In Resisting, Dung Beetle Falls

In Resisting, Dung Beetle Falls Backwards and Upside Down into the Monolithic Pantheism of a Kernel Containing Everything

As one resistant of labels, with equal parts zealous interior violence, comic irony, and a dash of cowardice, I walked the fields of this farm land counting my ewes and does, counting the rams and bucks, counting the yearlings, the lambs and the kids and the wethers. It is warm for February. I walk the crop land; the recent snow having melted in the winter sun. Walking through the corn stubble I stop to retrieve, from the earth, two large ears of “bloody butcher” corn missed by the corn picker last fall, missed also by the gleaning deer, raccoon, crows and the like, lying perfect and impervious to the recent moisture until the wet warmth of spring softens their hardness: two glorious ears. I contemplate my relationship to that particular variety of dent corn and through it, the land, and through it to Everything. I consider the blood-red kernels, possessed of this inner light, very much like jewels, but of a different telos. I encounter in there a bewildering and univocal intimacy, and before knowing, and without thinking I fall down into it. 

I recall my friend sending me a word, “Panentheism”, a few weeks back, like a gentle test, or inquiry. And I think of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, the French priest and scientist with whom I most readily associate to panetheism. I like him quite a bit, and his ideas, and I like the word. It is artful, that word. I said to her, I don’t much like labels, generally speaking, but I suppose I would often consider myself a Panentheist. 

Panentheism: the belief that the being of God includes and penetrates the whole universe, so that every part of it exists in Him, but (as against pantheism) that His being is more than, and not exhausted by, the universe. 

-from the Oxford English Dictionary

But now, facing the intimacy in the interiority of the kernel, it was in panentheism rather than in pantheism that I felt the limit. Indeed, panentheism’s caveats felt more like a weak-kneed parsing, seeking to hold-back and play it safe. It is in the same way that we tend to parse the imagination, classifying visionary experiences (artistic or otherwise) that we find acceptable as “imaginal”, while those that seem unacceptable, for whatever reason, remain just imaginary, made-up, or fanciful. I know why the distinctions are there (and I love Corbin), but sometimes they piss me off. And just this morning I had written in a bit of a headache trance: “Imagination is God, Art is God”. As if I had decided that I no longer had the wisdom or the will to sort these matters out, or distinguish between them. I watched a lifelong internal rift between God and art vanish in the twinkling of an eye, and it was good. 

Back in the kernel of red corn out in the field, instantly and unexpectedly I slip from panetheism into pantheism. As quickly as putting on a shoe- or taking off, I am in an entirely new dimension of the world. The fall is easy but precise, and not without risk. I have no will to be safe in regard to the Heart of Everything in the kernel. A pantheism of necessity where I choose nothing and where I choose Everything. And I am “naked on the horn of the world”. 

Over the years I have watched my discernment deliquesce, losing familiar boundaries amidst the univocal acuteness of the immanent transcendent intimacy of encounter. These moves which seem outwardly as a “falling away” are indeed a falling, but a towards-falling, a deeper-into-Christ-and-his-wounds-falling. A cascade failure into the mysteries and reconciliations of those wounds. A dung beetle descent into the earth and her wonders. The stigmata materialize and manifest and I pitch over into it. I tumble into the graven image. Image becoming likeness and circumcised on the heart. I might end up with a heart like Queequeg’s face. The wound and the eye are one. 

I emerge with a blessing, mined long in the trouble of the earth, fashioned from the resistant material of words. This blessing is backwards and upside down. If I understood it, perhaps, I would not offer it, but as it is so I must. So, I bless you with this blessing which is backwards and upside down. It is the blessing of the indirect way, and the willingness to endure it. It is the blessing of the third way, when you are only offered two. It is the blessing of wearing the wounds of Christ as a garment, dwelling in them. Not even Solomon in all of his splendor was clothed as one of these. It is the blessing of the Graven Image, the moment when image transforms into likeness, circumcised on the heart. 

This upside-down blessing defies the senses, it is supersensible in a left-handed way. What appears to be rotting is a flowering below, what tradition holds to be a sacrilege and profane is sacred and holy and pure beneath the threshold of knowing. It is Coyote’s blessing; it is Raven’s gift. It is Jesus saying, “you have heard it said, an eye for an eye etc., but I tell you, love your enemies, and so on”. It is the kingdom hidden inside the mustard seed. The upside down and backwards is resistance that looks like abdication and failure. It is a divine and holy silence that feels like complicity. It is losing explanation and definition for the awe and intimacy of mystery and paradox. 

There is never an interpretation for the backwards and the upside down. It offers no proof and no footholds. It is the mystery of the drunkard and the addict who find fire. It is when God becomes Imagination, and when God becomes Art- and not because the form is necessarily good or beautiful by established standards or sound judgements.

It is Jesus showing up as a Trans-person. It is the astrologers suddenly having the answers where the priests are blind. It is the water-witch locating the spring. It is Nebuchadnezzar raping Jerusalem and Jeremiah buying land from the pit. It is finding God when every other voice says “not God!” It lost the rules and burnt the patterns for sake of the seeking of the Kingdom of Heaven, forever standing the world on its ear. 

So, I bless you backwards and upside down in the name of Jesus of Nazareth. If you do not want this blessing, wipe the dust from your feet and give it to me. I will take it, I want the dust.

i am erth, New Music

Two New Albums of My Music Are Available to Stream Today

i am erth (that’s me), has two full length albums of music being made available today. Courtesy of the democratic nature of our digital society, go on, little pilgrim, and The Crystal Witness of Ancient Fire may be found and enjoyed (ultimately if not immediately) on all the music streaming platforms out there.

go on, little pilgrim, (here is a link to the record on Spotify)(Apple Music) is a collection of new recordings of songs written around 25 years ago when I was a young man attempting the hermit’s life in the hills of South Eastern Kansas. I like these old songs and I had a pretty good time making the recordings. My friend, Sam Kee wrote some liner notes for this record for me. You can read them below.

The Crystal Witness of Ancient Fire

The Crystal Witness of Ancient Fire, (Spotify) (Apple Music) the songs here are more recent than little pilgrim, emerging slowly over the past 12 years. These songs take some time to unfold, are a little more visionary and also more grounded. In fact that might be a theme in this album: grounded vision. But please judge for yourself. 

Go On, Little Pilgrim Liner Notes

What do you do when you unearth an old, coffee-stained book of songs you wrote a quarter of a century ago, but never brought to life? You might be tempted to dismiss them as childish, naive, or unimportant, but if you’re Jack Baumgartner, you breathe onto the embers, for there is still fire in old books and old songs.

The ten songs in Go On, Little Pilgrim are not just about a pilgrim, but they are themselves the pilgrim, setting out at last to make their own journey from the quiet heart of a Kansas sheep farmer to the golden paddock of heaven. They contain all the idealism of someone just getting started, but at the skillful hands of someone who’s farther along and knows that the road ahead will not always be easy.

Jack has a unique ability to write stirring melodies that will have you stomping your feet and clapping your hands, as you mull over relationships, calling, breakdowns, and eternity.

With memory, there is no time. What’s old is new, and what’s new is old. i am earth joins them hand in hand and teaches them to dance around the fire. “Toil on, little pilgrim, find out where the truth rides.” The little pilgrim must begin his journey, and we must celebrate the journey that he has begun, even if we don’t know where he’s going to end up. There will be rare moments when you catch a glimpse of him along the way “on a silver whispering lion brilliantly flying through the recesses of our physical realm.” To me, this album is one of those rare moments. It is a brilliant glimpse.

I think that most of us are tempted to disparage or shame our younger selves for the things we believed or the choices we made, but this album inspires us and challenges us to do differently: we are to gaze lovingly into the heart of our own younger self and cry “Go on, Little Pilgrim! I will help you sing your songs.” 

–-SJK

The Little Diary of A Tree Standing on its Head

The Little Diary of a Tree Standing on its’ Head is a small folio of illustrations from a larger project also called The Diary of a Tree Standing on its’ Head. The Little Diary was conceived, drawn, printed and assembled in my studio, and is available to buy at baumwerkshop.

Some Drawings about Mary Magdalene

from the Diary of a Tree Standing On Its Head

Mary anointing the feet of Jesus. I find myself, in my heart seeing Mary of Bethany and Mary Magdalene as one Mary- incidentally I also see them as Eve.
Walking Man Attending to the Braids of Mary Magdalene Attending to the Feet of Christ

Revelations of the Artist

I’m excited to share that I’ve been featured in Revelations of the Artist: Book 2 — a limited-edition collection that highlights 20 artists of faith and their creative journeys.

Each artist, including me, has only 100 copies of the book featuring their art on the cover. This project is more than just a book — it’s a testimony to how God lives through the creative life. Help us bring this impactful book to the world by reaching three milestones:

  1. Printing the book,
  2. Supporting the featured artists, and
  3. Funding outreach to children living in hardship in Ecuador.

When you pre-purchase my edition, you help make all three goals possible.
And as a special thank-you, the first 20 pre-purchase customers will receive a FREE copy of ROTA Book 1, while waiting for Book 2!

Here’s the link to pre-purchase your copy: https://www.artserveint.org/rota-2/p/baumwerkj-cover

Crucifixion Drawing for Saint Bede’s Box

preliminary drawing of the crucifixion for the painted panels of the Saint Bede’s Box project.

I am leaning heavily on Gruenwald for this drawing of the crucifixion scene. This image will be transferred to a wooden panel for oil painting.

The Fourth Vision of Zechariah

The Fourth Vision of Zechariah, 2025, oil on oak panel, 27.5″x17″

Began in 2021, this painting is about the Hebrew prophet Zechariah, found in the Old Testament of the Bible, particularly the events of chapters 3 and 4 of his book. A limited number of archival reproductions of this painting are available at Baumwerkshop

Ad Astera

– a piece of writing from The Diary of a Tree Standing On It’s Head

Ad Astera


awakened into the dark day desperate
the shame of days disused
heaved their defiling way into the new air
(the now air)
 tilting hope into a tainted air
peace pierced pressed throbs 
instinctively the leper calls unclean
a reflex of grief from deep wounds
unclean
son of David, have mercy on me

then a sign in the heavens
for the penitent under the stars, starwatching
and to see so instant a reply
to the cry, for mercy, so fleet
delicate and sensitive to the time
a meteor in a tiny blue white line
quits the bright sky to kiss me in the night

the stars now singing 
across my soul a song 
do they, great beings, all light and fire and mass,
who I see as a remote and pulsing brightness,
do they perceive me as a speck of distant darkness?
a black dot dancing upon great luminous eyelids
closed against the internal glowing abyss of their being

I sense the song singing
dreaming into my soul's slumber
heard by spirit into spirit waking
Everything's own sonorious drawl
near and warm as seems my blood 
distant and cool as seem the stars:

oh, my beloved, oh, my heart
do not be afraid, I am for you now
you, who have been thinking you are too slow
too slow of your hands you thought
and your feet and your heart you thought
too slow in your great labors you thought
but I say, no, not slow enough, no not yet
the trees are slow and the rocks still more
the earth prodigious in slowness
but not yet you, you must be slower still

oh, image, oh, self-discerning self
you, who have been thinking 
that you have become too small
too obscure and too insignificant
you who have been thinking 
that you can measure meaning
by size and shape and outward things
but I say no, no, not yet have you become truly small
not as the small beings whose life doesn't weigh on the moral scales
you must become as obscure as the undiscovered 
as insignificant as the poor
no not yet, my dear, you must be smaller still

dearest dear, heart of my own heart
you who have been thinking that you are too foolish
foolish beyond what is acceptable, even for an artist
even for a fool, and what miracles are there
to make it ok? 
but I say no, not yet
you are not yet foolish enough to contain me
be foolish until all is lost and squandered
and as a fool go on, and then we'll talk
I am not far  

oh, beloved god-knowing self
you who have been thinking
that you have failed too often
and too greatly too grievously
you who have been thinking much 
that I will disown you
that I would spit you out 
because the great practice you have made 
of failing and of shame
but I say no, not yet
you have not failed enough nor greatly 
not yet enough to receive me
when I come like water and 
when I come like fire
fail still, fail and fear not
I will not abandon you
fail and do not abandon me 

(silence for one minute)
(silence for one hour)
(silence for one day)
(silence for one month) 
(silence for one year)
(silence for a week of years)
(silence for a generation)
(silence for an age)
(silence for an epoch)
(silence)

the hands of the stars touch me
their billion flashing fingers reach out tingling
very nearly, but not quite, painful
pinpricks like little electric shocks
in a limb waking up from awkward sleep
and receiving blood again
receiving life again and new

something big entering into something small 
I wake
something high lifting something low
I rise

not slow enough, 
I sigh slowly into the long morning of an eternal presence
not small enough, 
I sigh quietly into the deep obscurity of Everything's smallness
not foolish enough, 
I sigh foolishly into the unknowing of Everything's beautiful foolhardiness
not enough of a failure, 
I sigh falling into the vulnerable nakedness of Everything's own fall into me

I hear the star's laughter now
like children they laugh without derision
for joy they laugh
and for love, they twinkle
like stars in the sky


What Sam Sees

What I See: Go On Shepherd and Lamb

by Sam Kee

My good friend Sam Kee wrote a nice essay about my little shepherd print. I marvel at how and what Sam sees in my art. If you want to read it it’s over at the Color of Dust Substack– no pay-wall. While Sam gives me more credit than I deserve, he truly helps me to see what I am, sometimes blindly, about. Every artist should be so fortunate to have friends who are willing to engage their work on such a deep level. Somehow I have more than a handful of them and I’m mighty grateful.

I’ve also released a second edition of this print for sale over at Baumwerkshop.com if you are interested. The stock might be low at the moment but there are more coming.