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We Are Being Watched . . . once said the blue boy. . .
There is a universally ineffable, inherent bedded value in all life that holds us all accountable. It is this which we must answer to. Not because of Others’ intent. But of our own basic divinity, our own intent. We may try to dismiss this urgency within us, but we cannot destroy it. It will continue…
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A Variation Of A Dream . . . . .
A Variation Of A Dream. . . There is nothing new to say. . . All of life is a variation of a dream. How often they resemble one another and easy it is to lose my self in them. They are a dinner of words, a potpourri of feelings, a smattering of…
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For Sitting On The Porch . . . .
For Sitting On The Porch. . . It is a night for sitting on the porch. The night is soft and there is a breeze about. Soft. A love night. . . How could it be better? Only to share with an Other whose eyes see as mine do; the shapes of the trees…
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Listen Ophelia. . . . .
Oftentimes we feel abandoned. Especially when we are in pain and have done everything we’ve been told and those things we invent. Otherwise we would be sitting at the feet of the Great Healer. But here we are in wonder at what we do wrong when we do what we were told from the beginning…
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Immigrant. . . .
Although it was my best of intentions I don’t know why it was not obvious to those who claimed they knew me. But what they saw was some kind of favoritism but never the cost or the contract involved. That it could not be believed was understandable. But the next question should have been, why…
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The Word Is God. . . .
I was born dragging a foot still in my last world. When asked for volunteers, my hand went up. Not a walk in the park has it been. And with the events of this past Saturday, all the words have been said by the important voices. I have reached as high as I…
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The Teacher. . . . (The Socratic Departure). . . .
The Teacher (The Socratic Departure) I will drink this cup of gall, swallowing the bitterness setting fire to earth’s waste. But first I caress this chalice. Its depth mirrors my heart, shaking the foundations of my very own selves. Now splendid trepidation challenge the ultimatums by which the earth rocks. Challenge me, o gods,…
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A Monk In Brown Burlap . . . 1790. . .
How Not To Attach The Fabric Of The Global House. . . They say. . You have to keep it singular. . . You have to keep it nuclear. . . You have to keep it private. . . and remembering different in any way is not good. I tell you. . . You…
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A Way For Me. . . when body balks. .bread for the day. . .
March 3, 2024. . . I do what is foreign to me now. I am putting with only some editing whole journal entries with feedback from my teachers. For those inclined to scoff at what is given, I say just try to do it. I came into this life with a foot still in my…
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A Sanctuary Moment. . . last bird sings . . .
A sanctuary moment. . . In looking back the words I hear in closing the front door are, be careful what you say. That was from the time I have memory forming words, being told in essence to stop talking . Even now, this late in the day I am told to stop and…