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

Thursday, November 22, 2018

Thanks giving

“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”
                                                             Marcel Proust

I can be thankful for many things

Sometimes I forget this

I might wake up thinking of the corporate takeover of America
Of children caged,
And elderly neglected
And immigrants feared and rejected

I might think of people, homeless and hungry
Of families grieving

I might think of domestic terrorists and mass shooting
I might think of oligarchies,
And bullies in high places
Of rampant greed
Of hate and fear
Of lies and cruelties abounding

I might wake up remembering that right now, physically,
Everything hurts, and what doesn’t hurt doesn’t work

I can go negative in half a breath

But if I slowly take the rest of that breath
And look around

I see my home, which I love
I can look out the window and see Mt Joseph glowing in the morning sun
I can watch the sun rise over the Seven Devils
And see the clouds catch fire

I can hear the horses greet me as I go out of feed them
And I can get horse kisses for free
I can take a walk with happy dog
And trip over cats, insistent

And I can think of the people I love, and who love me

People near at hand, who this day will break bread
And gnaw turkey
And play cards at my table
And remember people far away, like my song and daughter and their families

Who are still a part of this moment

And people no longer here, my mother and father
So long gone
And yet, still lingering in my soul

I can think of all those people who been gardeners of my soul
And have made it, for all the weeds and barren places


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