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

06 April 2010

"The moment we indulge our affections, the earth is metamorphosed:  there is no winter and no night:  all tragedies, all ennuis vanish, -- all duties even;  nothing fills the proceeding eternity but the forms all radiant of beloved persons.  Let the soul be assured that somewhere in the universe it should rejoin its friend, and it would be content and cheerful alone for a thousand years."

 ("as god is my witness, not technically")

"Don't ever cuss that fiddle, boy
Unless you want that fiddle out of tune
That picker there in trouble, boy
Ain't nothin' but another side of you
If we ever get to heaven, boys
It ain't because we ain't done nothin' wrong
We're in this gig together
So let's settle down and steal each other's songs."

how to explain this?  the paintings never came out of the closet.  the rocking chair.  the rocking chair was an airhorn and the monkey stuck her fingers in her ears.  one month.  the condensed version. 
home again home again, jiggety jig.

for me.

a song i first heard a year ago in the parking lot of a liquor store and have been looking for ever since not knowing what the cats name was.  thanks to david dye.   incidentally, this is the same guy that gave us "beer run."

"i dont know but i been told, might meet a little fox in an atheist hole" 

"cause every little thing is gonna be alright." 
"enjoy yourself.  its later than you think."

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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)