By the brook there is an unfolding. Who listens carefully always perceives the next level and - in time - the absence of level altogether. Above the winter bare crab apple tree, clouds, and above the clouds, stars. The emptiness of which one is composed at last presented in a way that is neither frightening nor in need of defiance. I will go to you and be whole.
As the roads now buckle and sink, frost erupting in soft creases down which melt runs. Have we said all there is to say about sap? At four a.m., having walked many miles, far beyond the reach of houses, I come back and drink tea and laugh quietly at how simple it all is, and how hard I make it. "Why" is the least interesting question you can ask! When I whistle, the sound echoes sharply against the forest, and one or two trees creak heavily - certainly - in reply.
That dream and not another. All things are thoughts, and all thoughts are echoes of the Voice for God, and nothing is that isn't God. It's true that for many years I longed to be broken, and carried myself that way to considerable effect and good enough company, but it's also true that was all a big lie and so now - kind of the way something in the lilac bush awakens and begins to blossom months before we see a fleck of green - I can be whole, and happy, little bits of which sail off of me and find you, and other you's too, and we are all a little happier, all a little closer. That was a long sentence! But not this one.
One begins to realize that the chapel they have alternately called a woman's shoulder or a kiss or the sound a shirt makes falling to the floor in shadow is in reality just another way of remaining outside the only monastery there is. Clever won't do! But there is an action of Love that will, and to enter it - to meld with it - one need only relinquish the idea there is anything else to hold or undertake. Before this morning's walk, I set out turkey giblets so they'd be room temperature for Song when we returned. That, then this, and all.
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