As I pare down, not to what gives me joy but to what fits in the small U-haul I can pull myself,. When I feel the flutters in my gut, I choose to call it excitement. She trusted in the illusion of hope, in the magic of the unseen and took a leap of faith into the dark, into arms that were not waiting, that did not catch her and she never stopped falling.
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In the rolling canyons Of this old faithful valley Is a great yawning chasm Where the fear of failure Looms eternally below In form of jagged rocks. They prey on the mind Between a daunting divide Of two distinct sides In the wide plains of life; The unease of trepidation And the lure of expectation. But one must be certain Of the supposed gratification Beyond the misty curtain, Or else risk a greater fall Than the one already visible When the true land surfaces.
To think is a rare Commodity; to consider And not merely Regurgitate, to fight Those inner biases That are so easy to slip Into. To go against the crowd, To not Conform but to Control your own mind: This is the journey of Odysseus played out Daily in our minds And hearts. The siren call of Confirmation bias Is something we all Hear, tied as we might be To the idea that we are good, Open-minded people. It is a leap Of faith to hope that, At the end of the journey, There awaits a better world: Ithaca. Whether or not we actually Reach home is Irrelevant: it is the Journey that Matters.
Last night we argued about Nothing though it was some- Thing, maybe many some- Things hidden inside each other Like Russian nesting dolls and You said goodnight, and as I was At the door you said, at least you Won, right? This morning I sent you the good- Morning kiss as always, and you Sent one back.
That was Nice if a little forced. I wear a necklace you Brought back for me. When angry with you I take it off childish, I know. This morning I Put it on. I am not a map but a boat at sail, confident of my canvas and strong rigging at ease on board until I saw you standing on the shore pointing at the sunset red on the horizon. You shake seeds from their tiny packets scrape them from damp palms to sprinkle onto newly worked dirt in old whiskey barrels staves splitting so bands slide into earth.
Dark as a bruise in morning light, Raven: watchful bar-tender by the creek. Every winter, water digs its own tomb in sand-spits graveled over by storm. Overhead scream of Hawk — no small life escapes. Druid-stone mossy on its shadow-side — omen for the eclectic seeker of such sign. He paces like a Human wondering what to do with his treasure. So bring on April; let me write throughout the day and on till night. Which hat this morning? Stiff or floppy? Maybe the dead-straw garden hat with brim as wide as pasture, where soon poppies will burst from winter under a broad green band.
Not too much protection from the Sun! A leap of faith, this changeable time of year, how sunlight teases water out of storm-drenched earth, transforms it to grass and clover and twining vetch — she wonders how that particular shade of shadow-blue would become her? Or maybe the warm brown of just-turned soil that goes so well with any kind of green. Choices, choices. She feels the druid stirring. Just grab a hat and go. The soul has no windows, as far as I can see. But the truth has a heart, and getting to the heart of the truth takes a lot of belief and a leap of faith.
Your ears will hear what your eyes will not receive. Do not trust your eyes, for you realize that the soul of a person rests in the eyes of truth. Seeing is believing, and yet looks can be deceiving.
You can have your questions, but it is laid out there for you to accept. You can demand proof and appear aloof and arrogant. Some believe although they have not seen. This is a leap of faith. You can have your doubts, but without faith, you have nothing.
Seamus Heaney’s last interview covered Homer, Virgil and Dante
Trying unusual calls for a bit of faith that whatever goes down will not come up. Trying unusual food calls a little faith that whatever goes down will not come up. Trying unusual food calls for a little faith that that which goes down will not come up. You must be logged in to post a comment. If they like it. Stafford note from a student, 2 pages " First line: You say one can't.
Many places. Skip that time a sound.
Some Literary Criticism quotes
A corner of the mouth. By night. For miles it. The dome. Our look. Accepted for publication by: Quaker Human Experience with Russia. Workshops, lectures, readings 54 items. You touch. Bring it up to the big lens. It had rained. An Epiphany " First line: That time I glanced away when. That was. You always.
Workshops, lectures, readings 18 items. It's the one. Workshops, lectures, readings 37 items. Bring that bend. Workshops, lectures, readings 4 items.
About Robert Lee Brewer
We said. Accepted for publication by: University of Portland Review. Workshops, lectures, readings 1 item. Workshops, lectures, readings 34 items. This frown on my face. Let me wander. Your remark. A foot. Out here in the mountains. Well, there was. They can. Bird songs wouldn't let her breathe. I hear a throat voice. Well, our children took our love apart.