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

19 April 2010


"When April with his showers sweet with fruit
The drought of March has pierced unto the root
And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
Into the Ram one half his course has run,
And many little birds make melody
That sleep through all the night with open eye
(So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)
Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
To distant shrines well known in sundry lands."

l


"We shouldn't think that the self is something that is originally there and then eliminated in meditation;  in fact, it is something that never existed in the first place."

green and red and a waning moon.  morning in the desert.  what would i say?  she changes everything she touches.   love and time.  earth and sky.   these are things i need to bring into me.  these are the lessons i need to metabolize into wisdom.  wisdom is what i need to know right now.  standing still and letting it settle.  stop poking at it with a stick, pricking it with a pin, picking at its fringe.
home, rice with butter in salt from a bowl fashioned by a lord of the faerie himself.  gray on the way, bright blue back past acres of farm and country.  right lane radio rumble strip bags flapping petrochemical apocalyptic warnings back!  ill choke your axle and frighten the children, under the teacozy at the thruway station i fancy myself a low-rent out of season snowboarder but come off meth somehow and dont even notice it (how is that possible?) and you told me in the truck and you know, it dont confront me no mo.   its all good.  i  give blood and am on the list for marrow donors.  i was Forgiven at a farmstand by a man the next town over.

"He stumbled out into the street, and because he was terrified that that shock might have ruined his voice, he began singing."


"How he submitted --.  Loved.
Loved his interior world,
his interior wilderness,
that primal forest inside him,
where among decayed tree trunks
his heart stood, light green..."

luminous crown, ocean opal heart, hungry nestling, serenity and the fire of peacebelly.
beautiful night.  bright rind of moon and emergence, so much light
backstoop hotmilk nightcap with dogs and stars.


"Keeping yourself in a tight, narrow, little box, trying to live safe from hurt, pain, illness and loss is the coward's way out and a living death."

franti said if you want to scare away the vampires you need to lead them into the light.  the card warned of hungry darkness and to combat malignancy one should Be the Light.  light there came with the Lady.  green oak black raven red rose the peace of the white moon upon her her energy soft as starlight. 
the woman who came for the recycling found my amber earrings in the gravel drive.  i helped her load the husks of cargo recently imported from where i have recently been.  we all have had these lives full of stories.  will i ever learn to listen?  from the Grail flows the Now, microscopic pearls liquified into light spilling beginnings. 


"You are going to die;  and when you do, you will take nothing with you but your state of mind."

Say Yes plays.   its a beautiful day in april.  fire opal and aventurine, the root of creative change and the open gamble of my heart.  resting rather easy in limbo, external manifestation of internal reality, the poles harmonized to the stasis before a turn in the tide.  
after black coffee and Mr. Lucky i go out and consider the garden briefly. 
first turning tonight, its been left too long.  too late for peas but too early for tomatoes, so theres time for me to tend and get some lettuce in the ground.  i go out in the afternoon to breathe and the world smells like mown grass and hope.


ten for today:

1.  Little Wing, as played by Stevie Ray
2.  the Parting Gift
3.  Spring in the Valley
4.  Cowboy
5.  Uncle Jamie
6.  Ani Pema
7.  Steve Earle (cf. Loretta)
8.  scrambled eggs
9.  My Boys
10.  The Lady


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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)