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A Chance For Love. . .
A Chance For Love. . . Each time is a new time. Cast in the shadow of a rock, a cave, or even a cove. . . Simply set and inspired by a rolling coast, a sunset, a glimpse of a new place. . . New tidings of good cheer; a glass of sweet wine,…
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The Uncovering. . . .
Teach The Lessons Well. . . Again from a journal entry the Teacher speaks on evolution. . . in the evolution of genes, in cleaning up genetic history, we talk of literally thousands of years. But with emphasis not on the helplessness of man, but with concerted thought and concerted direction, there can be…
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Happy Thanksgiving. . . my heart’s gratitude. . .
How Much Of A Difference. . . It was morning, though the night still hung heavy; the clouds hovered, the sun unable to rise. The children gathered for breakfast; morose and angry, heavy still with sleep. Mother looked with unhappy eyes and father, already delayed flew out the door. What could she plan for this…
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A Need To Know. . .
In the sixties I wrote a poem called Resolution which ended with the following lines. (excerpt from Resolution) I have come into the Light but what to do? On the day I was one, I became two. Now I am two. What to do but seek and seek again until I find I walk…
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Hunger For Knowledge. . .
Hunger For Knowledge. . . The hunger for knowledge knows no bounds and the kind of acceptance which bespeaks the heart which no longer cares enough to fight for its own existence nor the existence of an Other will soon lose the fight altogether. Caring is in style. Nurturing is in style one way or…
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Taking It Personally. . .
Taking It Personally . . . (we were having breakfast with a young friend) From a journal entry after the breakfast. . . . the Teacher speaks . . . Your justification of man at the breakfast table yesterday proved a point. The mate said that Jacob was not what you thought him to be. …
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Times Such As These. . (do we not learn, ever?)
Times Such As These. . . I lock up the room and pocket the last remnants of words laying about unattended. Fearful that pieces of my heart may be found scattered among them. And why not? Times such as these leaves us with little salve to heal the open wounds which once were…
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Love Is The Currency. . .
( I had written. . . ) I really need some one to listen to my words and consider them and tell me there is rest and love and ultimate design in all this. That I can look at the morning and not feel it will be snatched by high noon. That I can walk…
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By Example We Teach. . .
All Things Are Connected. . . No matter the outcome of any event, the process of integrating is uppermost within the chest of treasures. It is not that all things are diverse, but that all things are connected in a way that is concealed and discernment is required for enlightenment. Rubies are connected to stones…
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There Is Still Time. . .
(Sometimes the poet and writer needs a good talking to.) There Is Still Time. . . I say. . . . What more can I do? I am tired and I am old. You say. . You are still breathing. And as long as there is…