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The Teachers. . .
Running Toward a Truth. . . In the prior mini essay, I spoke of the larger picture, the broader focus. It was necessary for me to learn this practice because to see the immanent god, the god within, I had to be able to view humanity totally to be able to appreciate the individual. As…
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The Broader Focus. . . .
The Larger Picture. . . One of the first joys of kindergarten I remember was being told to connect the dots and behold! A picture was formed within the larger picture and it was visible and I could identify it! What joy. It was a beginning for me then to look at everything to…
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Outside The Frame of Reference. . .
Outside The Frame of Reference. Oftentimes I seem to speak in a language that is foreign to my listeners, whether they be family or friends. What I say is obvious to me, clear as crystal and I am using the same words I hear from them all, but I stumble. I strive for a…
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However Long. . .
However long. . . . Coming into every family will be what a relative calls a misfit. And the label will stick. This often is a child with a need to know everything and talk. And more often than not, there will not be anyone to listen. Because there will be other children, work to…
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To Breathe Again. . .
Dog Days of The Lion When at the end of the dog days of the Lion and the garden is again conducive to prayer, arrange the knees bent in homage to the winter. It is time to pray the garden into being; the stage for the winter solstice. It is time to oil the tools…
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One World At a Time. . .
One World At A Time. . . The grounds are silent. I am here in the catacombs and yearning for words to frame my time. I enter the gleanings of my heart. Hear O’Lord, my bayings as the old wolf in the field, trying to awaken the Mind; as the old One mourned, that has…
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August. . .
August It is August and there is a sliver of breath inside the sill. The deep breath of Autumn is, I think, a matter of time; perhaps only in the memory of the child anxious for the world of new books to open. Anxious for the toys of summer to be put aside to make…
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My Sister, My Earth. . . .
My Sister, My Earth. . . Like a compass, I stand, breathing deep and at the end of my arm stands the ancient city and at the top of my head the north wind still blows. Cooler by far during the last month of the year but still refreshing. How to love this Earth whose…
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The Pain of Thought. . .
The Pain of Thought. . . They speak with their doctors, their counselors and those with backward collars that they are anxious. And cannot explain the panic and the night sweats that engulf them even in their sleep. They read they say all manner of books and articles on positive thinking and watch only those…
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Comforts . . .
Comforts. . . There is a comfort in being surrounded by familiar things. After a lifetime of use, they are as old friends needing only me as a companion. My books follow my travels begging not to be left behind. Only those I have visited often can lay claim to shrinking space. My tablets, journals, …