Water...

I know, I know, but hear me out. I have still, a book in my library (for occasional reference to remember what I came from).  The title is telling:  "The Complete works of E.M. Bounds on Prayer".  How far I have come/fallen from grace depending on the view. The American, gay poet Walt Whiteman defines prayer and "god" for that matter somewhat better:   “Why should I wish to see God better than this day?  I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then,  In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass;  I find letters from God dropped in the street, and every one is signed by God's name,  And I leave them where they are,  for I know that others will punctually come forever and ever.” Then this morning, Katie's "God Poem" really resonates deeply with me.  And Sylvia Plath does a smashing job of depicting life's fig tree.  For context: see https://thursdaypoetry.com/ 2017/04/23/gods-poem/ And if y

A copy of a post to my fellow gay fathers who journey with me. -------------------- Hello all. I'm doing pretty well. My partner is facing a concerning cancer diagnosis, and I keep doing my own internal work. I like to do exercises that spur my internal growth. Here is one that I found challenging and perhaps even helpful after taking some defenses down. I'd put the book down for a good while, and perhaps Blackwolf & Gina Jones' ideas on internal growth are not for all, but I felt a sense of triumph this morning, as I did some re-framing. In-spite of wading through considerable non-sense, I did tap into something that is real for me. (I tend not to read in this specific spiritual pop psychology genre. Far too often, for me, it has side-tracked me from facing reality as it is, and perhaps old mis-guided attempts at self-improvement did have a net benefit of helping me figure some things out. For my own reasons, harder sciences, better researched ideas, satisfy

  Empty is a full space. The void contains timelessness. I have been anxious to meet empty     very, very anxious. I have avoided empty feelings     only to notice empty more prominently. Sometimes I have saught for empty spaces     nature dressing up the unfathomable     sheltered, I have for brief moments,     relished a deep inhalation of empty air     pregnant with morning dew, ladened with pollens     empty air rushing into gasping, expanded     lung-sacks, permeable organic things     squeezed into companionship among billions     of cells made up of stardust.   The spaces between stars, empty? Between breaths, universes? Empty is not so empty: impish a-void-er!     Nothingness vastly embraces and fills you. Full of space, I step through the portal of this Thursday morning: 6/22/23