When my beloved young friend was settling her mother’s estate, she gave me this wooden sculpture and said this belongs to you. My first thought was in awe that she thought this and my second thought to the monk was, ‘where have you been all my life?.’ Through moves and floods it has come with me and has stood on my work table since then, overlooking my journey. I am grateful to my friend to this day for giving me this sculpture but mostly for thinking that I am worthy of it.
The Divine Drama
Man’s god only works as hard as man does.
If man thinks it is a passion play. . . . .then Jesus was a class act who should have received residuals on the performance.
The heart of Earth known as the Garden of Eden, was the crucible for man in several places simultaneously.
Exposition always depends on the quality of motive.
The quality of life is assured by one’s assuming the burden of change.
Spirit leaves home on a journey and at times makes great strides and at other times not but the journey’s end always finds it equal if not enriched by the trek. Never bankrupt.
The ablest keep their silence and work. By their works shall they be known.
Directions come from an inner source connected to the Greater I Am.
The heart interprets the individual’s intent and yields or prohibits.
To fear one’s god is to barter for one’s life, inch by wretched inch.
To roto root one’s memory bank takes much courage.
To be without memory is to strip today of meaning.
A today with no meaning only attempts an already empty tomorrow.
To build memories for oneself and one’s nearest is part of one’s commitment.
It is not an empty effort to build good memories. The memories will be called up in time not yet spoken and by generations unborn.