kalilily time

I'm heading back to the old homestead, back at the real kalilily time. Sorry for the inconvenience, but b!X has finally got his DSL back and so I'm back in business on MT. At least I am now -- until the next time fate intervenes.
Comments

I'm frantically trying to turn around a editing job that needs to be done in a couple of days, but I just have to note an excellent piece by Walter Cronkite about The Marriage Debacle. The right wing would do well to pay attention to the perspectives of this respected elder statesman about the gay marriage issue, which conclude with the following:

Where is the Christian tolerance in those right-wing Christian leaders who would impose their religious beliefs on the entire diverse population of the United States, even to the extent of a Constitutional amendment curtailing our rights of religious freedom?

As the CCR leadership presses this matter, which they depict as a moral issue, they threaten a religious war that will split our nation at a time in our lives when unity would be helpful in attacking far more critical problems on which the future of our nation depends -- our foreign policy, the economy, education, medical care and the environment, to name a few.

In the difficult days ahead, the tolerant among us -- Republican, Democratic or Independent, Christian, Muslim, Jewish or nonbeliever -- are going to have to try to preach another morality, and that is the morality of tolerance.

And speaking of debacles, what the hell is Ralph Nader thinking!!! He used to be a smart man who understood that personal ego needs to come second to larger human issues. How the mighty have fallen.
Comments

I think I remember a time when I could focus on one thing at a time -- a poem, a person, a pleasure -- when the process was as important as the product. I'm trying to remember when the last time was that I felt that focus, that stillpoint. Oddly enough, I think it was was a decade ago when I used to go out on Thursday nights to dance the Hustle for hours on end. I would follow the lead with such total focus that all I was aware of was my blood humming to the rhythm of the bass and my body carving sharp arcs through the smokey air.

I think I used to know that same kind of focus when writing a really good poem, feeling the rhythm come, hearing the hum of swarming words. But that was when I lived alone, with long, quiet moments to feed my focus. That was when I would have hours of down-time at work, alone in my own office, with nothing to do but let myself succumb to the processes of dream time.

I think what happened is that I got really good at my job -- multi-tasking, meeting deadlines, serving many masters. Scheme thinking. Quick thinking. No time to dream, alone, in a corner with a window.

I think what happened is I learned to care too much. I think what happened is that I let the world nibble away at my layers so that I lost my deepest secrets.

"The Many Breasted Artemis" my shrink once noted, as I unloaded my distress at being expected to always be the nurturer, the feeder, the source of unlimited resources, the problem-solver, the responsible one.

I thought that when I retired, I would be able to find, again, that dreamy focus. Instead, it takes me until midnight to finally breathe evenly and deeply, to let go of all of the knowing. It takes me until midnight to finally feel the yearning for deep secrets.

But to have secrets, one has to have a life beyond the giving of care.

I'm waiting for my time to come again, when I will, again, simmer and stir, ladle, at last, into mounds of midnight words, that witch's brew.
Comments