Sometimes we have to sit quietly and listen ...

After He Spoke, I Dreamed of Angelfish

Moon above,

sea below

-- Sturm und Drang

-- under the quilt of guilt.

And still, I feel His presence,

this night of  Eucharist.

Beneath the star of Bethlehem

a million fry flounder,

afflict my soul.

I slam shut the shutters.

Thrash hopelessly till I school.

A billion angelfish and I

falling

through the blue pool of heaven.

Immersing

-- in body

-- in water.

Spring

Spring

Spring,
who does not love your gown
of green?
In each of us a flower blooms,
and in it is a word.

May mine be strong and full of wonder!

Keith Olbermann Prophecy 7 Years Ago

Science is more than a body of knowledge ...

"Science is more than a body of knowledge; it is a way of thinking. I have a foreboding of an America in my children's or grandchildren's time—when the United States is a service and information economy; when nearly all the key manufacturing industries have slipped away to other countries; when awesome technological powers are in the hands of a very few, and no one representing the public interest can even grasp the issues; when the people have lost the ability to set their own agendas or knowledgeably question those in authority; when, clutching our crystals and nervously consulting our horoscopes, our critical faculties in decline, unable to distinguish between what feels good and what's true, we slide, almost without noticing, back into superstition and darkness."
-- Carl Sagan

When we hear a black man ...

“When we hear a black man describe police violence; when we hear an undocumented immigrant describe exploitative labor; when we hear a prisoner describe institutionalized brutalization; when we hear a young gay woman describe homelessness – our first response must not be to attempt to discredit, to rationalize, to explain away. Rather, we must give them the credit we would expect others to give to us, and try to understand experiences that differ substantially from our own. . . . This doesn’t mean credulously accepting every narrative or policy proposal that is accompanied by a claim of oppression; we still have to apply our rational faculties. It does mean treating every story with the solicitude we would reflexively grant to members of our own economic, social, racial, and religious tribes."
-- Brandon McGinley

evening notes #5

5

"Mary, it was nice breaking bread. I guess Amanda and Gabriel are officially hooked on tortas al pastor."

Mary, at twilight, I always look for the Big Dipper, then off of Alkaid, the star at the tip of the handle, I find the North Star. Afterward, I settle into my lawn chair, turn on my music, pour myself a drink, and light a cigar. I often wonder if, in another galaxy, in a faraway solar system, another being is stargazing and contemplating the existence of other intelligent life.

Usually, on bright, star-filled nights, I drift back to my youth in Texas, to my grandfather's farm. In the evening, after a hard day's work and after dinner, our dessert would come from the garden. Albert and I -- Shio straggling behind -- walked down row after row searching for the juiciest meloncito, cantaloupe, or honeydew. Before we ate our fruit, we'd place it in the fresh, cold water of the irrigation ditch, and then we'd recline and wait for the stars. We'd talk about extra-terrestrials, alien creatures, and space exploration. Time would fly, and soon the moon would appear, and the Texas sky, aglitter with stars, would transport us to another world.

In those moments, I'd marvel at God's creation, and my belief in an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent being was reaffirmed. And underneath the umbrella of God's hand, my imagination ran wild unable to contain the infinite power of the Creator's glory. But ultimately, my thoughts would turn to the existence of man and what lay beyond: spirit, soul, afterlife, paradise.

When I sit in my lawn chair and gaze into the star-filled night, I am face to face with God, and the universe makes me feel extraordinary and immense, not small and insignificant. Faith and His creation anchor me. The stars call me home to the infinite, to the eternal. One day, somewhere beyond the Milky Way, beyond the hundred billion galaxies that swirl in space, I will abide in my Father's mansion.

Mary, you're an inspiration, and I love you, and maybe one night, you can treat me to a cigar, and we can stargaze together. And if you're nice, I'll even show you my special star which burns in the northern sky like the Star of Bethlehem. What do you say?

Well, talk to you later. And you know I love you more.