“Carazy Brave.”
Come hell or high water; I’m jumping in. May not know how deep the water is or whether it’s hot or cold. I’ll just figure it out once I’m there.
If someone’s been there, it takes no more than being human, and I ain’t no less.
If I end up where I don’t want, the shoreline is in sight. Being carazy enough to jump in – I can be carazy enough to jump out.
Just let the spectators cheer or jeer. It’s what they do best.
The first writing is prompted by unfinished conversations I’ve had with people who talk about the injustices of being removed from ancestral lands by force and talks of reparations from both victim and guilt-laden ancestors/ oppressors (and how the media parlays this into grievance-based tribalism for profit) By the way, this is what happened to my Acadian ancestors by the British in the 1750s in what is present-day Nova Scotia. If one is to back far enough (in America)- we are all living on land that was once taken away from its original inhabitants. And if someone isn’t willing to hand back the land they own in the present day to the original indigenous inhabitants, then…
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I don’t care about reparations from the Britts – who are now me/ American.
Nor will an apology matter.
No anger for the past.
Ain’t giving no space to hold it.
Just ain’t gonna happen.
Today is far more important
to be on my way. My way.
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I’m beginning to believe what people have often said about me, that I think differently than most.
Hey! I am just an ordinary guy with an ordinary brain and quite human.
But now, I am beginning to wonder. Yeah! that’s it;
I wonder, or maybe it wanders – more than most.
I guess, anyway.
Now to the next
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Yeah, the next?
Not to be stuck or get stuck – It requires a willingness to let go.
But let go of what?
Well, ask – does it give life, or does it suck the life out of you?
Simple as that!
What does Love ask?
To know its presence in the darkness, as a light burning in one’s heart, more lovely than the dawn. The fruitlessness of a search out there, with its thousand graces, does not my heart heal. Empty and broken, within resounding solitude, Listen for its whisper, and taste. Finding its flame alive, wounding the inner heart, without oppression. Bubbling, flowing, eternal, knowing nothing else, but to drink. Praise the adventure, in being lost from all sight, heaven’s glory attained. Giving voice, day to day, hour to hour, gently away. A union not enfleshed but unsaid, unwritten, embraced, and beloved, as a child. Come, pass through me, as I lay longing to sleep, and be washed again.
A walk across stone, seven strings, two hands. Into a trance long ago. Words no more than sound. Melody beyond understanding.
Ah! the songbirds join, transcending the ages. Only to long for that which cannot be held.
Tiptoe, tiptoe, even lighter. Call me home from across the waters.
Is Your Worldview Half-Empty, Half-Full, or Do You See the Whole Glass? The Ying to my yang, the paradox to my illusions. No matter, Unus Mundus
BelleVue
East from Grand Coteau A gift upon Prairie Basse Sunrise to Sunset
EVERMORE
Conceived from mystery by love, through Love. First to crawl, then climb: clutching, clawing, and crying. Reaching the summit, resting awhile, I begin my descent. Others continue on, more and more. Finally, mystery returns stripping away all that remains. No choice, no more, like it or not; for evermore. Listen, ...can you hear its knock?
“I do not surrender life or death but in much that lies between.”
A friend comes easy But a sacred friend, not so They come without words
I seem instantly present to whatever does not go my way, with frustration overriding the present moment. Especially unmet expectations from friends and family. By stopping at this moment to consider, I realize an imbalance between these personal frustrations and the present moment of goodness in my current state of life. Why am I less present to gratitude than frustrations, which are more than likely sourced in my illusions of need? If those unmet expectations were actually met, as I imagine them, I suspect my life would be far less pleasant than it is today. Yes! My life is good, just like it is. Damn good.
What do people mean when they speak of the heart or when I think about my heart? I suppose for some, it’s romantic feelings, but I sense that one’s heart is far deeper than feelings. The heart of who I am pointing to my desire and self-will. It is that often unconscious source-in-me that triggers me to do one thing over another, to hold on or to let go. It is mostly free but not absolute. It threads my essence through to my actions and that which is judged by others from the outside of my being. If I am to understand why I do or don’t do certain things – is to examine my will and desires. It is my form of self-seeking who I am at my core and my truest self. And if I am most honest, I will see light and shadow and still love what I see.
…that crunch of emotions, sometimes felt but most often suppressed. How do I release its fury, its sweetness? It is a gift to be sensed and shared – not consumed alone. That is why the heart beats – without it, I do not live, and neither do others. For I do not survive alone but in the community. So, open – those closed doors and let it feel the fresh air of creation and listen to the sweet melodies of the songbirds and be amazed.
Note from the communion of souls
What shines out from you are what I call the 3 little c’s
Like most cajuns, you have that playful joie de vivre, that joy of life.
Then it’s that contemplative quiet of your soul and spirit.
Lastly, I say catholic but in the holiest and universal sense of the word. You do not set yourself apart but rather in accordance with the whole of creation.
I appreciate the sacred friendship we share.
Bien Merci’ Mon Amis.
And with your first fruits, feed the poor. The most important of these gifts I call your first fruits. It is the gift of being itself, the first gift the creature receives.
It is true, of course, that all attributes of your self-existence are so intimately bound to your being as to be actually inseparable from it. Yet, in a sense, they would have no reality if you did not first exist.
And therefore, your existence deserves to be called the first of your gifts because it really is. Your “being” alone shall be called your first fruits: excerpt from the Book of Privy Counseling:
