I’ve found my place; the place is peace, / Though tangled tempests tip the ship.
start. again. anew.
transformed again by some truth
the body count
Perhaps if heaven hinges on Our Plan,
That paradise designed may need a tweak.
Who is the Weakest Link?
Every race needs a winner.
For in the end,
Love Runs to Us,
And Refuses to Ever let Us go.
Competing interests /
Often call for some losses /
Before both can win
It’s “Boxing Day” which means the season’s o’er? In ‘Murica, again, we have it wrong.
In general, I find a great deal of peace and predictability in the turning of the liturgical seasons. In other ways, it’s tremendously troublesome.
Always waiting. Always looking for what’s next. “OK, that one’s done, and I guess it didn’t ‘work’ either. What do we wait for next?”
Opposites attract, Except, of course, when they Don’t.
Last night / We watched the candles / Lighted
This week marks Peace; It still evades.
Life finds a way / Love finds a way / Amor nos omnes liberavit
My yonder wild still calls, don’t get me wrong; some days its Sirens all that fill my ears.
“Admitting weakness makes us strong” A paradox for certain How can a “right” seem oh so wrong Revealed by open … More
I want to live with Insides Out / Is ever too much Out in doubt?
Confounded why such phases bring sere blight; I ardently reject the counterfeit.
These days, anyone who says the Bible is “crystal clear” on anything beyond “God is love” is immediately suspect in my mind.
I’d scoffed at hints of mirthful pith; I once thought bliss a baseless myth.