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

30 March 2010

 "And we are put on earth a little space / That we may learn to bear the beams of love."

 the first was earth.  heavy steps upon the ground, heavy clods heaved upon my head.  dirt under the nails, a stone, a landslide.  fertile insatiable offering up the pleasure and the plague.  a garden overgrown in excess and neglect.  a junglebrain teeming with poison and gorgeousness.  a mountain you climb to find the gurucave empty.  seeds on the ground read like bones but left to the sun to suck and burn away.
the second was air.  a wind the blows down your throat displaces the breath in your cells with its own invisibility you cant see yourself for whats gone, blown away by the breeze smelling of cigarettes sweat and gear oil i remember the landscaper came to the office smelling of you and behind my desk i wept.  scathing, excoriating, black sand tornado leaving on the arid bed a beautiful outline of who id once been, a stark sketch, dust and ash in the eye.  driving the empty space deeper into me until theres nothing but the sound of a foreign engine and howling.
the third was fire.  a small wooden boat on a lake of fire im bailing blood and dreams back into the burning my body doesnt feel a thing.  fantastic spiral dance of biting gyrations a circle of fire a cornfield ablaze with pain and celebration, gunfire salute.  the bullets come down a little later leaving hissing holes in the boat the smell of woodsmoke the sound of something being dragged behind.  
its all been ravenous and unpredictable, intrinsic, essential.
the fourth is water.  learn to not struggle.  let go let it go breathe.  and the churn will cease to pull with ropes of foam youll find yourself buoyed up, the sun on your face, the reflection of stars in the pools of your hands.   remember, you are mostly water.  fill your body with light and dive down to whats been driven neath the waves, unwind her from the ropes, let her rise.
for water will feed the seed in the ground.  water will fill the dry bed with music.  water will bring the boat home. 

for Suzie, if shes out there.

from wag, bark, love.

 song of the day, for the kid at my old liquor store:

ten for today:

1.    waking up with toots and abba in my head
2.    the music of carla bruni, of all things
3.    unexpected breakfast rendezvous
4.    followed by a wander in my favorite place
5.    feeling the way i do, more settled, more true
6.    i get to go
7.    the blinkythingy just started working, as did the ice machine
8.    the moon this morning, a magickal, miraculous rosygolden form in the morning air
9.    music
10.  love, despite it all.

happy birthday, brother vincent
"But I always think that the best way to know God is to love many things."

todays random wordticket poem:
sparks float
pools, falls
ready to fly

this ones for Beloved

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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."

"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)