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March 13, 1999
"Haunted and half awake"
crowded and free
tripping in spaces from thought to thought
regaining, and catching my breath,
and sighing before the next step.
My stars disappear one by one
the clock disregards my
iniquity
every tick
is a victory forfeited.
I shrug.
Whether I should or not.
What can you do?
Where can you go?
What can be thought,
what can be learned, what can be taught?
Throbbing head,
turning heart,
trampled body: Have you a mission for the day?
Have you any thing more meaningful to do,
than smile
and hug
and sing
and dance
and teach
and listen
and love?
"Blessed are the hands that keep givin, but never receive..."
"Blessed is the heart that gets broken, but keeps holdin on..."
Wise words Mr. Rice,
Wise words Mr. Macleod,
As I hear them for the first time this evening,
you'll never know how much I needed this comfort.
God is working in this life
in mysterious
and wonderful ways
and in this very moment
~a victory~
to an unsuspecting heart.
Lord of mine,
you gave me these talents
and these opportunities
and this will
yet tasks that seem so miniscule and tedious to my earthly eyes.
Sigh.
I want so strongly to accomplish something
big and
glorious
and grand
for your kingdom
but that's not your way, I guess.
You're smirking lovingly at me
wildly swinging my spiritual fists
at nothing.
You're saying "Later, my child... be patient."
Sigh.
Ok.
Your call God, I submit.
Another tick.
Another moment.
Am I doing anything worthy...


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