Joy on Joy: Rhythms and Landscapes to Celebrate and Heal the Human Spirit

By John J. Ensminger

"Joy is a choice," he says, "and when we choose it, everything in life improves, is healed, and outlooks get better and better."

James, the brother of Jesus, wrote,COUNT it all JOY, my brethren, when you meet various trials, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. Dr. Ensminger says, "A steadfast faith is one thats been tested yet remains firm. Counting it all Joy, whatever happens around you or to you, is not the easy way to be, but when we are truly able to demonstrate the Joy of God in our daily lives, we become the radiant Joy of God in the universe to everyone we meet.">

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 13, 2005
• ISBN: 9781462810963

John J. Ensminger

Ensminger, John Jay, writer, poet, minister, counselor; b. June 25, 1945; m. Cynthia Re Fugate February 18, 1983; BTh, Southwest Bible Seminary, Springfield, Mo.,1967. Masters/Ph.D., Univ. Metaphysics, Studio City, CA. 1997. State of Missouri Caseworker 1974-2002, ret., 2002. Jewelry designer/gem collector, owner of Ageless Wonders, Trenton, Mo., 1984-2003; Metaphysical minister 1997-2004; Freelance author/poet, Trenton, Mo. 1984-2004. Author of: ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN, published in July, 2003. Recipient of Citizenship award-1959. Recipient of Quill &Scroll Honor Society membership-1960. Recipient of Editors Choice Award for outstanding achievement in poetry-1991. Avocations: rock &gem collecting, antiques, gardening, avid reader and collector of rare books. Office: Ageless Wonders/On Earth Publications, 603 Rural Street, Trenton, Mo. 64683 *** ***Authors bio. was published in Whos Who in America-2004 [in November, 2003].

Book preview

JOY ON JOY

RHYTHMS AND

LANDSCAPES TO CELEBRATE

AND HEAL THE HUMAN SPIRIT

JOHN J. ENSMINGER, PH.D.

Copyright © 2005 by John J. Ensminger, Ph. D.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

PART TWO

CHAPTER FOUR

PART THREE

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

FINAL THOUGHTS

A MOMENT OF CELEBRATION

EPILOGUE

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all the spiritual poets in the universe, either living fully or presently at rest, with names like: Anne Bradstreet, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Robert Frost, T.S. Eliot, Walt Whitman, Edgar Allen Poe, William Wordsworth, James Whitcomb Riley, John Greenleaf Whittier, Alexander Pope, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Edgar A. Guest, William Cowper, Emily Dickinson, Dylan Thomas, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Rudyard Kipling, Carl Sandburg, William Cullen Bryant, Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, Yevtushenko, Basso, Ogden Nash, e. e. cummings, and last but certainly never least, Anonymous.

Secondly, this book is dedicated to the memory of my spiritual friend, Dr. James Dillet Freeman, Unity’s beloved poet laureate, who got his wings and passed on to another dimension of being April 9, 2003. Two of his spiritual poems, I am there, and Prayer for Protection, I understand, were taken to the moon. He was here on earth a mere ninety-one years. I owe many a magnificent day to Jim Freeman’s poetry. When doubt has haunted me or disappointment has stared me in the face and I couldn’t find one ray of hope, I could always turn to Dr. Freeman’s poetry, and soon I’d be smiling again even in the midst of sorrow. He is one good soul I’ll be meeting up with when I am granted my wings.

Dr. Freeman and I shared great admiration for the literary work of Emerson, so I’d like to quote one of Emerson’s little verses just for Jim, if not for Anonymous and us all.

"So nigh is grandeur to our dust,

So near is God to man,

When duty whispers low, Thou must,

The youth replies, I can."

—Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882]

Thanks, Reverend Emerson.

And so it is.

INTRODUCTION

When our first American poet, Anne Bradstreet [1612-1672] published a collection of poetry in1650 entitled, The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung up in America, she addressed many universal themes, such as the right of women to be educated and their right to full expression of their thoughts and talents, the rightful place of human beings in Nature, the difficulties faced in making peaceful settlements in the new country of America, and the basic human right of all people to religious freedom. She also wrote some personal poems about the early deaths of some of her grandchildren and her own religious struggles with strict Calvinism and Puritanism. Although the great Walt Whitman has often been dubbed, Our first great American poet, Mrs. Bradstreet was first even if her work could not be compared to Whitman’s, and I can imagine, if he were here among us today, that he might be saying so himself.

We are blessed indeed to have such glimpses into the life of a colonial American poet like Mrs. Anne Bradstreet, and when we read her poetry, we ought to remember how blessed she felt to be here in a free country where she would be allowed to think, pray, and worship as she chose. Just as she was blessed, although her life was fraught with difficulties, so are we blessed to be here at such a time in our history.

Now, what is a muse and how does one muse over a poem? I think I know. I know that a muse is a poet of any classification, and a poet is a person susceptible to divine rhythms, thoughts, ideas, or reveries. To muse would then be synonymous with being in a state of reverie, and the Merriam-Webster Thesaurus on my old writing

desk explains the word, reverie is synonymous with being lost in thought, contemplation, meditation, daydreaming, castle-building, or simply being in a trance.

Now we come to a few additional related terms with expanded definitions and experiences, ones like meditation, defined in my encyclopedia as engagement in contemplation, especially of a spiritual nature; revelation, as defined in Webster’s a striking disclosure of what was before unknown, and reverence, defined in Webster’s as profound respect mingled with love and awe. Perhaps these words are at the heart of the metaphysical [meaning spiritual] poet, for we who write such poetry cannot, as a matter of fact, tell anyone where poems come from, yet to say they’re divinely-inspired might bring our important messages less awe and admiration than they may deserve if we hadn’t gotten ourselves in the way of Spirit. We metaphysical poets struggle as hard as everyone else to understand what’s going on, and to locate and communicate with the Spirit repeatedly, even if we’re not permitted to fully explain the meaning of our poetry to others.

If we write an excellent metaphysical poem, for example, our readers are then challenged to make decisions about what we’ve written, about the message and the messenger, whether they’re publishers and editors doing their clever jobs or just individual lovers of poetry, but whether or not the Spirit has spoken, no one can possibly say, not even we, the poets, for we may feel the Spirit continually blessing our lives as you feel the Spirit blessing yours, but we cannot prove it and we wouldn’t want to even if we could.

The receiving of poetry of this kind is a private spiritual experience that apparently doesn’t happen to everyone. I wish it did, for then everybody would know and understand how much a poem means to a poet and therefore understand spiritual poetry so much better.

Also, it’s interesting that when you study a bit of the history of poetry, you’ll find the metaphysical poets showing up again and again, coming and going repeatedly, as if they were here to make brief appearances in a spiritual card game of sorts, then leaving for one or two generations and returning again, always seeming to be here just when we need to hear from them the most. This unproven activity makes me wonder if metaphysical messages in poetry may indeed be very important for certain ages or times, and if so, more people should definitely be reading poetry of all kinds in order to try to understand what’s going on in any particular age. Lately in America, I’ve heard there’s been quite a resurgence of poetry reading, and I was happy to hear it and I hope it’s true.

Poetry as an art form or the free expression of extraordinary language may be spoken or written, and whether it rhymes and uses complicated metaphors and similes or not, it will, no doubt, make use of and involve patterns of sound and rhythm, even as the word poetry itself is derived from a Greek word, poesis, meaning creating.

Some say that in ancient times, the summoning of the muse was known as an invocation, and the word inspiration literally meant the taking of a breath. For centuries, kings thought of their poets as bringers of divine guidance. The earliest known poems were inspirational or religious in nature, as far back as 2600 B.C. The old Testament of the Hebrew Bible, for example, still stands out as one of the oldest poetic achievements, yet even older manuscripts exist, such as the reported Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh in 2000 B.C. which told of a flood similar to the one in the Old Testament, and some say even older poetic manuscripts exist. So who knows where the art of poetry really began? Perhaps it was in the very beginning when God said, Let there be Light.

Many centuries later, in the 17th century, the metaphysical poets reappeared and completely changed the whole concept of inspiration, and the Seat of inspiration was updated and relocated from the lungs to the Center of the Soul of every person, and even today when we meditate, we go toward the Center of our Being. We go within to seek our Source. We engage in spiritual contemplation and find it’s very good for us.

Not many people make good livings as poets, but most of us generously contribute toward building better languages, better lives, better families, better worlds up ahead, and obviously, so as not to be entirely too presumptuous, we’re only messengers of Light, not the Light Source itself.

Private poetry has also been important in our world for thousands of years and it will continue to shine on, as will the great land where we live and work.

I am reminded of an ancient poem by a Roman poet of the 1st century AD named Marcus Manilius. His poem, entitled Astronomica, comprised five books. I’m not sure how many pages they contained. In it, he described the four known elements of the planet [earth, water, air, fire], many of the constellations and stars still found in the northern and southern skies, and the Divine spirit in control of humankind’s fate. His lengthy and lofty poem also suggested that Heaven is the father of all people, and that the Earth is only a reflection of the heavenly world.

Finally, I’m rethinking the old story of the Magi in the Bible who came from the East to worship the infant Jesus, and now I realize that they were from the land of ancient Persia, possibly from Iraq. The wise men were wise long before they went to find the child, for they’d been spiritual guides to their own people. On the way to find the infant Jesus, they were guided by the stars overhead. They persisted and stuck it out over the long haul and they found what they were seeking. A great lesson on faith in any language, any religion. The faith-based religions of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam are more similar than they’re different.

So in our 21st century world, between our yesterdays and tomorrows, may we recognize that our world belongs to it’s Creator, not to us, and may we learn to live in peace and harmony, celebrating the rhythms and landscapes of this glorious planet Earth [as well as those inside us] until time runs out, and if we do that, we won’t require any faraway heaven. Instead, we may be able to talk and walk about as Heaven’s Children right here on earth, recognizing how much we are blessed to be here every moment of every day.

Special Blessings to Special Souls, The Author.

SHALOM!

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

POEMS OF SPIRITUAL CONTEMPLATION

joy on joy

I may walk the world over and find no cruel thing,

I may find joy on joy as I let nature sing,

I am only one man, but I own my own park,

I also own verses I write in the dark,

I may say my possessions are frightfully small,

but the truth is I know that I own it all.

The earth is my back yard, the sea is my bath,

Clean air my fortune and fire my path,

I write of my fortunes in wondrous detail,

I’m rich and I know it, but riches are frail,

And all the world over the wonders I’ve seen

Have never forgotten to whisper between

Islands of loneliness and flowers in bloom,

Of humanity’s blindness, for which I make room.

in us

In us is the sum of all things past,

In us are the days that remain,

In us is a heaven far too vast

For the universe to contain.

the sensitive

Inside of the moment

I sense a great power,

Encouraging nectar

from the inner flower,

It flows to the petals,

Shoots into the air,

but if I hadn’t sensed it,

It wouldn’t be there.

Great spiritual powers

Exist here on earth

Where there’s fire and water,

Air and rebirth.

god

We often wonder how to love,

And yet Dear God so far above

May only wonder how to hate,

… A human thought hard to relate.

beginnings

When God created earth in seven days,

All Nature, at the moment, sang His praise

Humanity, of course, would not bow down,

We seemed to be created from a frown,

And so I wonder if dear God is through,

or is He just beginning with you, too?

humanity crossing

I AM the first to continue, the last to end; I AM a green light forever,

I AM your friend.

I AM a son sending out flares into the midst of yellow: I AM a

kind and decent man, a gentle fellow.

I AM a second chance for love, the last word to accuse; I AM the

news on forgiveness, the last excuse to use.

I AM an angel of deliverance, among the living once dead; I AM

everything I’ve done here and everything I’ve said.

I AM the bread and the butter, a practical soul, yet I AM mystical at last

when I’ve outlasted my control.

I AM in God’s dream forever though I sense no in-between; I AM

an open door, a window, an atmosphere that’s clean.

I AM a humanity crossing at the edge of a vast sky; we are brothers,

we are sisters, in One celestial pie.

Now you don’t have to believe me, you don’t have to give a damn …

but you’ll have to admit that I AM WHAT I AM.

each day a fresh beginning

Each day a fresh beginning

As God makes the world anew,

Ye who are weary of sameness,

Here’s a happy thought for you:

Remember each day God makes

Is a perfect, joy-filled time,

So if you make your moments count,

Life may even rhyme;

There’s a rhythm in the universe

That celebrates and dances,

Each step a new beginning

Of our multitudinous chances.

getting high

I’ll tell you what gets me high,

Blue skies,

Sunlight,

and learning to fly;

I don’t know what might work for you,

but try pink skies painted in blue.

shine

Not my will, but Thine,

May my inner Spirit shine.

Give me always what I need

So the soul in me is freed.

Grant me love, gentle Truth,

In my old age and youth,

In each life, I’ll do my best,

Trusting Thee to do the rest.

As I kneel before Thy Face

Running out my Earthbound race,

I’ll do everything I can

Just to be a gentle man.

I await no special prize,

Dear old Face

Before my eyes,

Not my will, but Thine,

May my inner Spirit

Shine.

why is kindness rare?

There are always good words to say,

Inspiration needs no wings,

God-words are kind words

Of peace, of Truth, it sings.

Inspiration needs no languages,

No destinations, no other roles,

Too ‘oft we fly around indifferent,

While God-work needs our souls.

There are always good deeds to do,

Good words to say,

Kindness needs no careful instructions,

No trendy reasons;

Perfect kindnesses apply

in almost every situation …

yet we rarely share our private