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

21 June 2008


Bright Idea #40:See the Inner Nobility and Beauty of All.
"People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone." Meeting her was like living in a strange land for years where you never managed to pick up the language and someone walks in and says Hey, Hello. and then youre dumbstruck and you have one hour to say what can be said in one hour and they go out through the door they came in and you question yourself your feelings your experience and its a strange swirly feeling like trying to remember music in a dream. i live quietly. after a lifetime of theatre i settle on the fringe of Elsewhere and tend to my knitting. the Revolution starts here my Radiant Soul Seed planted peaceful and deep in the name of all that is dancing toward the Light. Etta Baker background soundtrack banana bread good coffee fresh laundry the smile of a dog that knows its name. sunday early evening wandering the cool empty house smell banana bread hear etta baker taste good water feel old flannel flag of forgiveness see the green growing all around me my heroine the Earth Herself everything i needed to know i learned from shutting up and sitting still on a Hill on the edge of Everywhere. that Hill is gone from me now but it was there i first heard the voice i could understand and that filled me with such foreign fullness i laughed. and i hope that i laugh again and again until i climb that Hill again and see the world from higher than ever where the boundaries pixilate and fly like lightning bugs into the rest of forever.
"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)