091219 12:01
. . . a few words of dedication to a narrow focus specific to those in need
Explicit this season, the brevity of light, ‘half night’ plus the soon to come Winter Solstice
Too well remembered the past 68 Christmas nights when I longed never to awaken; all hope forlorn, bereft, desolate . . .
This may be the first and last Christmas of my life and its nearness to that shortest of days no longer terrifying since I now “play it as it lays . . . or as is dealt” my ordinary daily life; not in fear but with confidence that should I not see another night dawn vanquished all is well.
I can tell nor teach you anything that is not currently a truth in your heart of hearts, wherever your soul resides. The gifts of life, short or long, ignoble or royal, are what they are. The only caveat being you will, sooner-or-latter, know it and yourselves blest as I.
Love pours upon you in day and the twinkle of starry nights, throughout all your life. I beg you to receive it and know that you are your own bank account . . . so tremendous that to hold it would be to be suffocated in never being able to receive more, and more; endlessly.
& of this I am confident/convicted that of all life is well & more so day-by-day
Amen.
happy new day dawning 365 24/7
all darkest night, soul/sole experienced, end
& amen & amen 7 x 70 x 7 octillions refined/forgiven
& of course for our family in the Southern Hemisphere the antipode applies:)
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Felice Navidad
091219 07:22
I awoke with a different sense of this time and this day and our future together. An expectation of myself given as gift regardless of those received. Unconditionally spent without reservation; no hesitation.
Looking down at my right hand I am astonished at my profligacy gifting myself with a Turquoise ring of remarkable size set in silver, not expensive, yet I am dressed in splendor while otherwise disheveled. Ashamed at the prospect of presenting myself to anyone save the White Wing Doves I love.
Annie is accustomed to my slovenly attire loving me nonetheless.
Life is a fleeting thing while love is eternal. . . .From beginnings and endings it knows not.
I am finding my voice independent, the should’s and ought’s of yesterday, or years before, from the beginning till now. Where have they gone; those pains, sorrows and confusions?
For a brief moment in my experience I’d occupied the lime light for too few years sacrificed? No. I had no sense of giving anything but my trifling attention to Randy’s life with greater ferocity than any object/subject in Art.
I had ‘sailed’ through Johanna’s birth, life and death and collapsed, deaf, dumb, mute and blind at the advent of Randy’s demise. . . .Both now present--presents discovered.
Looking back, at now, the future seems brilliant with the light of season/reasons all the gifts given me at all times. Now that I am collaborative with The Author of Life who being Love fills me with love unrecognized before-during-after; no end of time since it began before clocks and will end never.
To know such peace in a time of terror is a gift beyond all treasure. You need not read, nor ask, since I give it freely without request and am detached your neglect of either this author, The Author or Yourselves, all nearly, dearly, seen, equal.
Felice Navidad
You are all blessed by God and this humble friend
. . . if I long for anything now it is merely that you know yourselves blest, never damned, either way --xoj
I awoke with a different sense of this time and this day and our future together. An expectation of myself given as gift regardless of those received. Unconditionally spent without reservation; no hesitation.
Looking down at my right hand I am astonished at my profligacy gifting myself with a Turquoise ring of remarkable size set in silver, not expensive, yet I am dressed in splendor while otherwise disheveled. Ashamed at the prospect of presenting myself to anyone save the White Wing Doves I love.
Annie is accustomed to my slovenly attire loving me nonetheless.
Life is a fleeting thing while love is eternal. . . .From beginnings and endings it knows not.
I am finding my voice independent, the should’s and ought’s of yesterday, or years before, from the beginning till now. Where have they gone; those pains, sorrows and confusions?
For a brief moment in my experience I’d occupied the lime light for too few years sacrificed? No. I had no sense of giving anything but my trifling attention to Randy’s life with greater ferocity than any object/subject in Art.
I had ‘sailed’ through Johanna’s birth, life and death and collapsed, deaf, dumb, mute and blind at the advent of Randy’s demise. . . .Both now present--presents discovered.
Looking back, at now, the future seems brilliant with the light of season/reasons all the gifts given me at all times. Now that I am collaborative with The Author of Life who being Love fills me with love unrecognized before-during-after; no end of time since it began before clocks and will end never.
To know such peace in a time of terror is a gift beyond all treasure. You need not read, nor ask, since I give it freely without request and am detached your neglect of either this author, The Author or Yourselves, all nearly, dearly, seen, equal.
Felice Navidad
You are all blessed by God and this humble friend
. . . if I long for anything now it is merely that you know yourselves blest, never damned, either way --xoj
. . . .Random, rouge, Christmas Thoughts . . .
091218 08:16
--Walter Lippmann : American journalist (1889-1974)
"A free press is not a privilege but an organic necessity in a great society"
. . . .well, actually a prayer for freedom from ignorance and superstition . . .
It is the season of giving, of love generosity, hope for the future and I have favorite charities too. Foremost, topmost, amongst them is faith in the Internet to educate all man-person-woman-kind generously. Though I doubt that my family will read this, as written or intended. I am able to fully communicate my dedication of myself to them &/or my meager resources for them. I will give such as I can to Wikipedia & sister projects:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Main_Page
Additionally to:
INFORMATION CLEARING HOUSE. NEWS, COMMENTARY & INSIGHT
One person's effort to correct the distorted perceptions provided by commercial US media. ... Yeswecanistan; By William Blum; Why should anyone be surprised at Obama's foreign policy in the White House? He has not even banned torture, contrary to what...
234k - 33 sec @ 56k
www.informationclearinghouse.info/
. . . though I doubt God is ‘political’, I am. And am willing to go where ‘angels fear to tread . . . ‘
I am a journalist, through-and-through, and bored with standing covert in the closet silent, mute but never blind; fearful and muzzled the offence to anyone’s religion, philosophy or teleology. Of/for this truth am I willing to die, God forgive me, as Jesus did, for you; all of YOU.
My fleeting moments of doubt, nascent fear, flee in ever growing conviction we are too near the end of everything to hide my passion that if we collectively die, we do so courageously
. . . never forget we are All Precious To God. --xoj
--Walter Lippmann : American journalist (1889-1974)
"A free press is not a privilege but an organic necessity in a great society"
. . . .well, actually a prayer for freedom from ignorance and superstition . . .
It is the season of giving, of love generosity, hope for the future and I have favorite charities too. Foremost, topmost, amongst them is faith in the Internet to educate all man-person-woman-kind generously. Though I doubt that my family will read this, as written or intended. I am able to fully communicate my dedication of myself to them &/or my meager resources for them. I will give such as I can to Wikipedia & sister projects:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Main_Page
Additionally to:
INFORMATION CLEARING HOUSE. NEWS, COMMENTARY & INSIGHT
One person's effort to correct the distorted perceptions provided by commercial US media. ... Yeswecanistan; By William Blum; Why should anyone be surprised at Obama's foreign policy in the White House? He has not even banned torture, contrary to what...
234k - 33 sec @ 56k
www.informationclearinghouse.info/
. . . though I doubt God is ‘political’, I am. And am willing to go where ‘angels fear to tread . . . ‘
I am a journalist, through-and-through, and bored with standing covert in the closet silent, mute but never blind; fearful and muzzled the offence to anyone’s religion, philosophy or teleology. Of/for this truth am I willing to die, God forgive me, as Jesus did, for you; all of YOU.
My fleeting moments of doubt, nascent fear, flee in ever growing conviction we are too near the end of everything to hide my passion that if we collectively die, we do so courageously
. . . never forget we are All Precious To God. --xoj
. . . reborn daily in . . . .
091218 07:33
I am reborn daily in Jesus. Not to be Him but myself. Eclectic in matters spiritual and religious aware God’s gift of self that we live at all, much less love our lives and all life surrounding us. It is my theology that we are all unique and precious different as snow flakes, none, no one like another yet in love do we live and make possible life for others. Our children, of course, yet it is equally blest to adopt and be parent to those whose lives otherwise would be ignored.
None is ‘in charge’ since the I/Thou is always with us silently awaiting the moment of our conversion from hatred, feigned indifference to love and immersion into the flowing, sometimes raging, other times gently flowing, river into eternity . . . We the chalice and the wine, pure water, known nowhere else within our sight. Our knowing is always outward moving beyond our grasp yet within is the eternal and infinite Other who asks only that we be ourselves transparently sincerely and fluidly bubbling around the boulders obstructing our passage self correcting; self healing given the ‘doctor’ of Creation apparent internal eternal outward always Other.
All else is adornment, costume jewelry, worn to cover our naked terror of poverty, meaningless lives otherwise dedicated to everything rather than Truth.
We, the girl and I, made love eventually. Our ‘affair’ abandoned for whatever, yet our love lives in me, not merely the fleeting ecstasy of sex but the ever constant embrace of mutually adored life as art.
In love everything is possible
In death everything ends
or does it?
. . . we, are each others, keeper responsible for all life
can we not lay aside the dagger pointed at from to each other’s eyes
random? This date, this time discovery:
--P. Hill
“Knowledge is Freedom: hide it, and it withers; share it, and it blooms”
--Paul Klee
“Art does not reproduce the visible; rather, it makes visible.”
I am reborn daily in Jesus. Not to be Him but myself. Eclectic in matters spiritual and religious aware God’s gift of self that we live at all, much less love our lives and all life surrounding us. It is my theology that we are all unique and precious different as snow flakes, none, no one like another yet in love do we live and make possible life for others. Our children, of course, yet it is equally blest to adopt and be parent to those whose lives otherwise would be ignored.
None is ‘in charge’ since the I/Thou is always with us silently awaiting the moment of our conversion from hatred, feigned indifference to love and immersion into the flowing, sometimes raging, other times gently flowing, river into eternity . . . We the chalice and the wine, pure water, known nowhere else within our sight. Our knowing is always outward moving beyond our grasp yet within is the eternal and infinite Other who asks only that we be ourselves transparently sincerely and fluidly bubbling around the boulders obstructing our passage self correcting; self healing given the ‘doctor’ of Creation apparent internal eternal outward always Other.
All else is adornment, costume jewelry, worn to cover our naked terror of poverty, meaningless lives otherwise dedicated to everything rather than Truth.
We, the girl and I, made love eventually. Our ‘affair’ abandoned for whatever, yet our love lives in me, not merely the fleeting ecstasy of sex but the ever constant embrace of mutually adored life as art.
In love everything is possible
In death everything ends
or does it?
. . . we, are each others, keeper responsible for all life
can we not lay aside the dagger pointed at from to each other’s eyes
random? This date, this time discovery:
--P. Hill
“Knowledge is Freedom: hide it, and it withers; share it, and it blooms”
--Paul Klee
“Art does not reproduce the visible; rather, it makes visible.”
. . . person-hood
091218 06:53
This date and a bit before this hour, I awoke conscious of a woman who loved me when I loved myself not. And I loved myself less while in training to defend our nation, this blest place. To me did she send a box filled with post cards from all the cultures of person-hood and then I did not understand the height width breadth of her consciousness the glory of all Art. I would upon barrack cot sit paging though them one-by-one with slowly dawning realization that the greatest Art is life itself.
I’ve left behind the box in one of many leave takings, dysfunctional relationships abandoned and trashed, as I’d been from beginning until now, the birthday of my father who watched in silence my training to be who and what I am this moment. The first and last day in infinity the eternal NOW. It is no mean trick to forgive such silence, yet now I do love him more than at any other time of our lives together or apart. Courage does not always wear a uniform of dedication, badge, rank or intention clear.
Yet the same applies to the mother who with fist, bludgeoning spoken rage screamed my stupidity and failure to be what she so confidently presumed would save me in the maelstrom of our time from Depression she had survived as my father did. Then War with the World embroiled--yet I loved them then, I love them still, with passion I adore their tutelage more now nearly equally to that of our mutual Creator whose love is both terrible and gentle as a Dove’s under feathers floating in a still pond riffled with gentle sighs.
. . . if we sow death we must accept that death will sew us into itself. To weave love is to give generously of self to others that they live as the child whose birth we celebrate soon. Who died for us that we live free of fear. He died, executed for inconvenience to the time in which He walked this earth, a criminal amongst criminals, rebellious; a terrorist. His sacrifice being sacrificed . . . crucified slow humiliating suffocation blessedly brief in his case was the final sacrifice? Yet knowing this he was born, lived, walked amongst us and visible in the poor remains awaiting to be resurrected in each and all persons . . .
This date and a bit before this hour, I awoke conscious of a woman who loved me when I loved myself not. And I loved myself less while in training to defend our nation, this blest place. To me did she send a box filled with post cards from all the cultures of person-hood and then I did not understand the height width breadth of her consciousness the glory of all Art. I would upon barrack cot sit paging though them one-by-one with slowly dawning realization that the greatest Art is life itself.
I’ve left behind the box in one of many leave takings, dysfunctional relationships abandoned and trashed, as I’d been from beginning until now, the birthday of my father who watched in silence my training to be who and what I am this moment. The first and last day in infinity the eternal NOW. It is no mean trick to forgive such silence, yet now I do love him more than at any other time of our lives together or apart. Courage does not always wear a uniform of dedication, badge, rank or intention clear.
Yet the same applies to the mother who with fist, bludgeoning spoken rage screamed my stupidity and failure to be what she so confidently presumed would save me in the maelstrom of our time from Depression she had survived as my father did. Then War with the World embroiled--yet I loved them then, I love them still, with passion I adore their tutelage more now nearly equally to that of our mutual Creator whose love is both terrible and gentle as a Dove’s under feathers floating in a still pond riffled with gentle sighs.
. . . if we sow death we must accept that death will sew us into itself. To weave love is to give generously of self to others that they live as the child whose birth we celebrate soon. Who died for us that we live free of fear. He died, executed for inconvenience to the time in which He walked this earth, a criminal amongst criminals, rebellious; a terrorist. His sacrifice being sacrificed . . . crucified slow humiliating suffocation blessedly brief in his case was the final sacrifice? Yet knowing this he was born, lived, walked amongst us and visible in the poor remains awaiting to be resurrected in each and all persons . . .
Universal conspiracy with Love
091218 05:58
Life ultimately is being drawn into a Universal conspiracy with Love
the covert Love affair between all Life and God the Creator of it, no matter brief or long, God is amazed at our Love for our Parent who is . . . well draw near and I’ll tell you upon my exit this blaze of love into the Starry, starry heavens above.
This old man drawing closer, is gifted with the simple gestures of kindness, unspeakable before. Knit into a tapestry of glory invisible yet clearly apparent in all things and all moments adored growing ever younger awaiting the moment in eternity upon our pretty blue marble created for us. Sweet simplicity welded from agony and bliss the eternal Now. Loom of love stirring the stillest night a gentle gesture of a private breeze affirmed the prayer of Thanksgiving, anticipated Holy Nativity then sacrifice that we live at all in All Love apparent.
In a child’s heart the seasons cycle swiftly perhaps only in this infant we await reborn annually who never left us. To Whom do I address my passion for such love. Love itself being God and all of humanity equally drawn and born in Love.
Be strong of Self for you were uniquely created of God to be within the magnificent cycles, the food chain of love, by God we are magnified amplified in all our moments of slumber and wakefulness. No gesture of kindness goes unnoticed, or remarked, upon the accountancy awaiting our end; this brief tenancy souls clothed in bodies now yet to be seen the before and after of everything. And we are so informed by our enemies as well as our friends. What you love is God manifest in that which you are conscious of and equally in the enemy you kill your self.
In no small measure is this the extent of our treasure, we have, and are had, by God from beginning to end. Mysterious until found within and surrounded by predator/prey/prayer.
Life ultimately is being drawn into a Universal conspiracy with Love
the covert Love affair between all Life and God the Creator of it, no matter brief or long, God is amazed at our Love for our Parent who is . . . well draw near and I’ll tell you upon my exit this blaze of love into the Starry, starry heavens above.
This old man drawing closer, is gifted with the simple gestures of kindness, unspeakable before. Knit into a tapestry of glory invisible yet clearly apparent in all things and all moments adored growing ever younger awaiting the moment in eternity upon our pretty blue marble created for us. Sweet simplicity welded from agony and bliss the eternal Now. Loom of love stirring the stillest night a gentle gesture of a private breeze affirmed the prayer of Thanksgiving, anticipated Holy Nativity then sacrifice that we live at all in All Love apparent.
In a child’s heart the seasons cycle swiftly perhaps only in this infant we await reborn annually who never left us. To Whom do I address my passion for such love. Love itself being God and all of humanity equally drawn and born in Love.
Be strong of Self for you were uniquely created of God to be within the magnificent cycles, the food chain of love, by God we are magnified amplified in all our moments of slumber and wakefulness. No gesture of kindness goes unnoticed, or remarked, upon the accountancy awaiting our end; this brief tenancy souls clothed in bodies now yet to be seen the before and after of everything. And we are so informed by our enemies as well as our friends. What you love is God manifest in that which you are conscious of and equally in the enemy you kill your self.
In no small measure is this the extent of our treasure, we have, and are had, by God from beginning to end. Mysterious until found within and surrounded by predator/prey/prayer.
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