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

06 January 2009



"The cosmic rhythms are nudging you to enjoy a time of profound slack."



The blue of my Heart. crepuscular blue. liminal blue. faerie blue. twilight blue.



the downward spiral runs through the valley. i can do so much with so little, but am embarassed at my self-esteem. theres black beans and a lucky acorn and today im supposed to trust myself. begin to trust myself. because i have all these things within me to bear and share. its still early january and im not quite awake. bitter liquid cold this morning and ice from the sky tonight, and maybe over dinner on friday she and i can waltz it out into the light, into the next season of our knowing what there is to know about us. i still secretly wrestle with why i didnt get the job but so it goes and there you are and whats to be done? i still chalk it up to my infinite shortcomings and dreadful luck. but then again im blessed, im fed an going to bed and waking up to coffee and cake with chocolate frosting i made from butter and chocolate, barley flour and eggs. itll be alright, whatever it turns out to be. trust me.

9 of 365:

1. Dusk Blue.
2. Not Worrying.
3. Being Able to Feed my Family.
4. Roasted Butternut Squash.
5. Literacy.
6. Thinking Maybe we could be Friends Again.
7. Cuddled in the Red Chair, Reading.
8. The Pack didnt Deconstruct my Enormous Ball of Yarn while i was Away.
9. Green Himalayan Tea.
"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)