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

03 May 2008


Bright Idea #9: Judge Not.
"Nothing says country romance like the sound of a tarp in the wind." Lost weekend. Monday recharge power nap off to Two Towns Over for Aluminum Mule bright hot blessed day dragged behind her dont ask any hard questions. Sat on the floor of organic section reading farming manual woman asked where the air fresheners were. Lost weekend. Fairy Godmother supplier of warm chicken to wet friends in night breeze set up shop with ladder and plank cauldron of candles salty roasted potato people had a good time and we will remember the coming out of the dark cold into growing light of trust and authenticity a kind of a birthday. last night watched the story of jesus john lennon jesse james this story of light darkness love betrayal heart crucible of humanity lonliness living out interminable dimness while connection is unquenchable filament pancho and lefty generally. storms coming barn the mule roof the nursery rain will put off plowing for a day dont call me im having lunch in canada its been said so i can breathe now the smell of small children in my house living with people is difficult live with yourself be a good soul-mate the sheets dirty the dogs fed the sky glazes over i walk racetracks in the supermarket waiting for meds my nose in a book the mans headphones were so loud i could hear them three aisles over bought #4 bagels and bubblegum thought about how everything worth having is free.

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Blessed Be.

"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)