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

11 January 2010

"Common sense and a sense of humor are the same thing, moving at different speeds. A sense of humor is just common sense, dancing."




an old friend in the bright serendipitous cold of early january here on the 49th latitude.  he is still beautiful to me, he has not changed.  still that quiet aching sorrow behind his eyes a secret lake with some enchanted afternoon island in its center.  we are all preparing to move, but its winter and not the time for changing.  i kissed him suddenly chastely before sugarwater legions and forgot what i came for.  after double pointeds and darning needles i came back and there he was again.  i drew him in with my eyes unflinching and released him like birds to be free.




the struggle the contractions that contort you and make you scream out in your dreams.  the lighthouse we watch strapped to the mast of choices made as the ship was sinking.  two more days on a train in a town that noone lives in.  then my life in a car in a driveway with no plates, waiting for papers like some balkan refugee. 

and then theres you, the first sentence of every story i have yet to write. 



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Blessed Be.

"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)