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Photo by Antony Chaignau

“The world is violent and mercurial — it will have its way with you. We are saved only by love — love for each other and the love that we pour into the art we feel compelled to share: being a parent; being a writer; being a painter; being a friend. We live in a perpetually burning building, and what we must save from it, all the time, is love.” — Tennessee Williams


“We all participate in a universe of consciousness that is evolving all the time, from the dimmest flickering of sentiency existing in a dream state that is not even self-aware to the fabulously and unimaginably complex and radiant cosmic Beings whose lives embrace entire galaxies. And what we do affects that evolution, at least in the environment around us…

This is the true implication of saying that everything is alive. We are each caretakers for the consciousnesses evolving around us, particularly those of lesser complexity and capacity than our own.” — David Spangler


I wonder if my dead mother still thinks of me.

I know I don’t know her new name. I don’t know

her, not now. I don’t know if “her” is the word

burning in a stranger’s mind when he sees my dead

mother walking down the street in her bright black

dress. I wonder if he inhales the cigarette smoke

that will eventually kill him and thinks “I wish I knew

a woman who was the light and every shadow

the light pierces.” I wonder if a passing glance at my dead

mother is enough to make a poet out of anyone. I wonder

if I’m the song she hums as she waits for the light to change

or if I’m just the traffic signal holding her up.

— Saeed Jones

Real talent is just love for something, a natural, inborn love for some specific thing or activity. Facility is helpful, of course, but without love for the practice it’s nothing. Love-practice leads to perception, to greater consciousness, to deeper humanity. It’s a kind of spiritual evolution.

We are immersed in and surrounded by infinite levels of consciousness, expressed in infinite forms, seen and unseen. Our senses are limited, so the plethora of lifeforms we see are no doubt but a small part of the whole. We are living in a context calibrated to our capabilities to grow, a challenge almost too great for us. It’s our kindergarten.

Even within our little garden we can gaze out at the Infinite and wonder at it. We can try to penetrate it with our curiosity or reason, but we can probably only grasp it with love and wonder. Our little school is imbued with beauty, most of which we miss, since we’re so worried about keeping body and soul together or cutting an impressive figure in our particular milieu.

Ah well, we’re children, after all. We’re learning all the ways not to be. Before we realise love is the fulcrum of everything, we’ll have to try everything but love.

We humans skirt disaster over and over. So far, we have always survived our disasters to try again. On the surface of things, our present catastrophe looks different. It seems to promise a collapse of nature itself, not just our laboriously built “civilization,” if you want to call it that.

We have always managed to avoid a change of heart in spite of laying waste to wherever we lived at the moment, but now seems different. A good look in the mirror seems unavoidable. How we think, feel and live is all in question. What kind of beast we are is a study we have always sidestepped. No more.

A frank self assessment is in order, the first step in healing from our smallness. One small step into a long promised greatness. Only a great love can accomplish this, and that can only come from an awakening to the love we are capable of.

Then we are all poets.

Written by

I occasionally write fiction and also about creativity, loving, language learning and travel. I’m a longtime painter and reader.

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