“Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.”

12 May 2008


Bright Idea #15: Grow toward the Light.
"The known returns to be known again." Night to morning spent arranging arriving making the home a body where good energy flows through order and eddies of becoming. night to morning spent sorting poppy seeds from dirt barley from wheat spirits poke through the veil watcher watches dogs at rest worry sleeping funny talking dog that bounds my days claw pawed beastie Odins pony days go by in the garden setting deeper roots solving the problem of rebar lets make it all bigger before they put in the invisible fence ill plant blueberry this weekend plow through the pile of media maybe start breathing we met in the kitchen they played our song we held each other just this moment how wonderful strange we held each other as the planet turned in space as the lettuce raised tender arms to the Light as souls arrived and departed this miraculous space station outer banks depot were on the edge of the edge of the edge of the Center and think god is a homo sapien. marvelous evolution of our space our hearts the lives spin galaxies around me im in the back yard whispering to the dirt singing to the strawberry that stayed behind for love of borage and open country this is the only thing that makes sense to me anymore. i need every minute to keep my heart open open open quietly smiling hey beautiful its okay to be beautiful its okay beautiful isnt funeral home make-up alterations of the flesh youth money beautiful is open heart generosity kindness wonder acknowledgment of divinity seeing divinity in your self. love is our mother.
"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.

For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.

"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well." -V.V.G.

"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.

"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.

"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)