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

24 March 2010

how i feel today.

Won't say I love you, babe,
won't say I need you, babe,
but I'm gonna get you babe
and I will not do you wrong.
Living's mostly wasting time
and I'll waste my share of mine
but it never feels to good,
so let's don't take to long.
You're soft as glass
and I'm a gentle man;
we got the sky to talk about
and the earth to lie upon.
Days, up and down they come
like rain on a congadrum
forget most, remember some
but don't turn none away.
Everything is not enough
and nothin' is to much to bear.
Where you been is good and gone
all you keep is the getting there.
To live is to fly
Low and high,
so shake the dust off of your wings
and the sleep out of your eyes.
Goodbye to all my friends
it's time to go again
think of all the poetry
and the pickin' down the line
I'll miss the system here
the bottom's low
and the treble's clear
But it don't pay to think to much
on things you leave behind.
I will be gone
but it won't be long
I will be a'bringin' back the melodies
and rhythm that I find.
We all got holes to fill
them holes are all that's real.
Some fall on you like a storm,
sometimes you dig your own.
The choice is yours to make,
time is yours to take;
some dive into the sea,
some toil upon the stone.
To live is to fly
Low and high,
so shake the dust off of your wings
and the sleep out of your eyes;
shake the dust off of your wings
and the tears out of your eyes.

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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)