The Soul of the Slobbering Hound

Whole weeks go by and the words don’t come, but bark instead from the cavernous deep of my longing, of my confusion, of my loved and lost, of my ambition and inadequacy, of my dying, of my fear, of my disgust. Barking like slobbering hounds, ungrateful for the opportunity I’ve given them to live again, to be reborn, but no. They are creatures of habit, these dogs, these thoughts, this heart of mine. It wants what it had, and only when it gets it will it start wanting everything else as well.

Sunday

one true thing

How is it that feelings of loss and pain are always accompanied by feelings of pure love not for a person or a situation or an idea (that has touched me and taken a room in my mind for its own visions) but for life just life And how is it that I am so taken with this love with what this love does for my soul and how that love is in fact my spirit and that as much love as there is in my spirit is as much love as I have to give And does this mean that I will always have strength to remain my better self as things fall all around me because in the falling I see love and in the debris I find hope and in the carnage I smell love's hope still fresh and looking for life?
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