Playing with Worms

“Hey, my spaghetti’s moving!” cried Mr. Twit, poking around in it with his fork.

“It’s a new kind,” Mrs. Twit said, taking a mouthful from her own plate which of course had no worms. “It’s called Squiggly Spaghetti. It’s delicious. Eat it up while it’s nice and hot.”

Roald Dahl, "The Twits"

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Dear Alex,

Poetry seems more fun today as we wiggle out of ourselves and peep into the playground of Spring in evolution.  

Earthworm

          a squiggle on sediment

    Earthworm escapes

      the squabbles of city

 cemented in fist

             It cinches belly and tongue

          unscrew uncork eject

    out of soil sealant

                      peristalsis stunted

   Gut-willed gallstones

               the Worm expels

                      blanched as vermicelli

light on leaf   on legacy

Yours, Kate 

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Dear Kate,

Play and pray, same difference.  Both a desire to flourish despite all.  Thy will be done; thy kind of fun.  On earth as it is in heaven; my way if that's how God would have it.  I want it that way, and that way is your way.

Christ plays in ten thousand places.  I shall take it one worm at a time.  "Eat it up while it’s nice and hot."

This past Sunday my brother-in-law connected his old camcorder to the big tv and took us down some Hi8 memory lanes.  My wife's cousin during his teen years shot quite a bit of video of my two kids, toddlers then, and my sister-in-laws' too.  Children at play, purposefully aimlessly, yearned for life and more life, the Father's glory in display, the Spirit of love radiated, to the Son's great delight.

My children, now teenagers, don't play with the young kids of my wife's cousin.  What was done to and for them is not reciprocated.

Blame the cellphone?  Netflix?  Affluenza?  Having it my way 24/7 is the bare minimum expectation of life, and there's always bonus--there should always be some bonuses in store for me: new apps to try out, free samples to savor, deals and coupons and discount codes, another subpar-hero movie to line up for and open my wallet and tender longing to, new ways to showcase my "true self," to display my glory, to radiate my singularity, to delight everyone I want to delight as a way to delight first and foremost myself.

I want it that way, and that way is my way.

Of course my kids don't see it this way.  You're cynical, dad!  I am sure I am.  Everybody's like that; what's the problem?  I am sure there's no problem, not the kind alarming enough to bring down Notre-Dame anyway.  It's just how life is--now.  The now life, as it happens, a new order of things.  A finer set of life circumstances that calls for a refined understanding of humanity.  A re-creation that does away with recreation.  Who are we to judge?  Who are we to think we can rise above the demands and expectations of the now?

"Suppose you ask God for a miracle and God says yes, very well. How do you live the rest of your life?"  Suppose we can twist God's arms until he gives in and screams: Alright, alright, Alex, THY will be done!  I want it YOUR way...TOO!  Now what?  How should we then live our very next tomorrow?

We seem to be getting our way every way we go.

Very well.  Look at the kind of fun we are having with our lives.

Yours, Alex