an editorial: To exhausted to open the refrigerator door this morning,

To exhausted to open

 the refrigerator

 door this morning,

I found this note

 getting swept up

 from the kitchen floor:

Aug. 10th 2020: Quar

       Politics has grounded up the idea that the ignorant  can become morons without learning un-biased information, even when their lives are in chaos, it comes to them through  a Piper’s flute, jumping off the cliff of the true principles they all  believe in… whether PhD., GED, home school, or on the job, life and work experience. They have nested termites under the floor of our Great Experiment. Good grief!

       Then, there are the American Patriots, rarely ever accepting a label other than they are Americans and believe in the same things all Americans agree on, and pledge Allegiance to our Constitution; without embellishment. They believe in the equality of our neighbor that makes a hood a home-town community; that excels in growth, in principle, that becomes a State with a balanced opinion by democracy and Justice. It has prospered, as a United States, the successful American Experiment that other’s said would fail. (They ask to silence the anger, demeaning slurs to our neighbor and live the American Dream, with logical dialogue. “…to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all…”

       Only an enemy of these principles, of this Awesome Country, can divide us into strife; systematically, until it implodes. Leaving the spoils for them and to enslave the people, for basic necessities. There will be no time to mourn luxury.

        The time needs to be reminded that “the times (as usual) are a changin’ …”; to correct our mis-steps going forward into the American Dream.

fog lifting the field

revealing dandelion

in execution

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An Old Sailor

     I went out on the deck—felt the wind of the presence –before the jibe caught the gust of a yesterday’s breeze blowing into the sail. 

     The keel visibly surfaced two feet above foaming water, in an awkward lean, water marks on the humming board, visible as eye could see —Oh shit! I braced myself against the rail on tippy-toes. leaning in the opposite direction, baptized by the sea.

      Tapping the “Captain” on the shoulder, I went below.I rocked and balanced myself with each swell of cresting ten-foot waves; catching myself descending with arms extended against the polished teak stairs and the polished walls into the belly of the bow.

      Remembering the keel’s markings “MY LIFE”; both hands against the wall, I balanced myself, being driven across the course of tomorrow.

       I will continue to sail —as sea mist foams against the closing rocks of the shore.

 

Let us Pray

     Sir/Madam do not interpret with your own mind, the words of Divinity; having to explain what is held In the temple of my Soul.

     You only speak as the sinner you are. Now then, let us pray.

Without umbrella

Scent aromatic in clouds

Spring rain wakes summer.

 

The Ghost of Alonzo

     After a late Easter Vigil Mass; Alonzo and I crept and crawled under the beds of sleeping friends in the “Big Boys” dormitory at the Orphanage. Sister St. Jean was in her rocking chair sound asleep. Hearing her snore, was our cue to slip out of our beds, stuff the pillows under the blankets to make it look, from a distance, we were still asleep.

     Shushing each other with a finger over our lips we doubled checked Sister St. Jean, to see if she was still there, in the creaking rocking chair. She was assigned every other Friday night to guard the dormitory room. We knew, as usual on that night, that she would be out like a light before the first shine of the moon. We had her in our first class that morning, when the first bell rang.

     Waiting for her infamous rhythmic bass sound, and the silence of the chair on opposite sides of the well-lit hallway, divided by the Holy snore, in its silence, we met. Pointing at the doubled doors, which were opened for the warm spring air and the moon that was brightly illuminating the escaping concrete stairs.

    We tiptoed down, hanging on to each other’s hands and the other on the rails. Then we ran independently through wet grass with our heels sticking slightly into the mud of the warm spring garden before we climbed the fence between the two brick walls. I chipped my tooth as I fell on the other side. Alonzo picked me up, shook my hand and never saying good-bye, continued to run past me as he was waving one arm.

     Looking around, finding myself outside, I walked the long block around the orphanage at least twenty or thirty times. Circling many times, I was getting to know my way better each time. Eventually I understood and had to resign, that I had no place to go, now. And the sun was beginning to rise after my adventure that began after sundown. I knocked on the front door where I once entered several years ago, to go back, again inside. As I went in, walking back to the dormitory, I could hear the corridors murmur, “he has found away to leave here”.

They will serve my meal

I have found the heart of thorns

                                     may I find the way.

**

Stood the Archangel

with the serpent under foot

                                          handing me her sword.

 

Garner’s Guardian Angel’s Disguise

The first glitter of sunrise caught through your bedroom window

will awaken you also. With smiles of joy,

declaring you are a spoon and I Am the chimes

—That will echo throughout the day,

forever in your house.

 

The Shame of Religion [rev:15]

Page 6 of 110 ~Pine Cone Diary~

Why do we seek revenge, when our Soul

        Is a ghost without identity; that seeks peaceful universal assimilation?

Those who capture other’s souls of Faith, caged in hate or repression, have honed their zeal

        To inflict retribution as righteous judgment, on all “un-holy” dissidents.

Unable for their hearts to control their tongue or their scourge.

 

Love’s prerequisite of understanding, dampens volatile gun powder

        And buries the sword of hate on the path to Nirvana, Olam Ha-Ba, Heaven, and Jannah …

Or any place else that is soft enough to dig with your hands, under loves direction, to bury your hate

wrapped in your inability to leave it alone. Silent until you truly understand.

(Having found on that path, without harm, a pure gentle human heart melted in living flesh

That had no eyes, nor memory, floating freely, Holy above the intellect in senses

without shame, I found myself without anything, for my Love, to have to explain.)

 

 

 “In the universal silence of nature and in the calm of the senses the immortal spirit’s hidden faculty of knowledge speaks an ineffable language and gives [us] undeveloped concepts, which are indeed felt, but do not let themselves be described.”  Immanuel  Kant

 

Song Of The Morning Glory’s Lover

White washed fence, stretching to bright blue skies,

Melting snow, quenching bent brown winter grass.

In spring rain and sunshine, true love called

Winters’ dormant love. Having fallen in fall,

Shedding the cloak of her covered heart;

 bared her bosom, rising above it all.

She peered from earth, to arrive,

With blinking green eyes.

 “Oh love of love in gloom and in despair,

Harsh and bright as thou art fair,

Cast season’s displeasure, in sweetened warm air.

Awaken and choose what color to wear.

I have stood tall, waiting and sturdy;

Stretch and climb into my arms in hurry.

Awaken from your winter sleep, embrace me,

climb onto me, my sweet morning glory.”

 

Notes Found On The Refrigerator: December 2014

Thanksgiving in Arlington 2014

Walking… the pace was quick,

Following from behind.

An old black man noticing wing tip shoes,

Heels worn, and needing a shine,

Stood in front of me pointing at my shoes,

Eyes crusted with his last night’s sleep,

 “I can fix that?” floated through a smile,

Snapping a clean white rag and with an ear to ear grin

Half whispers, “where you goin’ lookin’ like that?”

 

C’mon Pop! I heard a voice say.

I went around, following the call.

Trying to catch up in my saunter, synchronized in thought

Behind young feet, I crossed the street, to the other side

thinking, I know my shoes and their vast shiny miles.

I have no place I need to go! So, I follow from behind;

Traveling on busy city streets on a child’s path,

paved for shoes, just like mine

****

Christmas List

The only gifts

that are recognized as gifts

to be given away,

are those you once received.

Where, in the giving,

passing the significance,

you are just as astounded

as when you once received it;

with gratitude

and accepting its importance,

whether it’s a baseball hat,

or, a newly minted

silver penny.

 

****

 

The sounds of gaiety and murmur promised, as season and family unfolds,

prepares, in an old soul, with urgent activity.

Reaching highs and lows, bending and gathering, blending into hearing,

on a Holiday, the season and the family, gaiety and murmur,

in one peaceful, enlightened note

 

A Myth About Satan

Hatred, struck with punishment, expelled from the Holy house,

Fallen from heaven, Satan, the angel,

Took the blame, discouraged and angry from the fall.

 

Myth, gave him the armor of obstruction.

Religions forged a path, going around him.

To err in his embrace, was servitude and destruction

 

Within God’s power and might.

 

But, we forgot, he was forgiven in the New Testament!

Not really mention in the Old Testament…

The Holy House extended its hand  

 

And said “go and sin no more.”*

Fly, shed your pride, go back home

Where you belong!

 

(“Repent: through humility. To turn back from a world

that sins… erring in pride and defeated by obstruction

of arrogance… may be blotted out …with compassion”). **

 

Now who, continues in malicious hatred actions,

To say the obstructionist is to blame? Now sitting in the heart

Of a Forgiven House without any level of shame.

 

He isn’t here making you err! What devil?

 

Hatred in sterile procreation

Is barren in this argument.

It’s only you, in obstruction!

 

Completely responsible for your actions

Yet justify perfection

With miss-direction.

 

Free will? Squandered! Melted into armor,

 

Prepared for an ideology,

With an inability to seek an angel

By your side; one that is unable “to sin no more.”

 

Gather yourself, no one to defeat anymore.

It’s time for tea in the Holy House;

To take a seat in the heart of forgiving prayer.

 

*John 8:11 **Acts 3:19

 

MY GRAVE MISTAKE

 

“If someone renounces themselves,

then whatever they might keep,

 wether it be a kingdom or honour

or whatever it may be,

they will still have renounced

all things.”

                                                           Meister Eckhart

 

I have lost everything I loved,

trampled below me and from above

I cannot find those things anymore.

They have been sacked and plundered, scorched and scored;

Expelled from the belly of a Trojan horse

Wrapped and gifted, without remorse.

 Perhaps, I had to abandon those things

 in my surrender, in my winter before the Spring;

Empty handed, on my knees,

To learn there is nothing sacred, for desire without need.

 

As I grow older, more mature, more disposed

to release those things  I can’t believed in anymore,

You, have stayed at my side, through this resolution,

to help me place the plastic flowers of illusion

At the grave sites of what I thought was at stake;

 

Allowing me, now, to be peacefully embraced

At the foot of my grave mistake.