Saturday, March 12, 2011

my spare hands

On the mouth.  That's where I pass my, and take my feelings.  My migrating feelings, around the spheres of emotion then right back on the mouth.  There are little birds that are so alive and so young, feeding in a frenzy, feeding on the morning, and I am with them on the branch of the massive yew, chirping upside down in the fragrance.  I hold the branch with my earthen claws rippled with life, clutching, loving, ever fragile and sharp.  It is here I soak in the seeds of myself, taking them in, in a digestion of self.  And this choice is taken with many thanks to God that I am here, alive, as divine as the tree I thrive on.  Invisible noise passes in the hollows of the yew, sturdy and fresh.  Noise that I know.  They are from a life so much greater than mine, elsewhere, and in this formidable rush we call wind, it simplifies its mystery by repetition blowing and blowing past my little black eyes.

E. Kelly's Spiritual Journey on You have the philosopher's stone:

"The main goal is to make yourself what the Hindus call "one pointed."  Kirkegaard explained it as the purity of heart "to will one thing".  Simply put, the key is this: The subconscious mind remembers.  The conscious mind reasons.  The superconscious mind realizes.  If, at these three levels, you think of God, remember God, reason that God is everywhere, and realize that this is God's world - if you can hold this thought day after day, and do very well what you have to do, I promise your lives will be transformed."

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