Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Monday, May 14, 2018


“Way far back in the beginning of the world was the whirlwind warning that we could all be blown away like chips and cry- Men with tired eyes realize it now, and wait to deform and decay- with maybe they have the power of love yet in their hearts just the same, I just don't know what that word means anymore- All I want is an ice cream cone”
                             Jack Kerouac

Slow the rain falls
More mist than shower

Grayness hovers just above the ground
A dour day
Grumpy from the moment it awoke

Gone is the whirlwind of youth
Dangerous and tantalizing
Full of vitality

All that remains is this strange soft stillness
Where one sits
Book in hand
Gazing at words that will not form

And feeling every second of all the years
Waiting for deformity and decay to
Finally shatter my illusion of vitality

As everything hurts
(and what doesn’t hurt doesn’t work)

It is hard, this vague day to stay awake
Physically my eyes would rather close that read

But it is in my soul that the real weariness lives
Seems to be my reality
That strange stuckness that does not destroy
But does not nurture

One does not exactly frown
But neither does on exactly, smile

Not from the level of the soul
There is so little joy springing up from that place
Where joy should live

Somewhere deep inside of my, the truth echoes
“all you need is love”

Not “love”
But Love

That Love that is
That Love that created all of this
And me too

What I need is to feel that Love, accept that Love
Which transforms and renews
Which kills and births

So that I might know love
And knowing
Might give love
And giving might receive love

Might experience the universe in a smile
In the touch of a hand
In an embrace

But all that seems a step, or two, too far
At least today

And so I will stare into the mist
And write a blog few will read
And seek to muster energy in a cup
(just coffee)

And perhaps
Rest these tired eyes

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