All of everything is a great wheel turning, vast, of all galaxies, all universes, of which ours is most certainly small. Human time is the flick of a finch feather and our inhabitance will keep as long as we care for it, no longer. There is only one requirement, that is, to roll inside the […]
Tag Archives: perennial tradition
“In the respects in which the soul is unlike God, it is also unlike itself.” St. Bernard You were born a poet, slow to affiliations otherwise. You do not belong but to elements and instincts, just the basics, in a place, embodied, of a home and a small handful of people. You were familied, churched, […]
We two, on six brooding feet traversed the sandy trail, an earthen record of morning walks, strung along the ruins of an old forgotten summer resort. I could see children bursting out slappity screen doors free into the sun, fingers raking through the tall grass, laughter fading into green shadows. It left me vacant, alone […]
The unhusked seed will never live because it will not die.
This would be a day I read the skies and am rendered silent. This would be a day for walking long on shores of vast expanse. I have been the sort of man I fear would rise again in moments of resolve. When I see him on the street or in the pew or in […]
There is a hawk within me that oft must kill to live. What part of God is this? While the status of the human as prime and proper predator is self evident, I cannot help but fret upon the question of the kill itself. Am I the dainty savage with her pinky raised while pecking […]
I am often found trancing in the death drop love dance of the hummingbird. The wee engorged upon the fragrance of yellow blossom, harbinger of a humble fruit for crimson or vermilion wine, for jellies, jams and pies, fine renderings though I am one with small patience for such craft. Inclined instead to take the […]
O, for faith beneath all faiths. Each of us will live a chosen way and die somewhere in the descent of it. We, the unbound into consciousness know that we are here, resonant inward, shining outward, some notion of substance, some foreknowledge of destiny. Sooner should we feel that everything belongs and ours is not […]
James Scott Smith 