BOXING

in the box - tidy, controlled, and safe
in the box - everything has its place
but I can't find anything
in the box - I am resourceful
in the box - I see myself
in the box - love has its place and is always there. I see it
in its box
in the box - I am grounded
in the box - God is with me
in the box - is home

out of the box - loose, free, and wild
out of the box - nothing has its place
so I always know where everything is
out of the box - I create
out of the box - I AM myself
out of the box - love can be anywhere
so it is everywhere
out of the box - I fly
out of the box - God is IN me
out of the box - is not home
it is where I live...

Copyright 2012, Brother Briar

Light Through My Window

Three a.m.
Alone on the sofa with my thoughts and a terry blanket from my twelve-year old son. Recommended it as the “best in the house.”

Light through my window.
A view seldom contemplated these days,
yet forged into my memory from another time.
As a boy, being sent to bed earlier than self-prescribed I would peer out from my single bunk trying to make sense of night time mystery.
Tonight, in the wee hours before dawn, my blankie and I cling to each other.
Old hackberry tree limbs reaching, clawing over the neighbor's roof,
Scant leaves of early spring, silhouetted by moonlight giving backdrop to their host's frozen tentacles.

Light through my window.
A white washed pane’s edge reflects the mood of the night outward, vertical and brilliant.
Finding its brightness amidst the darkness and shadow-woes like a silver stake.
Slicing as a beacon behind which I lay; stirring from my crushed feather pillow.
I lie curiously and wonder what lurks beneath the ledge of brick mould upon the grass and leaves, out of sight from my gazing.
Against the foundation like a spy on a mission, perhaps, some furry creature steps or scurries out of my view on their way to harass a nocturnal neighbor.

Light through my window.
Dimly the backdrop casts color now, of pinks and grays.
Is the new day dawning so soon or my eyes giving way to accepting the night's true hue?
The glow from the street lamps from a block away, I believe.
Reflecting toward the cloud base and then mirrored down and picked up by my north facing, constant pane.
Cut.
Glow.
Call those dark ones out of the forest to my window.

Light through my window.
A portal set for me to capture the night, its secreted residents, in wary doses.
And yet, I imagine its force as a destination for that world outside.
The lower pane’s whetted outline still shimmering. Beckoning.
“Come look at the boy inside!”

Light through my window.
My stomach growls. My forehead perspires. Awakened fully from my mind’s carried-away adventures.
The night doesn't sleep nor do I. Only the Sand Man, apparently.
I must forage and act as those reaching limbs in the darkness, craning mine to hover peanut butter and jam.
Feeding my soul and the boy inside - me.

Happy Mother's Day Bobbie

A few years ago - I wrote a song called "The Lord, My Shepherd, and Her." I had been listening to Johnny Cash's "Hurt" pretty much nonstop for 3 days. And on this particular day - I was driving a rental car near Las Vegas through Lee Canyon and Mt. Charleston. Being mindful. Listening. Profound. Painful. Honest.

My mother is similar to Johnny Cash in the pain I believe that she has waded through during her life. One overwhelmingly painful experience for her was losing her mother. I have often thought that she would have just as soon packed in the day Nana passed.

I pulled the car over near Lee Canyon. Turned off the CD player and began to walk amidst the cool fresh alpine air. Free from the hubbub of the Vegas Strip, I came to large rock overlooking Nevada and I sat. Quietly. Mindfully. The haunting lyrics of "Hurt" still overshadowing my thoughts. It's lyrics and tone depict sobering regret. The kind that may rush over a person at the end of their life. I am sure my mom has plenty of guilt. It is embedded into her southern psyche deep and constant with the strength of an anvil anchor. With those thoughts, I wrote the beginning words of "The Lord, My Shepherd, and Her."


I called Bobbie today to tell her Happy Mother's Day. I am grateful that she was there. I know life has often been tough for her. But I do realize that when that sad day comes for real - she will be headed home to be with The Lord and Nana.

The Lord, My Shepherd, and Her
(Brian Hilligoss)

Oh my journey, has been long but it’s true
And oh my eyes, how they hurt
But it’s my yearning that sees me through
To the Lord, My Shepherd and Her

The Lord he waits on me all the day
And Mother, each day how she’d work
Keeping me safe and from going astray
From the Lord, My Shepherd and Her

Chorus:
Father, dear Father, oh how I see you so clear
Father, dear Father, feeling you drawing me near
Oh how I’ll hold you so dear

Now the angels they sing with their voices on high
I’m so close I can almost make out the words
And there they all stand with their arms open wide
With the Lord, My Shepherd, and Her

Chorus:
Jesus, oh Jesus, oh how I see you so clear
Jesus, oh Jesus, feeling you drawing me near
Oh how I’ll hold you so dear.

Oh my journey has been long, but so true
From those who gave me my birth
But I’m returning to start anew
With the Lord, My Shepherd, and Her

Chorus:
Mother, dear Mother, oh how I see you so clear
Mother, dear Mother, feeling you drawing me near
Oh how I’ll hold you so dear
Now, how you hold me so dear

©2005 Brother Briar Music, Inc.

This tune can be purchased at iTunes along with Johnny Cash's "Hurt"