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I Cherish A Good Hope. . .
Machiavelli’s letter to Vettori. . . . In the Vettori letter, Machiavelli had written the following, “The evening being come, I return home and go to my study; at the entrance I pull off my peasant clothes, covered with dust and dirt and put on my noble court dress and thus becomingly reclothed, I…
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An Argument Still. . . .
My mentor, the Nazarene said, seeing you will not see and hearing you will not hear. Why is it when we profess to be followers and even from the pulpits, do not venture to ask, what did Jesus mean when he said those words? We think because we see what we see, it is…
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Sometimes, more than cola. . . of course with hot tea. . . .
With all that is happening on our national scene and our global scenes, we all need something that will settle the dyspepsia. It seems I have run out of tonic water and cola so a good stiff drink of something we should find, with hot tea, of course. I was again reminded that heavy…
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Enter Ye, Cautiously. . . .
Enter Ye, Cautiously. . . ‘May I enter your house?’ I asked and you answered, ‘yes, but cautiously. You must discard all pretense, assume the mantle of charity and hold high the torch of love.’ ‘Ahhh,’ I said, ‘but would I qualify? ‘This house I see has a green carpet with blue ceiling, mystically…
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Straight on Through. . . .
Emile. . . . ‘Do come in,’ she motioned to the visitor. ‘Things are not straightened, but they will be shortly.’ The large home had seen numbers of people marching through the hall; booming voices, woman whispers, babies’ tears baptizing the walls and christening the…
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It Is A Gift. . . .
‘Each lifetime lived adds to the cumulative sense of loss.’ the teacher All Who I Am. . . I feel the pull of the Polish one bent over her bread board, pounding, kneading, smoothing the egg dough into a satiny mound. Raisins, like eyes, half buried in the fleshy loaf, stare at me, daring…
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The Farm Woman. . .
Someone probably said, considering there is nothing new under the sun, I knew the journey my spirit would take would be the one closest to my heart. That would be the earth and sky of course, a farm. The details would be only as difficult as I could overcome and not more than…
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A Respite. . to walk the fields. . .
The Door Closes . . . You say the door closes behind me and you cannot follow. I take my place beside the one who holds my ceded heart in his hands. All I know is here is the place I belong. No other place feels right. Though as I walk in other places, they…
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The High Jumper. . .
It has been said with anger that I set the bar too high for mere mortals to scale. It was not for them the bar was set but for me, to rise as high as the immanent god had deemed for me. I could not know that they would try to jump for me.…
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A Meditation. . . does the world stand still for you?. . . .
Come with me to this place I visit often, hidden behind an eyelash; where it is Easter all the time and rebirth is not a sometime thing; where gods cavort in joyous abandon. Come, we dance. . . . Today the world stood still. In the bright afternoon sun I saw a butterfly…