devotionals

came in the mail with a package from J, who thinks, rightly, that blogging is disturbingly narcissistic, along with my deposit and a note, just in time. this morning I broke the beautiful old bulb upon waking and the birds are making some wild furious sound up above. Will there be a time when I don't feel perched on the edge, muscles flexed to take off? There is something sensual reawakening --I'm ordering the right food, picking the right color paint, following a map of the senses with a faith in my body. She has forgotten you. It is a new dark face that slides in when I crossover. All that drama can inprint on the cold mind, the pride, ego, but this dusty angel skin has officially shaken you loose.

He kept saying he'd be not enough, and that's right if you need the waters to be contained like a small pond. I'm looking for someone to hold my hand who isn't afraid of swimming in oceans.

Friendship. Maybe that would be possible. The mind does miss--I do want to talk about stories. But maybe it 's his pride that makes that impossible. I want the friend at the end of the day who has made steak in front of the west wing and will hear my teaching stories. I want to tell someone about my observation the other day, how my students came through for me. Even the one who sits and the back with a smirk. We were talking about "Where Are You Going Where Have You Been?" and after reading the description of the architecture of the burger joint, he held up a ballpoint image and said:

"I drew it, and I think it looks kinda like a church."




I need a new subject. Today I'll walk in a new town with a new friend. I'll roll down the roof; I'll pay my rent. We'll see.