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

18 March 2010




"My school," he said, "is everywhere and always in session."

time with you is like a prayer.  sometimes heads bowed eyes closed we hold hands we travel together alone to wherever it began i dont know.  the world is prayer manifested by Love through Time.  everything takes on the weight of significance.  liberated from solitary confinement by some miraculous invisible intercessor, i am saturated with the world.  again, like having been given back my skin.  the air itself no longer burns, my soul holed up in some hollow bone.  here, heres the little bird in your cool palm the bright eyes and broken wing whats left from a million leavetakings from my truth that led me back to you.



"You'll know her more by your questions than by her answers."

walked out back in the warm morning the gravel coast along springs snowmelt footpath three inches of water and a scrim of ice.  getting ready for seed in the ground getting ready to have survived another winter.  and how different my world is with you in it the space about me howling without you we wonder at the life we spent away and i offer up thanksgiving that i was given this second chance at all.  that all my pain and errors have come to this perfect union.  that its all been a honing, a tempering to bear the Beautiful Truth.  and after great feeling digs deep into the dirt of our hearts and sows seeds incorruptible and sweet there will be a relaxing of passions.  there will be an ease as we watch what from the Garden grows.  and our love will be a quiet one, the prayer of breath, the sacrament of touch, a gentle tending to promote growth and keep away the bitter strangling weeds.  for now though its a surge a slow soft crash into one another inertial and all i crave.  craven, wanton, as this season before us.  wet regions calling us to fall into its elements, baptized into its wisdom, muddy and laughing.



"You can't be up to your eyeballs in bones and not believe in enchanted places."

i watch you, amazed.  how Everything is so easily contained in one form, a man at work, in his car, at the shops, on the lawn.  only me, youll say, and i will say Only.  only the poem of morning song of night and in between the call of some unseen bird in a tree singing you back to me always back to me please now and forever after back to me for you have left me bereft of my lie that none of it matters you have denied me my self-loathing you have stripped me bare of my hairshirt and i feel wholly reborn.  but now a babe in your arms i would surely fail without you, a thought ive never entertained before.  and the price paid for true life, like so much blood, or the blinding veil.


"What she saw, she felt.  Her eyes went straight to her heart."

like spring, where what was always there is revealed with warmth and resurgence.  under the deadfall of snow the grass (perennial as love) the garden, and death makes way for everything that desires to be born.  the stillness and waiting for now is over.  now the work for which weve waited.  may we be blessed with Time and Love with which to do it.  in the second skin of you i am more myself and offer with a full and open heart all my energy has to offer to keep you close to me, and well.


for the Beloved, for everything.



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"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)