|To say, that this, is the perfectly held note.
Can I be so bold, as to explain.
What we came here for.
I feel a sense, a semblance of regard.
I look to know the power behind the dam.
It is here, for this moment, that I know,
And on this day of special significance_
I am smiling on the sure ease, and simple pushing of the keys.
Within each of us is this great heart,
We are one, and one, only with the Lord,
I realize this piece is just that, but it is a gift.
I feel the life_ within_ has caused me to love_
How does this explain, where I come from, my great friend?
Seeking not the reason, not,
It was at this time of year,
Christmas, was and is all of those things you have described,
The contemplation of our ancient ideas
I know that this is not perfect practice of the writer’s thoughts,
I am contented now to hear from the place of the heart.
I am humbled by what I hear.
We are the holy voice of God,
P.S. I must explain. I am just me_ being this wild and crazy guy.
I could be happy and fulfilled, if I just allowed the love within to rise and raise those around me to the likeness and practice of tone and texture. We are great in our love for God, and we remain old soldiers in this march to the living end.
John, Thank you ever, so much, for the beautiful comment back. I always wonder where I am, when I submit. One day, I will know how to be right there in the midst of practice, placement
If I was an instrument playing_ I would be a nice sound, but I have yet to hear, what that instrment it is. I here it sometimes, and I hear me, but I know, I am hearing another, who has found their song, and I am happy. That is why I keep coming back to what_ was so lost for so long. Without life, or love, or God, I am nothing.
This truly has taken me closer to where I need to be. I have been close many times, but now is when I must close the deal.
Nice!!! Merry Christmas.
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|To paraphrase: “I like you because you’re weird.” It’s not the first time I’ve heard that.|||< << >> >||
|Thank you, TR. My comment back? Poor Angelina – I didn’t mean to slice her into bits. Pretty girl with the mind of a 12 year-old. I’m sure there is no guile in her affirmations of secular orthodoxy. Hey, must be I’m catching some Christmas at last.
Your stanzaic comment is beautiful – better than my posting. That’s as it should be. From the first sentence you are invoking music, and then water, light, power. Isn’t music the fifth element?
I could write something completely daffy connecting your reference of “The mass of men… go to their graves with the song still in them” with “Would to God that he-‘d gie us to see ourselves as others see us,” but I won’t go there. The point is, to be humbled must mean knowing the truth, if it is to mean anything. Our opinion of ourselves may be whatever it is – but it’s always wrong. The truth is we are in good voice, and all of us singing beautifully – sometimes together, (though I swear I’ll screw up the harmony every time), no matter what we may think of ourselves. You see, I think what you write is very very good and I’m not often pleased with what I write. So
there it is.
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|Uhhhhhh………….yeah………is THAT what I said, Squabbler? Ooops. I guess I didn’t mean it like THAT…….as long I love ya it’s all good though, right?|||< << >> >||
|Ahoy!, Woo-hoo!, Yo! Yo! Ma!, C-E-L-L-O!, Dude!
From the stanzaic outer lands of a kindred spirit. I am ‘umbled and certainly very well aware of yer own shortcomings. John, You are perfect. Don’t be silly. Everything, you write is golden. What I do is dreck. Not exactly, but I am here. Where else…can one go to be truly themselves…warts and all. I could love to know, that I was writing well, but I would only half…believe it. Okay! I believe I am better by half, than I think. That’s progress.
This is a moment in time, and I will remember it, well. I have crossed the Rubicon, as I came to visit you at the well of the great ‘I Am’. Anyway, the place, where from_ all the great ones drink.
What is great? Great is brave and compassionate. One, who is brave, believes in all things, are the needed memory and task and purpose of the universe. What appears to be missing is only tasked to a different set of eyes. My imaginary speech is mystifying…to me. Back to ground. Here. Now.
I will not abandon my post. I am here and I am happy to read all and every motif and action of every page, you present. I see it all as great and as a member of the peanut gallery… I could not find better fair, anywhere.
I am content to learn and to be here for however much time we have. I feel totally comfortable, and that is something that life has never afforded me. It may sound odd, but I have always been considered odd. It is my wife’s word for how she sees me. Now, for most, that would be a deal breaker, but I saw it is a hopeful sign. Someone brave enough to tell the truth.
I stopped writing almost immeditely after meeting her_ 16 years ago. Gone,…It was all over. What was over_ was nothing, but I thought momentarily,…there was someone, who would like my odd writings. They didn’t play, so I put them away.
A couple of years ago…I came here, and somewhere along the way (Let me guess?) … the wheels started to move again, and now it is all, that I think about. I don’t think about what I will write. Only that I must write, and when I finally have some moments of this satisfaction…I feel… I start to think…I can do that in a way, that is unique and good. I want to be better than that second guessing, doubting, unreasonable, disaster thinking, loser, I conjure up to take me down a peg or two, when I think for a moment…I could do it all. All that I can be, anyway!
I am steady and upbeat_ in a disaster of a world and my close life action sees the world in a much better place, than the rest of the stick action figures doing the news. I see negative attributes,…positively. They do not get me down. I have been working on me my whole life. The good aspects of life are obvious and much less discursive.
I accept the best of what I am. I see others, as doing the best that they can. And on any given Sunday, that may be an amazing display of life force realized, or it could be any day of the week… or just the happenings of an ordinary day. I do not sell my fellow man short. It is the creeping ravages of allowing the disease of doubt and the dastardly deamon of fear to gnaw away at the forces of good. I do a good version of me very well.
It is the side bar of the second banana, that keeps showing up to monkey up the works, that I feel_ I must take to task, but now I have come to a sublime counter-balance, and I can remain at all times totally objective about the moment. I can let it Roll out as it plays, and I will correspond and respond as I need.
Today, at this moment, well, before, at the beginning of all this…when I was only checking by, after having gone to the library, and I wanted, more, to say, that I had gotten your comment, and I just wanted you to know, that I have it on good account, that you may sell yourself short, somtimes.
John, the life you are living is a magnificent concert and the theater of your mind is superb, but best of all the love you have for every aspect of what you do and say and exemplify is more than the perfect contract for God, your father in Heaven. You touch people everyday and in every moment with God’s saving grace and loving arms. Contact.
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|Hi TR, and thanks. I’ve been away for a few days. I can identify with your story of writing somewhat, though I never fully stopped writing. My relationship with booze took priority over writing for many years, and it was progressive – forcing the work of my life aside bit by bit. About a year after first sobriety a friend launched a small poetry group, and I had not even attempted poetry since college. I tried writing a lyrical piece – Lord of the Loved – and it was well received. It would later become part of The Lord God Drops in on Rhubarb Valley, and only five years later I started writing the blog. This is new. I was a comic book writer before my alcoholism took me, – and screenplays. In the midst of my blackout days I was a journalist, a newspaper writer, a hack. I wrote press releases for the GOP. That kinda thing. But this is new – this house full of doors to other worlds and other times. This blog is the inside of my mind as it is right now – those parts of it that occur to me might be entertaining. It helps too that, in a sense, none of it matters. I’m in no danger of taking it seriously because to my way of thinking computers and Internet are low culture, throw-away media. But, between that and my anonymity I am uninhibited. That’s what makes it fun.
But – what makes it more than mere fun stuff, a computer game, is knowing you, TR – and others. That’s why I’m still here, why I haven’t just lost interest after a few postings – because there are people like me here in this weird, ethereal medium. I don’t find that out in the 3-D world. There’s people smarter than me, people I can learn from, and my favorites – like the present company – inspire me and draw out of me thoughts I had no idea were there. And here we are.
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|Noone can explain how we begin and end.
So am I thinking I have a point?
Just beginning to look back.
Can I take it all in?
I just want the feeling of a love, so profound.
I don’t see this as a disregarded transaction.
So I don’t think of myself as a writer,
It is the sound of a delicate and customary wind,
It was the fear of being nothing at all.
Physical ‘self of being’, this man at the keys.
I have made some real friendships, that I adore,
I am bravery of word and deed,
Really, home_ is not a relative term.
Better it, (strong, honest portrayal)_ not be known, than to make things difficult.
Then!__To come here… to be with the thoughts and feelings and friends.
Placement: For so much does it reveal,
Focused decisions through the light of God’s love are attaining practical and practiced pathways and a certain music of life,
I am divining my path by reflection, and the forecast is for fair sailing.
So John, Let’s end_ this one, here. I know – I don’t have to show you a reason, why I have not been here, but it is simply, because of family affairs, and the busy times surrounding the extreme efforts made to make it all happen in the wonderful spirit of the Christmas season. I grew up on the Epiphany and the Nativity and the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ and I have fallen out of practical practice of the stations of the path of Jesus on Earth and what it really means to be a Christian.
I have had a very uneven run of being the best side of the practice of God’s love, but I am finally coming back to where I can regain, what I have known my whole life, and in time the effort to find the me within will reveal an old soul on the path of the
I will reveal from the vagaries of what was lost, a courage that will show my response to self loathing has been reversed, and I will express my greatest and most wonderful attitude, as the only answer I have come to serve. God’s Love is all there is. I will word my love, as my work. I will write from the heart and grow in this world_ to own my life, as worthy.
John, Thank you for every time, you have written back to me. It always grows on my conscience a new feather of confidence. We are not alone.
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|Hi TR. Speaking of writing back, it’s taken me several days to find sufficient time to say more than “Thanks! Blah blah,” and your comments always deserve more than that. Business and family, family and business: both the source of and the solution to almost all of life’s problems, thanks be to God.
I purchased a massive crucifix the other day, much bigger than my old one, and I am learning that size matters when it comes to that sort of thing. Why? I think many people react negatively to the material things which may represent or demonstrate their faith. They say, “Oh, it’s in the heart, or it’s nowhere,” but we don’t live in our hearts; we live in a world full of things, and our faith can’t merely be a wishful thinking sort of affair that we fall back on from time to time. You know the old neighborhood boys who would make the Sign of the Cross whenever they passed the Church? One might say, “Oh, that’s so phoney,” or words to that effect, and it may be or it may not be, God alone being able to see what is in their hearts. But such is hardly the point. Having a practice, something material, something routine, cannot help but to lift the mind Heavenward. A bare cross may help to bring one into the Presence of Christ – or of course no cross or symbol at all – but a bloody big crucifix will more often do the job. The job is cutting through all the layers of the world to get to that nucleus where we can say, “I am here, and Jesus is with me,” that being the center of consciousness around which everything else then begins to order itself. Chaos becomes perfect order at that point. Priorities are revealed where confusion had reigned, and peace prevails – all because we are shocked into it by a bloody big crucifix. These kinds of things can put the mind aright – not all by themselves, of course – but…
I’m going to send before I get timed out & return to this thought hopefully in the morning.
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|A public comment with a cc to john the squabbler. Sounds positively, structurally, un-candid. Can we talk? And I mean, when I can get a minute, or when the time comes_ Can I get a cuppa, a la Rosie.
Where is our girl? She of the Aussie light and shade. There are so many great figures of light on this plain of endless sameness. We, like the transfiguring cross, that you spoke of, represent the real side of the reveal. We go out of our way to represent the path and the purchase of a life worth living.
Symbolic objects of praise and hope. Direction finders_ to which we submit. And I am riffing and trying to find the colloquial
I am coming on board, and my submission is taken from the ordinary strains of an ordinary life. I don’t beg to have what others have, and I have come to realize, that all that is good comes from the supulchre
From my arms to yours, and in love, I am One with the process of sharing the light that connects us. This is not the Godless love of cheap transactions. I emote out of the advantage of trust and worth.
Hello, I am back, and that was, while true in that active sense of purpose, a piece, that I hope will stand up as a send, but who knows. My wife came up to me, and said, “Why didn’t you answer the phone”?
“Because I didn’t hear it….or it wasn’t for me…See it got answered.” Then I very smartly made conversation for a few minutes, and promised to make coffee. My lovely brought home a dinner to-go tonight, that was not very good. Only one out of three meals was edible. That sounds harsh. Small city, they’ll soon be out of business. I will probably doctor up the leftovers and take them to work. Anywhoo!
They could call it “RE-COOKS-the Restaurant”,’You cook it, your way’_’We’ll never tell.’
John, Help me get on the straight and narrow. Did I give the impression _that I was Roman Catholic? That is Okay, and I will always give the truth, when I can remind myself, that one leaves impressions sometimes that color everything one says.
I grew up in a family, not unlike yours. A great and grand glorious experiment. Traditional values. However, we always went to the nearest church, because my Mom had a difficult time getting us all ready, and my Dad was often out of town on sales trips. I have been Methodist, Presbyterian, Baptist, Evangelical Reformed, where I was an accolyte for two years, and I was actually very impressed by the pastor, or was he a priest. He wore lots of vestments.
Then it was back to being Presbyterian for scouting, near DC, and then we moved to Richmond, Va., for a turn, as Baptists. That failed due to the strange activities of one wierd scoutmaster. Another move and Presbyterian again, and that’s when I cast myself as the devil, small’d’. I and a friend drank a bunch of booze in the Episcopal Bishop Of Virginia’s study. I had met the bishop’s daughter at the Hullabaloo nightclub, the night before. Parents were out of town and daughter was home from school. One of those… We were in love and drinking was a safe avenue of expressing the depths of our committment.
I had eaten alot of bananas in the kitchen. It was a grand house. I ended up drinking and left. Thinking, I was not making the best impression. I went to the cusp of dying, that day, and I experienced the whole deal on the way back_’to there and then’. Almost a traffic fatality, and then a samaritan, who took me as far, as they could. At least to where_ on a main street, they deposited me to the ground. Someone else called an ambulance, and I was all but d-e-a-d…now, way back then… Now, then is now again.
Not my time to take. I hovered above the table, where they worked on me. I was in a rubbery state for a few weeks, and the experience of watching the world thru a tunnel of light proceeded for days. Later, they would wheel me into the new santuary of the Presbyterian church, where my dad was an elder. I did not understand the shame of this event. Coincidentally, my dad was one of the medical personnel hovering over me at the time I was being charged and pumped and strongly encouraged to remain. It was only a psychic impression as I hovered above the table in God’s workshop. Signs and symbols. Contracts, time to make amends.
Life is not about me. It is about God’s request. That we live to hold our time as the cup that holds our love for God, as Our highest achievement, and that we represent, through our works and gifts, the highest forms of embodiment and transmission. I truly am out there on the limb of life tonight. Lasting impressions. I am home in these words of faith.
‘J’, You inspire me everyday, and when it is all done, I will be forever grateful, that I came this way. John, only this: I probably need to go _be with the kid and the wife, but they seem perfectly happy to talk on the phone and read, so who the heck needs me.
I survived the death of me, but it has been a factor my whole life.
I was not a thief in the night, but I was a passenger on a train to nowhere, and it was agreed to by all, that we would not commend our existence to God’s love. We were trans-actors, transitting time and space. Knowing nothing or anything, that was strong enough to get our completed faith.
I know now that I am moving into the real, and that the truth lies on the thoughts given to me. I am growing in this focus of faith on God’s love and I know strongly, where that comes from, And I am Roman Catholic, because you are one and I am POH” faith, because she is that, and I am coming_ to be here, just as I am, not broken, not spent, but filling up with love and comfort_ with faith and hope for our fellow man.
All of this is made up in the sense, that it is written on the run, but I am looking to be conversant and flexible in my faith. Not to deviate, but to be endlessly fresh and fruitful. I thought about Confession, and the Virgin Mary today, and a giant tree on a hill over the edge of a cliff, not far from the sea.
What I am saying is_ every time you strike the bell of faith and wonder in your lexicon of your birthright_ I find newer ways to vision by assembly the whole purpose of why I am still here.
A practical life lived in holy practice. Not as a God, but as God would have us live.
Would we, but could we, We can. Amazing life, TR
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|Hi TR. I never got to finish my reply last night. It’s really a post, or it could be. And, by the way, I have been wondering about the whereabouts of Rosie myself, and purps, too. But no, there was nothing in your comment to lead me to believe you were a Roman Catholic, but since I am one it’s what I’m able to write about. And it’s funny, too, when you take into consideration that from a Catholic perspective there are no other denominations because Catholics never created other denominations, never decided that there should be other denominations. They happened because people are going to do what people are going to do, just like the son whom I would like to go into medical school decides to become a chemist instead. You may say I can’t help but write as a Catholic because that’s what I am. That’s fine, although I have no business teaching the Church. I certainly can be wrong. What I’m really doing is writing merely as a Christian in the only way I can – from my experience being one. What I was beginning to drive at in that last reply is that Christian perfection isn’t an achievement; it’s a prophesy, a promise, a guarantee, something which has already occurred in the Person of Jesus.
Our personal walk in faith isn’t to be performed perfectly, but simply begun and then continued. In my case the Cross became the goal of my next step, and the figure that is upon it the central focal point of that journey – hence the crucifix. I have no idea how good a Christian I may be. In my own judgment I think I must be terrible, and that is Pride – not a good thing – but that’s not the point. The point is beginning and then continuing – the center of the universe, the center of our lives, being Jesus.
Just by way of a reflection, consider if you will that singular figure of Jesus on the Cross and know that He is God. And that’s amazing, that the tortured, broken body of a nearly naked, emaciated man IS the beginning and the end, the Alpha and Omega – a poor Galilean victim of prosecutorial abuse who was utterly defeated, beaten beyond belief, and brutally murdered IS the fire in the bush that spoke to Moses, IS the God of Jacob – IS. That’s beyond incredible – that’s God hanging there. Many have come to be Christian on the strength of that argument alone – that there is no other explanation for something so utterly preposterous to even be thought of except that it must be true. A crucifix – bloody big, or otherwise – can lead us into that profound realization.
And now, I know there are people who may say it is only a thing – the same people perhaps who love a song because it played when first they met their spouses or keep photographs of their children in their wallets. Those are also things. One doesn’t worship the song or the photograph, but both help lift up the heart to a higher place, and so it is with the crucifix. I put it somewhere I cannot help but see it, and it strikes me with a sudden reminder of immense violent Passion, of God’s love for me. And do I even call Him once each week? Immediately when I see it on my wall I talk to Him. Now, if it were not there what would I have done? Probably, I’d have gone on about my business to no good end and without meaning or purpose – in chaos – going to my grave with the song still in me – not speaking with my Heavenly Father, not asking Him to guide me and give me that meaning and purpose, perhaps inspire the lyrics of a song or three.
You had spoken of Christian practice, or practicing faith in a practical way. “Faith without works is dead,” indeed. I was giving an example of a Christian practice that is extremely simple and can be eternally powerful. That’s all it takes: beginning and then continuing. Many make numerous beginnings but forget to continue, and then begin again. So what? Many others come late. So what? All of us do our beginning and continuing imperfectly, but there is One on the Cross who was perfect for us, and has made a covenant with us that the perfection is already ours who seek it. What does that mean? Well, I guess it’s differing answers to that question which brought about all these denominations, but at the heart of it is an unchanging and unchangeable truth, and an unbelievable, unbearable, love.
So, on the wall is a symbol – sure – but what does it represent? Only the most wildly improbable, preposterous, complicated, unbelievably backwards-thinking Religion in the world in which the all powerful God can be murdered by weak and puny little men in a tiny sandbox of a place in the middle of nowhere/everywhere. That’s wild! We are insane, we Christians – utterly and completely. There is only one other possible explanation: that what we believe is true.
OK, I think I’m done. And I think that’s a post rather than a comment reply. Who cares? It’s all yours. I’m daffy as ever.
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|Too Good, I mean to reply, but not right now. Have a very good night and I will see you soon. Hope the weather is kind and all that daffiness is a sublime measure of your gifts. John, you have it, old man. You’ve got my attention, and everything, that goes with it.
I doctored up the leftovers from last night, and have found that I have eaten too much. Very full… I had to do it. Who doesn’t need to be uncomfortable, once in awhile.
The measure of a man_ title of some flaky pop song. I’ll leave it in. All about your new logos, which isn’t new. The cross and the crucifix. Are they considered separate, but equal. Everything you said__Reads right into my brain.
I am distracted. We are having big winds, but not as bad as California.
All things aside. There is great peace found in these exchanges.
I am just there with everything, you said, and yet for some reason I cannot seem to give it the presence, that is in your presentation of what it is, and yet, I get it completely. It is just as much mine, as it is yours. The burning bush speaks measures without words. It has the knowledge of complete volumes of unspoken energies of sound.
I submit my gleaning from this moment in time and depend on you to
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