More Otis Redding

Sundays a long time ago

Were different.

Even for those who didn't go

to a gathering where they listened

To ideals, sang some chants;

Then scurried to buffets

Like eager ants.

Some might say

This is good book abuse;

That the Lord would not

Appreciate this point of view.

I disagree.

Who knows what the

Actual Lord might do?

Here's the thing about prayer.

It's one way to simply

Slow down and breathe.

One man's mantra

Might be another's 

Memorized verse.

No one's demanding or

Trying to coerce

That the notion of different

Wears its badge of diverse.

Yet, maybe you'll agree:

Lots of ways to get that

Cat out of the bag

Or loose from the tree.

Sunday early morning

on the porch in an easy chair:

Watching walkers slide past.

Some alone, some in pairs.

Birds chirping in a warm breeze;

Putting the laissez in laissez-faire.

Some insist there's a stairway

to the great beyond, even heaven.

Might be true, might just be

Some calm water you're treading.

Now, with so much rancor, we need

More Otis Redding, less Armageddon.

But where we can find Jesus

If not in a congregation?

If we don't meet on Sundays

We're inciting damnation.

How can we be forgiven?

Where is our salvation?

Take a look around.

Every day is an opportunity

To lovingly share this world:

It's just one big community.

You can pray to an icon

Or even a doctrine.

You can buy and sell

The soul at an auction.

You can also breathe

and meditate.

Find yourself.

Lose the hate.

That's really

All it takes.

Breathe, and

Lose the hate.