People who live in glass houses shouldn't parade around in their Freudian slips. ~ Jost

While homeward bound this eventide,
the headlights of my car,
dimly amber aglow,
captured the swooping spectre of an owl,
its wingspan umber-plumaged,
over the twilight-hushed road,
well-traveled.


It's a rare and good place to be when resigned to the notion that no amount of negotiation, cajoling nor gratitude itemization beseeched on behalf of getting on the good side of Divine Fecundity will hurry up the manifestation process.

Neither will sanctimonious supplication to the gods provide impetus for moving things forward if personal rhythm is not in synch with Divine Timing.

Abide in the emptiness, void of understanding, without need for filling the empty space.

Availability and presence. Patience.

"Desolation is a file, and the endurance of darkness is preparation for great light."
~ St. John of the Cross




What virtues can be extoled in idol praise of lemming's folly, tirelessly chasing after elusive gratification on the hamster wheel of alluring commodity fetish?

UNDER CONSTRUCTION