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the twig already bent from a somewhere and . . . when. . .
How To Do It. . . .when I scribe. . . . You ask. . . On focusing, your thoughts, your words. . . how do you do it? I say. . . I barrel down into my center and listen with my inner ear and hear what…
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Will I Require An Alibi?
In The Mirror Is The Answer. . . . THE TEACHER SPEAKS. . . .It is useless to say that we can be non judgmental when we make judgments of necessity all day long. What we must not judge are the places an Other comes from when we look upon cultural ways. When we understand…
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Love Awaits . . .with a putting place. . .
October 27, 2022. . .(I posted this essay more than 5 years ago and my thoughts today have only deepened. The wish I hold still is that there would have been someone early on that I could have voiced my thoughts with no fear. In my terminus I fulfil the old maxim that the end…
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Freedom’s Work. . .
Freedom Is Not Free. . . Time nears for elections and we wonder how can our aged bodies contribute to this magnificent country we live in so that our democracy does not die. We plead with the heavens. And thoughts are given to match what can be done. The healing begins and life takes off…
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Galactic Wanderer. . .
It has been awhile since I posted, being unsure of a topic when this world is inundated with so many problems. My last thoughts of the night were of solar trees I had drawn from a dream and I wish to share again. On November 19, 2019 I read that Bill Gates had unveiled a…
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The Bread of Freedom is Truth. . . .
It is an open question, not the only one, but a question as to how we learn something. Since I hold several truths as self evident, and one of them is life everlasting, then prior lifetimes have taught me much. And some lifetimes lead to longer sleeptimes, or time outs, than others with no learning.…
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Why the words. . .
I wrote in September ’87 journal that I glanced at Ernie and Frank’s (I think) cartoon on my desk. Descartes says, I think therefore I am. And the gent disappears after being told this and the logical thought is, if I don’t think, I am not. And like tea, I steep, how can one live…
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Within Memory Recalled. . .
Home of One’s Soul The Teachers Speak. . . Every so often, out of one’s domain, there is an isolation that swamps one. It is difficult to shake, and yet there it is, evidence that this is not home. There is a portion or many portions appealing to one, yet basically, the at home feeling…
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the morning sun on time. . begin again. . .
The lines from Tom Atkins Quarry House website from the Poem Making Rope stopped my heart the moment I read the lines . . . . . history . . . . that does not die because a few care enough to remember and live the old ways, sure as faith, and twice as strong…
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With Gratitude served. . . .
Come To My Table Come to my table and sit awhile and I will tell you tales of years gone by, attended by loves and those who held magic in their hands. We have supped and laughed and cried some, but mostly told the tales that love spun out of gold. It was…