a crisis of faith

Wow -- I knew I'd been absent from the blog due to long work hours and sheer exhaustion, but hadn't realized it had been so many days.  I'd been having discussions with myself about the value of the creative work that is part of my day.  I don't tend to give it the nod as REAL creativity... but often it's all I have the energy for. And I hate to post something I consider a place-holder which might, itself, be of dubious creativity.

I'm checking in tonight, having had a day of rest (Friday) and a day of stimulation (today.)  I spent the day at House of Hope Presbyterian Church in St. Paul at their 2nd annual Celebration of Faith and Writing. It was not at all what I thought it would be (I had hoped there'd be some writing workshops involved) but I did get to hear some wonderful writers.  The day began with the impassioned Azar Nafisi, Iranian-American author of Reading Lolita in Tehran.  There were a couple of other poets, then North Carolinian author Clyde Edgerton with a musical reader's theatre version of his book The Bible Salesman, loaded with charm and humor.

After dinner we reconvened for an hour or so of poet Billy Collins, whose reading of his own work highlights his dry wit and delightful imagery. He's been one of my favorites ever since I heard "A Question About Angels" years ago,  read by Garrison Keillor one morning on the Poet's Corner when I still has MPR waking me for the day.

As I was waiting for the Billy Collins portion of the event, I experimented with trying to build a poem out of any sentence that came into my mind. Here's the result:

A box of faith was delivered today.
The tanned UPS man in the brown shorts
rang the bell and handed me the gadget
on which to sign a semblance of my name.
I juggled the box and stylus together
producing the usual quaking result.
It may have been my name he took away.
It may have been my order he left behind,
a box of faith to fill the hole
in my collection.
I had no faith.
Faith requires trust.
I had no trust.
Trust requires knowledge.
I had no knowledge.
Knowledge requires perception.
I did not perceive.
I did not open myself,
deliver myself, to experience God...
so there was really no one
in whom to place my faith.
But it looks good on the shelf.