His Futile War He and she The space between Push Pull Plunder Pillage Penetrate– Her earth Her womb Her mystery. She will not be contained. She engulfs– like the ocean or quicksand. She envelopes– like a carpet of sky or hot lava. She is volcanic mystery overflowing. He tries to contain the uncontainable.
in this time between seasons as the wheel turns and the days darken, the cold becomes turgid then flaccid and again– disorienting to this body that craves comfort. on a pilgrimage in the forest i am held and feel the soft earth ‘neath my feet. my warm breath is a bouquet of white flowers greeting…
“My music is the spiritual expression of what I am — my faith, my knowledge, my being…When you begin to see the possibilities of music, you desire to do something really good for people, to help humanity free itself from its hangups…I want to speak to their souls.”~John Coltrane As I go through the rather…
My things arrived today in a box from an address and handwriting I didn’t recognize. (funny that) A shirt I didn’t know he had, another shirt that holds fond memories, and the book, “Being Peace”. (and indeed I am) Remembering the good and letting the rest dissolve. Letting go. Wishing goodness. Being peace.
