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We Speak. . .
We Speak. . . We say goodbye with body language. See. . . we know when our arms are circling each other they will not release until our hearts press our knowledge one to the other. And we look with watery eyes that no longer see…
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The Process Is All. . . .
‘You Are My Best To Be.’. . . I could hear the words . . ‘too bad all the others could not have been made this way.’ And the response was that this is what creativity was all about. That with each new effort there is improvement. And the creator of the art or article…
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For Me, it is Eternity. . . .
I was sitting and looking at our landscaping and thought I must remember this. This is for eternity for me. It was the end of the day and the sun was setting. I feasted my eyes on my surroundings. And my eyes took in every detail and when they fastened on the next door…
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Apriori. . . (before now). . from where. . . .
Apriori. . . . Oftentimes what is considered decent, normal behavior we label a success of magnitude. In this world of the aberrant we have lived so long that the decent is a surprise. There are souls among us who have volunteered to help heal this behavior. And have put themselves in jeopardy doing so.…
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Ripped, severed, broken. . . again . . . .
(I am running out of words and energy at this time nearing the terminus of my life. I find that what I have written in the past of these earth shaking events are words that still wring my heart to shreds. And yours, too. I cannot find other words to tell their story. Our language…
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We Had Such Promise. . . severed still. . . .
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The Wait Is Too Long. . .
From my eyes. . . . Father, I said, go greet your son. And the father did and their arms wrapped themselves about each other. And the world was then all right. From my eyes, from my eyes. . . And from my heart, I hear . . . Why did they wait so long?…
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In The Quiet Of This Night. . . . . .
In The Quiet Of This Night. . . In the quiet of this night, come to me and we will hold hands and talk, and I will show you from how high up you jumped. The night will love you and envelop you and you will find that in the cold moon there is a…
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Emmanuel, Emmanuel. . . God Within. . . . Us. . .
It was 1941 and I was ten and warned every time I went out that God was watching me. And seeing me pick up a nickel from the wooden church floor and go across the street to buy a coveted pack of Walnettos. Word followed me home of course and I was punished. Why…
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When We Trash Our Souls. . . .
Our Connectedness. . . . There is a connectedness I see and it weaves through everything. I am not certain where it leads nor if it ever had a beginning. But this I know. It is real and it is firm and it is gutsy. Not a word that is elegant, but true to…