Early a.m. For once I don't feel like walking and just stand there listening to rain. As if sensing me - as if - the neighbor's rooster crows. Frogs sing in the near pasture, telling all the old lies again and again. One falls for it, as always.
And for you, and her, and the others who come - came - promising the Holy Spirit. You reduce it to the body and nothing bad happens. Naturally, one wonders can you go any further? We do have to learn what to question, and how to question, and so forth. So much seems to depend on that insidious wheelbarrow and yet one can always say "and yet."
And yet. And yes? Reading is nice, as always. And thought - apparently so supreme - only captures fragments of what is real. Somewhat like us, though admittedly some function better than others.
And so I wait. The mail comes without the requisite insight or explanation. The nights pass without Her which indicates something. I work quietly, lonely but insistent. At 3 a.m. - twenty sentences later - a little light emerges, and one sees the work differently, just so.