsoever to come between us. Unfortunately, the Universe gives us as we ask of it, even if only to show us our errors. Fortunately, somehow, I survived my asking, and ask, and pray even now with this breath, for that gift of Grace, my self, that I am.”
from 9/25/2019: after the crest, and the fling and the fall, and the regeneration of power for yet another lift of it’s body of fluid.
I believe in waves
At last, I have no preference for the waves that raise and lower my life; only, that in the trough of my darkest emotions, is the energy to lift me as a swordfish to pierce the sky before my return to the deep. I believe in the wave, have faith in who created it, that She created it well and everlasting, ever to move me on it’s back, to fling and to fall below and roll me up to exult upon its return.
from 8/20/2019
Poem for Our Lady
She looks fatigued as I entreat her with wanton looks.
But she reaches into her roots with her feelings, only to emerge
stronger of passion for lovemaking, flowing out like lava
into her large limbs, her lap, her loins.
“You are the one I am waiting for,” she says. “Your desires
find me feeling well about them.”
She says this to all who find her-
but those who find her are few,
chosen by her mysterious field of attraction
like how ovaries sense the spirit of her child
and call to one sperm to come forth and enter her.
But, she is fertile however many approach her
with their desire gripped in their hands, ready
to climb into her willing embraces.
The betrayal of the body
forced to eat what it does not want
in quantities harmful to it’s elasticity.
Manipulated by the confused brain into
sex with who it did not want
unaroused by anything real.
Used words that only someone else’s brain was pleased by
and created a split-
word split body like an axe.
from 7/29/2019
Hello, God! Did you miss me?!?
from 7/17/2019
Look how I regret?
My jealousy is a mask for it.
I can let it go… I can let it go;
but, such sorrow:
bricks upon bricks
from in my heart to unload
I need wheelbarrows
to transport them
away
Upon the Subject of Regret
Acting and Music
I never wanted to really do these
because they would make me money
I chose to be a poet
and a healer
because I’d be poor;
few read poetry
and fewer, still, wish to heal.
For, the pleasure of money, as I was told
was the one good thing I could never have in good conscience;
and it was the one good thing I could never deserve.
There is time for a 47 year old man to fulfill his dreams.
After unravelling my self for 7 years,
learning to cry at the bottom of the well of emotions,
and be carried by the steady hand of God
through many freezing storms,
my inner compass reverberates, now, springing
closer to the True North of my Desires.
The mountains that forever appeared fixed and far
seem to shift with the Earth who curls up to me as I approach.
The Stars turn upon an axis I know,
and I know what’s greater than Stars.
from 6/30/2019
Above the Fray
I feel cold, sitting on this muddy ground, this gun in my hands. The rain is relentless upon me. How did I get here? A few months ago, I had all the hope that Pandora hid in her box.
I feel God’s hand has passed over me and parted the veil of numb, so I can only feel what I am doing. The enemy I have been told encroaches with soft soles and murder in their veins. In shock, I rise and fight, to my dismay. God, how did I become this??
My weapon fires- did I pull the trigger? An unknown man falls to the ground- did I do that to him? His blood from his heart spills out and he gasps and chokes until he dies, like a goldfish out of water too long. I hope he falls into some great ocean of air where his spirit can breathe free. I would feel better, knowing he is okay.
I look at my hands- are these my own? They look more foreign to me than the enemy soldier I just killed. They will speak of awarding me a medal. That soldier I killed was threatening many of our troop. I wish I hadn’t destroyed him- his courage was mighty and I wish it could flourish like flaming swords in the sky forever.
Please, brave soldier I killed- when you have forgiven me, watch over me. These aren’t my hands holding my weapon. This body is the property of the United States Army. Here- I fly with you in spirit above the fray. Let us watch together, like patient cherubs, the field of action below.
(solde
from 6/27/2019
Word Don’t Grammar
for HJ
Jesus, I am having difficulty articulating my thoughts
They are so large and full with meaning.
Feeling fills each one
like a balloon pushing out from
an inward state.
O, to scratch at the paper
where I have scoured my soul for darkness
and scrawl on it this these marks and lines.
“And then, what?”
O, Let me hold these thoughts
like living words in a vast bowl of being.
And let me write on a seat within the bowl
as Light pours in from above
making tea.
from 5/16/2019
There are some people in my life
who I realize I have never felt your emotions
and you might believe
you are doing me a favor by restraining them.
Do you have such violence in store for me?
I feel you have no boundaries,
but you are closed in very tight.
I would you open the gates,
even by accident, and your water spills all over the floor,
before you grimace and “suck it up,” again.
You don’t know your honest anger would bring my tears-
Your hope, my loyalty,
Your presence, felt, ecstasy, ecstasy-
“Why don’t you let me feel you?” I cry,
a baby withheld Love.
There is no other death: withheld Love.
You call the inner child “chatter,” “ego,” “monkey mind.”
This makes me so angry, I’m so sad, so hurt-
how could you name my very thoughts “the devil?”
So that I’d believe you and not me?
and be dead in the death you die?
Let my baby cry.
from 5/13/2019
“Be there. No movement, even.
Just watch. Listen. Repeat after me.”
This is the basic message I received
in the environment of my becoming-
If it weren’t my mother, it were my teachers at school,
my bosses, or the media:
stay there, stay there, stay there-
sending it’s message all the time.
It were a very firm hand upon me;
it troubled me much if I were to speak a thought of my own.
Now, finally, I see a different hand- It is gentler, now;
still firm, but guiding.
I am learning.
All of this, I am learning
to speak the Holy Word.
from 5/2/2019
I will not see through the lens of fear
Why am I so enraged?
A thousand reasons cross my mind-
my tongue can’t choose them all.
Always, an anger fears the feeling hurt, but
take me as I am, frothing at the mouth. Why?
Let it be said, obtusely,
that fears, projected, waste good time
and offer nothing from which Love can bloom.
Courage and Cowardice, sisters of the heart:
one creates, the other destroys.
“Cowardice? Destroy?” you ask, not even paying attention to results.
Why am I so enraged?
Chunks like tears fall out from my eyes
drops shaped by the restrictions upon your love,
large enough to cover my cheeks with rain.
Why?
You let fear be your rule for our relating;
seeing fear hungrily providing nothing for our relating,
there is no room for it
in the all we could become.
I will not honor your fear, nor validate it for you.
I will not understand it, nor say it is my own, too.
I will not see through the lens of fear.
All fears I will consider to be vicious lies.
All actions based in fear, I will decry
with my tiny tongue.
Amen.
from 4/28/2019
Avoidant Emotionals
Yo have a hurt you won’t feel
Yo lash against the sea barrier of your friends,
raising waves with every feeling.
The tall and strong stand and stay,
or the weak get washed into your changing fray
chasing after your tides
and getting tossed away.
from 4/23/2019
My Problems, Glorified in Song
I.
I am empty of spirit, having nothing of my own-
Anything that comes to me is taken control of by the bigger ones who I belong to-
their hands are ready and positioned at my mouth, in wait for me to breathe.
A clear light is evidence of consciousness about me, but that is all I am. Even my body is separate from me. I have no thoughts or feelings, only a body below me that has my name when I am called by it, and this clear light of awareness- maybe… I am not certain… is even this mine?
Some monks would say I have reached enlightenment, but they do not know of God- this poverty is sin.
II.
It is true, that some find relief when all that is theirs is stripped away like layers of heavy cloaks, and, in nothing, with nothing, they see their inherent light shining forth.
But, for those born in sin- the bearers of the crimes of professional thieves, the manipulations of tyrants, held at gunpoint for the substance of my breath from the very start-
it is mine to create, to manifest, to make my own what was given in me by God at my conception, to remove the layers of loss, call back my voice from its banishment. Let my heart pound blood that was deflected back down my family line in some delusion of debt for being alive- my heart pound my blood into my veins, now- all of my blood; mine. To take this air, breathe it in, take it in and be glad.
from 4/15/2019: My Tree’s Roots Destroyed; the Life and Death of My Grandfather
(As my spirit tree’s physical life ends, the shame of my grandfather emerges to be realized and released).
To my grandfather:
“I never left (my body) for you to take as your own.”
He resists.
His grip slips upon reality; he begs, bargains to keep his “home.”
And thousands of Angels come with swords and shields
to meet the opposing army of my grandfather’s wishes.
“You don’t even know who you are killing,” they instruct,
aiming their swords and grabbing the arms of the dark, wiry soldiers.
My warrior spirit floats his head above the fray,
General in the midst of my army of Angels-
stands tall in the battle, a radiant sun
smiling at my work, sword raised
It is obscene to kill other human beings;
to kill at all- obscene.
(There is no justification for killing- always is it a weakened moral attitude that seeks to justify it: war, meat, fetuses, criminals, hearts).
Yet my sword flashes bright
as these malevolent shadows disperse.
from 4/5/2019
The Unseeing Eye
darting to and fro,
avoidant of images
casting shadows by deflecting light
off a hard membrane that covers the eye.
~The light
comes with it
the actual truth.
It says:
“What happened is real. Here is your proof.”
These shapes of the visible world, the tender eye avoids:
the angered face of a friend
the raped woman
the dehumanized man
the mouth that shaped a cruel word
and, higher, these varied spirits gather above my head in discord
to assault me with fingers pointed
or to warn me of coming danger
or to get with my needs and feed off of them hungrily
finding a hole in me, entering there,
taking up space with their chatter.
My eyes’ sight, hesitant to believe
requiring all my heart’s strength to open the lids
and receive the shapes that come through with light:
a package deal.
“See?” one spirit points me to God.
“He loves you- see?” God’s face beams supportively at me
even as other spirits cough and spit and shout about Him.
“Surely you will live, no matter what,” God says. “Take this shape you have evaded- eat it with your eye; this memory; this visage of a troublesome spirit- eat it with your eyes.”
from 3/20/2019
“Life is so young,” said the old woman. “I am so old,” said the ever changing sky, clouds playfully hiding him and then revealing him, like white and grey rabbits. He scoots them, laughing as the blue gives a yawn so that the sun can shine through.
“Life is so young,” the old woman marveled, forgetful of her grey, her bones, the sky in her face, the sun emerging through her eyes.
from 1/14/2019
Outcast: Throw-away People
Whose hearts (round pegs not fitting
in the squares society bore into our Earthy world for aeons)
instead, heart-winged upward
and away from the given form
Repelled Hearts- cherubs above us- walk back down:
I am a carpenter and these stairs I built for thee.
Come visit our plane of earth- walk and see for a while.
Be my companion. Share your insight with me.
Whose hearts gave out, the closer the group
moved toward the group-think.
And who revolted, instead- who backed away, threateningly,
pointer fingers lashing against all of their failed consciences-
who backed away, into a hole-
away: into a hole, frightened, protected.
As the dark dimmed, the candle flickered its light;
they softly prayed underneath the terror- often unaware-
for God and peace.
And what arm reached down from heaven
to hold for the first time this trembling body of His beloved.And the beloved’s body rippled from that ancient stone,
that Hand that plunged into its waters,
and shook awake, a dog shaking
off the streams of light that soaked him
there, barking and leaping in all joy for a new master.
But come, now- my hand, you who ascended once,
away from everything false to you-
descend now and take some time with me.
from 1/12/2019
I don’t believe in Reincarnation
What’s the point? when nature is so diverse.
She “never repeats herself,” ever has in 1,000 quadrillion aeons.
She could never duplicate me-
not with infinite creative expression in Her arm.
I’ll do other things with my spirit
than pander to new bodies for a ride.
from 1/11/2019
Grateful Meme
Grateful:
Knowing I’ve received something substantial
to help me in my life and work
I feel grateful, and develop what’s been given for my benefit.
Of course, the receiver is below the one that gives,
despite our equality.
Love is always a ride on gravity to the beloved.
Gratefulness is a wide mouth over the heart, ascending
to what gifts are diving in.
Young Prince
Someone said to me once (he was a young prophet and seer),
“You are a Prince.” He explained, “I am a Priest, it would appear,” sadly, at his fate. “I always seem to give people into marriage (and never myself). But you are a Prince. I see it.”
Working with you, Young Prince- loving the Young Prince in you-
My own Young Prince is shown the light.
I am a Prince of Love;
a Prince of Love
I am.
God, B.C.
“I offer it to everyone- no one yet has taken me up. My house, my personal attributes- take them. All that I have is yours.”
Stutz's Fairy Tales and Poems 