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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…
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From My Heart’s Pocket . . .
Word reaches that there are issues with some of my posts that are unreal; that perhaps I don’t know how the real world works! I write what I know, not hope or pretend. As Lawrence O’Donnell commented on President Biden’s Inaugural, experience is not taught. We always knew it, I think, just never applied…
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At A High Cost . . . .
When I was younger and found footing in my woman’s novels, I came across soon to be a favorite writer. It was a time when the library was my sons and my main excursion to replenish our idea resources. Marcia Willett was her name and a favorite book ‘A Week In Winter’ was a…
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A Warm Hug. . .
\I was just 16 when my younger sister caught me in a lie leaving me so embarrassed that on the spot I knew that I would forever tell the truth. And from that moment on, I became a truth teller. I alibied others or as my sister said, made excuses for them, but was hard…
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Life’s Adjuncts . . . like me. . . .
Life’s Adjuncts . . . It seems I drive my family crazy trying to follow my thinking. My mate of many years said too many times that George did not say what I repeated George said. I looked my mate straight in the eye and said then I elevated George’s thinking. Eyebrows shot up and…
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And is god enough . . . . .of course. . .
So Who Cares. . . Nobody they say. . . Except you know you do. . . All it takes is just one I hear, to look for the sun to rise each morning. . . . to look at the moon at night and wonder, . . . . where home is. .…