The familiar anger begins in dreams. Bob Dylan's confidence, Kirk's trim calves when he returned from India changed. Are we awake yet? When later, out walking beneath - yes - familiar stars, one experienced the familiar absence masquerading as the self. Open some more maybe.
Where tangled hummocks are reminiscent of the devil . . . Farther along the trail than I thought I'd go, I remembered that yesterday I'd forgotten the twenty sentences. Noon is indeed the darkest time, as the road does narrow and the company becomes thin indeed. Deprivation then? Maybe you can't keep on keeping on.
What one means to say is, is it really better to reign in hell than to serve in Heaven? Thought is the only problem, opinion the real jailer. It's lighter earlier for what that's worth. In the distance, apple blossoms. And coming back, the year's first bear.
Thus I am aware and is that not enough? Must one always be jotting down these little notes to Jesus? Who is it behind the familiar constellation that smiles and whose smile is - despite our denial - a blessing? The truth asks nothing of you, that's how you know it's the truth. Help me Jesus, I'm still charting the middle ground, I'm still beholden to a charcoal map.
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