This life is our first draft and only one. How many great evenings will be included with shouts of joy at completion of its most difficult impromptu challenges?
Tag Archives: Life
The Lost Ages
Between hope and sorrow found in spirituals played in minor keys dwells a note releasing the captives into a sweet place of freedom. The doe keeps her head down eating the sweet and desired delicacies from neighborhood flower beds while the owners sleep the sleep of the dead. A return to correct ways of living postponed by a prodigal display of fragile members demanding an accounting of the lost ages lives only in the dreams of beggars.
Living Continues…
most chanting stops when bombs fall on the roof incarnatio continua each fall the prairie medley of goldenrod and purple aster dazzles me incarnatio continua it is impossible not to notice the almost imperceptible debasement of falling mortals incarnatio continua gusts of wind carry falling leaves higher than treetops incarnatio continua how many times has the youngest daughter fallen to rise with bleeding knees incarnatio continua
To Do
take a breath and write a list where nobody is at risk be thankful for not all are ready for change wait until disappointment sheds itself of unused furniture create dissonance so comfort gives way to safety
And Alive
It is possible to be ordinary and alive. Indeed, that is my wish. "May you be ordinary. And alive."
Chicago, May 2021
I stare at a picture of the great metalled Ferris wheel from the 1893 Chicago World's Fair and lose myself in the number of people who went for a spin so long ago. Fifty years later, Picasso, stares into the cave of Lascaux and, upon seeing the dancing animals painted on the walls, declares, They've invented everything. And what about all the children that died before the age of five or the mothers that died in childbirth before the miracles of modern medicine? Is there nothing so distinctly sweet, so sweet, as real bananas picked from the Peruvian rainforest an hour before breakfast? There I stand in a picture from seven years ago with my arms around a daughter who no longer exists. That she lives in my memory, yes. And in some form of a heavenly afterlife, perhaps. Sometimes I pause, shake my hands and arms in the air, convulsively, and grin from ear to ear. I am mindful of the number of times I have returned from wherever I have gone. Many have not.
Ruins
Even these degraded ruins proclaim the beauty of what once stood here.
meditation overheard
captured in this enfleshed entanglement negotiating pathways in search of clear air receiving mystery from beyond what is known into the open space that surrounds deep heart warmly beating again and again and again passing through the body in all directions giving fully to be with loved ones before and yet to come in the spaces that always dwell in the around of more than just one
daily checklist
thoughts finished forms formatted fragilities ordered covers complete grace issued relations renewed traffic unjammed lost sheep found whys asked resignation submitted acceptance accepted change comforted and wonder desired
Imposter Syndrome
Imposter Syndrome lashes out at the inadequacy of being made in the image of the chosen g*d, requiring a daunting strength to reject any repentance of an inferiority complex and a refusal to remember the memory given in the very first days that to complete yourself is deadly.
A Thread You Follow 