Indulge the scribbles from my pocket notebook. I've been carrying it around for about a year or more. I reread it the other day, and here are a few of the passages I'll throw out into the electronic ether, ideas I wrote to weave into novels:
Hate and prejudice are human characteristics but not a path to the divine.
pale yellow dress. the cream on top. sweet + smooth + flavorful.
What's the most important rule?
Hopeful, Inherent beings of joy and truth, arisen from mystery and bound to return to it.
This is good stuff -- reject it. Say good-bye and be thankful you are whole.
If you soften in the middle, have you gone bad? Push on the center and it stays indented--meaning the ideas and very core of you have somehow compressed and become lesser of importance and weight.
It was not her that I wanted, but the idea of her. The entrance into another place other than my own.
rumbles them into synchronicity
after death: compressed, lesser, lost, nodding in tout, pass-thru point, lament + lament + lament; a day, a month, a year, into howls and hollows of existence, a month or six.
Pendant stuck in the hollow of his throat.
Bowl-fill and spill, sometimes the sweet stuff, hopefully just the bitters.
The sun cast a thin shadow on his heart.
nudity, love juice, thrusting
And who will learn my wisdom, if not now?
His bones screamed the thousand deaths of a flooded world.
Hafiz: (paraphrased) The sun never turns to the earth and says: "You owe me." And such a love lights up the world.
Each of us holds a bit of truth that we can all take from.
I carry sorrow in the cup of my hands.
Who writes letters anymore for love--a soldier, a missionary, the incarcerated? (I read this in a newspaper)
The letter: the purest form of one-on-one communication.
Anonymous presence--an offering
Grief is on the other side of love. There is no grief without love.
The life within you is greater than the darkness. Hope is always available.
From my daughter: Your (sic) not alone when you got your phone.
slush, melodious, off-key, starlit eyes, bell-like voice, poetic, tranquility, reticent, eagerly, earthy, equilibrium, owlish, levitate
Pascal--the heart has its reasons, whereas reason knows nothing.
I cannot claim all of these are my own unadulterated thoughts, and I've tried to include an attribution when I noted it in the book or remember the prompt. I hear and read things and write down an impression. My last entry was around the end of March. I need a new little (blue) book.