“There's a light beyond these woods..."

Dearest George

on what would have been

your 70th birthday-

"You are missed,

You are loved,"

You are remembered..."

💞 Donna

Aurora Lights Northren Texas, May 2024,

Anne Franchette

The Marfa Lights of Far West Texas

Nanci Griffith

"The 'Ode To Man' from Sophocles’ Antigone," Anne Carson

Many terribly quiet customers exist but none more
terribly quiet than Man:
his footsteps pass so perilously soft across the sea
in marble winter,
up the stiff blue waves and every Tuesday
down he grinds the unastonishable earth
with horse and shatter.

Shatters too the cheeks of birds and traps them in his forest headlights,
salty silvers roll into his net, he weaves it just for that,
this terribly quiet customer.
He dooms
animals and mountains technically,
by yoke he makes the bull bend, the horse to its knees.

And utterance and thought as clear as complicated air and
moods that make a city moral, these he taught himself.
The snowy cold he knows to flee
and every human exigency crackles as he plugs it in:
every outlet works but
one.
Death stays dark.

Death he cannot doom.
Fabrications notwithstanding.
Evil,
good,
laws,
gods,
honest oath taking notwithstanding.

Hilarious in his high city
you see him cantering just as he please,

the lava up to here,"

The New Yorker, August 16, 2010.

Hamlet, IIii, 327-330

On Easter Sunday...

"4I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, 

that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, 

until he please."

6Set me as a seal upon thine heart, 

as a seal upon thine arm: 

for love is strong as death; 

jealousy is cruel as the grave: 

the coals thereof are coals of fire, 

which hath a most vehement flame...,

Song of Solomon 8:6

"Jesus Loves Me,"

A capella,

Whitney Houston

"Love Song, " W.B. Yeats

"My love, we will go, we will go, I and you,

And away in the woods we will scatter the dew;

And the salmon behold, and the ousel too,

My love, we will hear, I and you, we will hear,

The calling afar of the doe and the deer.

And the bird in the branches will cry for us clear,

And the cuckoo unseen in his festival mood;

And death, oh my fair one, will never come near

In the bosom afar of the fragrant wood,"

William Butler Yeats .

"And babe, I was made to get in your way.

Here on my lips forever Stay,"

Ryan Thomas Gosling

"You're My Favorite Song,"

(Studio Version)

Saving our souls

"Lions, and Tigers, and Bears, Oh my!"

The Wizard of Oz

I get it. Politics is performance art. Not surprisingly, a new star has been born to grace the political stage: Alabama Senator Katie Britt is the new kid on the block. According to her emotional GOP response to President Biden's State of the Union address , Americans are "afraid." Fair enough.

Come to think of it, a number of us Americans are plenty afraid of Donald Trump's idea of "leadership." I guess Britt and her ilk believe the American people have been overreacting to his temper tantrum, puppeteering the most unhinged of his supporters because God forbid Little Donnie can't handle defeat. There's hell to pay when Terrible Trump doesn't get his way as history has shown all too well.

Of course, Britt is mostly fearful of BIPOC Hispanic refugees- maybe for good reason in some cases unfortunately. Without a doubt, Sen. Britt makes quite the impression, lovely with hair perfectly coiffed as she chokes back tears while in her cozy kitchen at the very table where she and her family pray for the salvation of the American Dream. "Who will save our souls," after all?

A loving mother of two and devout "family values" Christian, Sen. Brit is just trying to hold it all together for the camera. Don't worry, little lamb. We SEE you. We HEAR you, sending thoughts and prayers at almost every opportunity except for those she views as  threats.   Interestingly, Britt blames President Biden's use of executive orders for the attack on her America by unwanted BIPOC'S sullying the border. Britt seems to forget Trump's use of the same power to shame his predecessor by attempting to dismantle the Obama administration's entire eight-year term. The protection and salvation of America be damned as long as your Little Donnie gets his revenge.

So we feel your pain, Katie. American women have already lost the "freedom to choose," advocating for our own health, for example. Apparently, the anti-immigrant yet pro-life senator out of Alabama, Stepford wifey with glazed over eyes, lily White skin, all-American family, and story-book existence isn't concerned with an existential crisis of a different color after the attack on the U.S. capitol. Former POTUS and likely sexual batterer Donald Trump's Charlie Manson-esque behavior doesn't seem to scare Senator Britt one bit.

Barely able to contain her trepidation of outside forces beyond her control, Britt's moral compass seems to approve of home-grown, mostly White male insurgents under her POTUS' command as unsuspecting colleagues run for their lives. Give me a freakin' break. Who TF is REALLY "out-of-touch"? How on Earth can any of us take Republicans seriously? What a joke.

"But we call religion our friend

We're so worried about savin' our souls

Afraid that God will take His toll

That we forget to begin, but

Who will save your souls?

When it comes to the beggars now

Who will save your souls?

After those lies that you told, boy

And who will save your souls?

If you won't save your own?"-

Jewel, 

"Who Will Save Your Soul." 

Official Music Video

"Le Mendiant," Victor Hugo

Un pauvre homme passait dans le givre et le vent.
Je cognai sur ma vitre ; il s'arrêta devant

Ma porte, que j'ouvris d'une façon civile.

Les ânes revenaient du marché de la ville,
Portant les paysans accroupis sur leurs bâts.
C'était le vieux qui vit dans une niche au bas
De la montée, et rêve, attendant, solitaire,
Un rayon du ciel triste, un liard de la terre,
Tendant les mains pour l'homme et les joignant pour Dieu.
je lui criai : « Venez vous réchauffer un peu.
Comment vous nommez-vous ? » Il me dit : « Je me nomme
Le pauvre. » Je lui pris la main : « Entrez, brave homme. »
Et je lui fis donner une jatte de lait.
Le vieillard grelottait de froid ; il me parlait,
Et je lui répondais, pensif et sans l'entendre.
« Vos habits sont mouillés », dis-je, « il faut les étendre ,
Devant la cheminée. » Il s'approcha du feu.
Son manteau, tout mangé des vers, et jadis bleu,
Étalé largement sur la chaude fournaise,
Piqué de mille trous par la lueur de braise,
Couvrait l'âtre, et semblait un ciel noir étoilé.
Et, pendant qu'il séchait ce haillon désolé
D'où ruisselait la pluie et l'eau des fondrières,
Je songeais que cet homme était plein de prières,
Et je regardais, sourd à ce que nous disions,
Sa bure où je voyais des constellations, 

Victor Hugo, 1802 - 1885

Google translate

Bountiful

The God I know and see is not of

Reward or Punishment

The God I know and see is not of

Retribution or Grace

The God I know and see is not of

Forgiveness or Condemnation

The God I know and see is not of

Love or Hate

The God I know and see is not of

Heaven or Hell

The God I know and see is not of

Good or Evil

The God I know and see is not of

Salvation or Damnation

The God I know and see is not of

Peace or War

And so it goes...

Then

Now

Always

   Enough…

"Ample make this Bed 

Make this Bed with Awe 

In it wait till Judgment break

Excellent and Fair...,"

Emily Dickinson