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

12 August 2008


Bright Idea #73: This Is It.
"He who mocks the infant's faith/Shall be mock'd in age and death./He who shall teach the child to doubt/The rotting grave shall ne'er get out./He who respects the infant's faith/Triumphs over hell and death./The child's toys and the old man's reasons/Are the fruits of the two seasons." Up again at five to braid hair and kiss goodbye #4 between us in the deep blue morning downstairs for coffee upstairs for pulling cards marquez morning nap fierce dianic an old man shooting lions. lost morning up the hill down into the valley west to avalon we play cards and eat wildflower cheese blueberries the peaceful drone the smell of sunlight on tall grass stretched out on the navajo blanket playing hypnotic card games wondering at monarchs and dragonflies how could i want for anything more? beautiful sweet carrot cake pineapple coconut cream cheese frosting good coffee savory buns for the boys im up the hill to zillah cloud marked heart to heart and down again into evening the miracle of life infinite variety a chapter in the cozy chair for me and #4 then early bed so if the atmosphere allows its up at two to catch a glimpse of flaming space rubble, both omen and hindsight.
"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)