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, June 10, 2019


“This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.”
 T.S. Eliot
“My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.”
 L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
“my beerdrunk soul is sadder than all the dead christmas trees of the world.”
 Charles Bukowski
“Life ... is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.”
 William Shakespeare, Macbeth

It hovers over my soul
Bending like a sinister, malevolent being

Whispering dark nothings into my ear
Slowly driving me into the deep shadows

Where hope and love
Dissolved by its malign power

It is my constant companion these days
this despair
that presses down on me

stilling my fingers as the poise over the key board
stiffening my smile

making my brain roil with meaningless noise
leaving me unfocused and barely function

it takes so little
to sadden
and agitate

an unexpected response
a surprising complication

it may not be true
but it feels as though my words wound rather than heal
as if I offend rather than convince
as if my actions fall short rather than accomplish

everything seems to stall, stagger
unravel, complicate, erode

it is two steps forward, three steps back

I hope
I believe
That this condition is not permanent
Or terminal

That someday the clouds will clear
And the sun will shine

I affirm that though “outwardly I am wasting away
Inwardly I am being renewed, day by day”

But on this day
On this dreary day
The light is dim

I need a comforter
(thanks be to God)

“I shall ask the Father to give you someone else to stand by you,
to be with you always.”  John 14:16)

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