"… it’s Ok for our hearts to be broken over the world. What else is a heart for? There’s a great intelligence there. We’ve been treating the earth as if it were a supply house and a sewer. We’ve been grabbing, extracting resources from it for our cars and our hair dryers and our bombs, and we’ve been pouring the waste into it until it’s overflowing, but our earth is not a supply house and a sewer. It is our larger body. We breathe it. We taste it. We are it, and it is time now that we venerate that incredible flowering of life that takes every aspect of our physicality."
Must … not … let … this … go!
I haven’t been working on learning the fretboard for months. Probably gone backward as a result.
*as my imagination strengthens, that I do not live in this world alone but in a thousand worlds. *(John Keats)
Work?
I don’t have to work.
I don’t have to do nothing
but eat, drink, stay black, and die.
This little old furnished room’s
Was She chanting for Bread? Was He shouting “Liberty”? Was It demanding Social Justice?
The majority might pretend to own moral values, but if it closes its eyes to hunger, dictatorship, and injustice, those values are not mine. The yes-men of the state might try to stand between us and God, but my God does not rub shoulders with dictators and their enablers. I worship the God of Bread, Liberty, and Social Justice.
Yet beauty’s visitation affects us and invites us into its rhythm, it calls us to feel think and act beautifully in the world: to create and live a life that awakens the Beautiful. A life without delight is only half a life. Lest this be construed as a plea for decadence or a self-indulgence that is blind to the horrors of the world, we should remember that beauty does not restrict its visitations only to those whom fortune or circumstances favour. Indeed, it is often the whispers and glimpses of beauty which enable people to endure on desperate frontiers.
For the last 5 years or so, I’ve been mixing coconut oil and butter in my coffee. And, I love it.
We, too, cry falling to the edge of
the earth. But we don’t store our voices
in old jars. Nor hang mountain goats
Cafe: Alleycat (closed)
Grub: Dark coffee of the day, black, served with sticky bun
This is the last day in a month you will never see again in your lifetime.
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