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

20 October 2008




Bright Idea #96: Tell Me What You Want (What You Really Really Want).

"We don't need lists of rights and wrongs, tables of do's and don'ts: we need books, time, and silence. 'Thou shalt not' is soon forgotten, but 'Once upon a time' lasts forever." Paying attention to myself i realize that through me the energy flows and like a canyon rider its up to me to take the current and avoid the rocks. thats my life advice. Take the Current and Avoid the Rocks. easy monday energy long walks to and fro it was 40 to and 60 fro. frogged two hats-to-be started third, stumbled upon long stocking pattern to break my sock-pattern-phobia. artemis beads and chocolate chip for the boys after school started sauce washed the sheets and after supper went out with Z. to try the whole go get it and bring it back thing ended up in the garden pulling gourd vines. tomorrow has garden duty written on it. clear it and till it and call it winter. the vest is a gift. good deep pocketses for inhaler rose quartz snack ball of yarn for mobile knitting. my water supply is making a difference. we get older and i suppose our consciousness shifts, the way we see ourselves. i love, honor and obey my body. i dont need it nipped tucked puffed tinted tarmacked. S. brought to my attention i am the only one she knows without make-up or a cell phone. my reflective energy called cold and worse but they were words from the bottom of a wine jug and who else should i be? life advice: Consider the Source. tomorrow gardening indoors and out, the geraniums molting for less light, the hoya thirsty. the gratitude gold stars today go to: 1) this vest and my sister for gifting me with it and being a real miracle in and of herself forever saving me from myself 2) autumn doing her thing so beautifully in the great circle of things. 3)dogs for taking the current and avoiding the rocks. 4) clean water in a mason jar bathing a billion cells with themselves. 5) a shout out to all the community helpers that make our lives better than good: the post mistress, shop keeper, bus driver, volunteer fire fighter and emt.

"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)