Day 13
The fog has lifted: blessing of cool air and a tiny bit of rain. Grey skies outside the window as I write. Left LazoLand for Castillo and things on the auto-front are much better. The prisoners have been identified and it is time for their release. Is it ever.
I am hopeful that this new commitment we have made to ourselves will bear other fruit. And it is my intention to get things lined up from my end, so that things can keep moving. I pray for the help of all who are with us.
It seems odd, in a way, to be so hesitant to accept Christ as one of us. Or, better yet, as Sloane Coffin would say it: to be believed in by him. There is such a blankness there. Looking for a clarifying image, it reminds me of the silence of sitting next to Tom years ago and feeling that words should be there, though none - or a tentative strangled few - came.
Maybe words are overrated in this. Lord knows, I can do words. Perhaps what I need is simply quiet time in the room with him, time to feel. And heal. That feels better.
Peace.
Will miracles never cease:
Dean Ornish undercover in Mickey D's. When I first saw his little placards with YogaMama, Asian Salad, and a bottle of H2O, Mr. Cynical was tempted, but DO is just way too disarming, way too much the Texas imp: he would delight that he has found his way inside yet another bastion and take it all just for what it is, what it is, what it is. He's been assailing bastions all his life, why not one of the biggest of the BIG. SuperDean me, if you please.
WallyWorld can't be far behind, eh?
My being in the bastion ain't no undercover: just shameless catering to a boy's lust for chemistry: cola and dr p.
Nasty, not in any way Johnny G would have it, but nasty. Well, maybe nasty just as the master would have it.
Paz: otra vez.
I am hopeful that this new commitment we have made to ourselves will bear other fruit. And it is my intention to get things lined up from my end, so that things can keep moving. I pray for the help of all who are with us.
It seems odd, in a way, to be so hesitant to accept Christ as one of us. Or, better yet, as Sloane Coffin would say it: to be believed in by him. There is such a blankness there. Looking for a clarifying image, it reminds me of the silence of sitting next to Tom years ago and feeling that words should be there, though none - or a tentative strangled few - came.
Maybe words are overrated in this. Lord knows, I can do words. Perhaps what I need is simply quiet time in the room with him, time to feel. And heal. That feels better.
Peace.
Will miracles never cease:
Dean Ornish undercover in Mickey D's. When I first saw his little placards with YogaMama, Asian Salad, and a bottle of H2O, Mr. Cynical was tempted, but DO is just way too disarming, way too much the Texas imp: he would delight that he has found his way inside yet another bastion and take it all just for what it is, what it is, what it is. He's been assailing bastions all his life, why not one of the biggest of the BIG. SuperDean me, if you please.
WallyWorld can't be far behind, eh?
My being in the bastion ain't no undercover: just shameless catering to a boy's lust for chemistry: cola and dr p.
Nasty, not in any way Johnny G would have it, but nasty. Well, maybe nasty just as the master would have it.
Paz: otra vez.
posted by murat11 at 12:32 PM
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