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A New World
The mind travels the distances inclined toward new worlds. Here infants are preparing for what will be their new home. For now, difficult it is to chisel new worlds; the breaking of rock, the scraping of stone of encrusted thinking. Not here, but elsewhere the new beginnings will foster new dreams. No longer to be…
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The Loving Place
A home, a hearth the loving place that nurtures the fragile psyche, granting each the right to perceive the universe as is his to perceive. Building memories year upon year and granting courage for the hurting moments and bearing them. Yet yielding to the greater truth that life continues to be good. Granting the right…
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The Long Fast
(For My Forever Friend-Cheryl) Morning breaks the long fast. In the dailyness there is beauty. In the neat kitchen, in the morning silent, except for the brewing of the fragrant coffee in the silver pot, in the glancing out the dark window, to see the neighbors rising. In the neatness of physical life where the…
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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 crew this night, she wondered, as she…
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Look For Me
I live my life in a dimension of no space, in a dimension of no time and in an era of no choice. I skirt perimeters of knowledge, inserting by intention an idea. You are my intension and my idea. Are you proud? Are you grateful for the time and place of your insertion? Do…
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There Is A Place
When I posted on this blog a letter I had written to the Professor of Theology and Philosophy in 1991, I mentioned Robert Nozick’s book called The Examined Life (published in 1989) and the possibility that we might be in the creation business as apprentices. I recalled a conversation I had with our son David …
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Awards
ancient pieces float to mind presenting impulses prompting the pilgrim to look toward home time chastens the victor and yields the victory to her who supposes life everlasting she has won the medal and still covets awards to hang on the wall but they all hang on her heart. photo by Joshua Hallissey
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Through A Window, Gladly
Fairy Dust Will the children find how shaky all things are and the gods who are their parents, all illusion? What will I say then? “All of it, my dears, all of it is nothing but fairy dust created by a head in search of its own dream.” Where would I be then? In the…
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How Much Better It Would Be
How much better it would be for this noble planet if we cherished her like a lover? Or loved her as a mother who adored her child and wiped the tears away with a soft linen? Or as a father whose arms surrounding the child are as steel beams supporting the frame of the tallest…
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Excerpt From A Journal Entry
August 13, 1990 I write and say. . . . . . It is necessary for me to ask why; otherwise the peeling of my heart has no purpose. Why implies a reason, doesn’t it? So don’t start by saying it is not enough just to live and breathe and see and feel the anguish…