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

18 June 2008


Bright Idea #38: Empower your Right Hemisphere.
“There’s this idea that if you really recognize how bad things are you have to go around being miserable all the time. But the truth is I’m really happy, and I am full of rage and sorrow and joy and happiness and contentment and discontent. I’m full of all those things. It’s okay to feel more than one thing at the same time.” Wet. I could use some Dong Quai Vitex Dark Chocolate Deep Stretch. Made banana bread and attended to the media piles, read a little, Stealing Horses House of Mirth. Brilliant morning covers over and it rains. My carrots and radishes are spotty but the purple pole beans are coming up strong the zinnia cosmos the relocated roses are doing their best everything is doing its best where it is with what it has. White Bed afternoon negotiations come and go with ever decreasing drama and maybe even closer understanding. after all this rain we could use a week of hot and dry the Big Dog hunts the Little Dog with her new smell her new fruit flower bloom seed Billy Bragg always makes sense when its raining i leaned across the table listening to a woman talk about her falling apart and the illumination released from the cracks. And i go through my day more or less swinging from a birch tree planted along the avenue between hemispheres from One to only me and i like the One i want the One the boundaries and definitions made of sugar and clouds that melt and pass away letting the Light in the Light the Light let the Light in i want it to say All One because its so close to alone.
"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)