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The Gates of Heaven. . . .
When I Crashed The Gates. . . You ask. . . . How do you go to your knees and with tears bend and lift your head and to whom or to what? I say. . . . To a loving, wholly, holy Spirit that supports me with an embrace I know. . .…
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Ripped, Severed, Broken. . . .
Times Such As These. . . I lock up the room and pocket the last remnants of words laying about unattended. Fearful that pieces of my heart may be found scattered among them. And why not? Times such as these leave us with little salve to heal the open wounds which once were hearts. For…
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Lean on Me. . . .
Lean On Me. . . Lean, love, lean on me and rest your tired heart. Let me rescue you out of a dream and allow you to awaken in a world of choice. Bend to me, as the willow to the wand, as the lily grips the water to float. I have time enough and…
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Welcome Home, Emma E. . .
Welcome Home, Emma E. . . I am by nature not a mover, but a thinker. I think a lot and have been muchly criticized for it. By people saying I read too much into life. Mostly by people who never had a clue. If my friend Emerson is to be taken as an authority,…
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Conversations: World Creation. . .
Conversations: World Creation . . . If it were not for the fact that our David came home for chemo treatment on a regular basis and he and I had dinner together at home, I would never have had the mind bending conversations we did. It was then I learned of world creation for…
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A Lesson In Strawberries. . . .
A Lesson In Strawberries. . . ( I awakened one recent morning in conference with someone who said it was again time for the article on the lesson in strawberries. Several years ago it was printed in The Detroit Free Press and has since been reprinted several times. A man appeared at my door the…
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The Past Is Still Happening. . .
Journal entry of November 3, 1983—(keep in mind I work with all time is simultaneous, a quantum premise, though I did not know it at the time when 35 years ago I was into black holes and white holes where this entry picks up) . . I scribed. . .It is no small thing when…
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So Much To Be Said. . . .
So Much To Be Said. . . You say, So much to be said. To take a hammer to a word and splinter it. . .what’s to be gained? I say, Where is the meaning if you don’t? You say, Let everyone take what is theirs and build on it.…
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When Love Was Rampant . . .
When Love Was Rampant. . . The bones creek and there is lack of motion because like the deep freeze enveloping the lakes, the skeleton is immobile. The comforter wraps around bony knees and hugs my chest while eucalyptus bathes what is left of my senses. The scent is clearly reminiscent of a…
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A sorrow hushed. . . the holocaust. . .
A sorrow hushed. . . the holocaust. . . My ears cleaved to the door frame of the dining room. Her whisper was hoarse, were there many? Lots, he said, lots, as he held the letter that told him what they saw. Speaking in broken English, he continued. They pushed for space, women…