Spirit of the sky

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L i v e   I n   T h e   L i g h t

From the Passenger Window

Columbia, South Carolina

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I would I might forget that I am I,

And break the heavy chain that binds me fast,

Whose links about myself my deeds have cast.

What in the body’s tomb doth buried lie

Is boundless; ’tis the spirit of the sky,

Lord of the future, guardian of the past,

And soon must forth, to know his own at last.

In his large life to live, I fain would die.

Happy the dumb beast, hungering for food,

But calling not his suffering his own;

Blessèd the angel, gazing on all good,

But knowing not he sits upon a throne;

Wretched the mortal, pondering his mood,

And doomed to know his aching heart alone.

= George Santayana =

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Happy Friday

Thus and there

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I t ' s   a   W i n g   T h i n g

The Time Table

Columbia, South Carolina

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This after-sunset is a sight for seeing.

Cliff-heads of craggy cloud surrounding it.
-- And dwell you in that glory-show?

You may; for there are strange strange things in being,

 Stranger than I know.

Yet if that chasm of splendour claim your presence

Which glows between the ash cloud and the dun,

How changed must be your mortal mould!

Changed to a firmament-riding earthless essence

From what you were of old:

All too unlike the fond and fragile creature

Then known to me ... Well, shall I say it plain?

I would not have you thus and there,

But still would grieve on, missing you, still feature

You as the one you were.

= Thomas Hardy =

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Happy Monday

No gifts, no power, no wisdom

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T i p p i n g   P o i n t

Quaker Cemetery

Camden, South Carolina

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How deep the Father's love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure.

How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One
Bring many sons to glory.

Behold the Man upon a cross
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers.

It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished.

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection.

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart:
His wounds have paid my ransom.

= Stuart Townend =

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Behold, what manner of love

the Father hath bestowed upon us,

that we should be called the sons of God:

therefore the world knoweth us not,

because it knew him not.

I John 3:1

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Happy Sunday

A few rejoice

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T h e   C o l o r   o f   H o n o r

Quaker Cemetery :: Little Arlington

Camden, South Carolina

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This is a Blossom of the Brain --

A small -- italic Seed

Lodged by Design or Happening

The Spirit fructified --

Shy as the Wind of his Chambers

Swift as a Freshet's Tongue

So of the Flower of the Soul

Its process is unknown.

When it is found, a few rejoice

The Wise convey it Home

Carefully cherishing the spot

If other Flower become.

When it is lost, that Day shall be

The Funeral of God,

Upon his Breast, a closing Soul

The Flower of our Lord.

= Emily Dickinson =

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Happy Saturday

The idea curtain

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P i c k y   E a t e r

Allegheny Cemetery

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

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Have you ever lifted
the edge of the idea curtain
to find ethereal light
pours through the crack
straight into the pitch black curvature
of your brain illuminating
the inchoate wraiths that flap
in the substance of your thought?
Neither have I. Some days
I can’t even leave the kitchen.
I just stand there weeping
on the dishes, waiting
for the white glove of magic
to carry me away.

= Ben Mirov =

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Happy Friday