Elizabeth Gilbert on Creativity

a fabulous statement about creativity:

(with thanks to the blogger The Forbidden Gospels )

The last bit reminded me of this:

Neil Young & E. Harris This Old Guitar
Uploaded by ivaxavi. - Descobreix altres videoclips.

Why?

every now and then,

Makropoulos likes to post

divas,

because 

Makropoulos is

a diva.

And she's a damned busy one these days.

It aggravates her/me

(see postings below).

Please, though, 

let me share this glorious posting

by a diva

who sings from

my heart

as well

as her own:

September Equinox Channelling

( falconscience )

*

When two opposites meet,

face to face, well, they

stick together, right/

When two opposites meet,

well,

the negative and the positive

cancels each other out;

therefore,

there is

One.

A single, whole

entity.

( peppylicious )

When two opposites are not aligned,

that is

( physicssjsu )

 

the negative and the positive are farthest apart,

well I guess it gets really cold;

I suspect that's when

Ice Ages

occur.

Or something like that.

* *

Imagine it this way:

that we are all

rolling around inside

a giant ball, well, but

it's really like a half ball,

because -- remember the

sphere 

is perfect,

and the only way 

a perfect object

which is a 

sphere

can see its own face

is to break

itself

in half.

( murrayhudson )

and when the half meets

the half 

again

face-on

it fits so perfectly,

( dailymail )

but

in the meantime,

it's rocking 

It feels like 

its going

in circles

because it has to

rock its own

demi-circumference

twice

before it settles back

together again.

( davidasharman ) 

* * *

Imagine that creation was
a perfect sphere breaking
apart
so it could see its own
face, and then
in order
for it
to be
united
again, it would have to
rock back and forth
(do its demi
circumference
twice)
beffore its halves could
meld
together
again
at their widest
points;
in their perfect
shape
for awhile. . .

For
we are born of the compulsion
to have a compulsion
to see what we look like
when we walk
through a door --

the compulsion to break
ourselves in half
and see
is the compulsion
to create,
to see in
the compulsion to duplicate and
replicate is
the very compulsion that
created all
of us.

That's the truth.
(To fully understand
some of this,
read some of my earlier stuff on that
follow the link to representation,
The Fall,
and
The Grid,
always the Grid.)

That's the truth.

* * 8 * *

Let me please explain
the syntax of the previous
sentence ---
hold on tight --
this is the syntax
for a sentence in the Age of the Grid,
when sentences need to be
Understood across Languages.
In the Age of the Grid
SYNTAX
takes more value over actual meanings of words,
because, if we could all agree
on certain SYNTAX PATTERNS,
then we could communicate
Across Languages,
even translate
in real
time---

Let me explain a little further:

Here is a sentence pattern for theAge
of the Grid:
(I'd call it the Definition Pattern):

The first half of the sentence would
be the term or concept you seek to define;
the second half
of the sentence would be
the definition.

The definition --
the second clause
(which by the way is also the dominant clause)
(The first, the term to be defined
would be subordinate,
because
the first element of the sentence would be a term known by all.
It would work as a symbol.
It would need no verb.

) ).

An example:
M&M's: a milk chocolatey mess that melts
in your mouth and not
in your hands.

A perfect definition,
a perfect
proclaimation
of what you're trying
to say to each other.

Yes, this is the syntax
of the soundbite,
the syntax
of the momentary
blink
this
is the syntax of the next
generation.

(second rule for the Definition Pattern):

The first (subordinate)
clause
is often an internationally known symbol,
like Ford, McDonalds,
or
M&M's

(centerfornewmedia )

That symbol goes in the first part of the message.

The second part of the sentence
summarizes the new message --
ie: the argument --
you want to deliver
about the first,
well-known symbol.
Thus, even as this is a definition,
it is also an argument
for a new way of looking at things.

(Advertising has taught us, too,
that these arguments change
as the needs of socity
change:



It's just the way of the world.)


~~~~mmmmmmm~~~~

A shortened, elliptical version of this Definition Pattern
is the Direct Assault Pattern,
where you don't even bother
with the
second,
dominant,
clause of explanation.
In the
DAP,
you simply take that
internationally known symbol
and mark whatever message you want
to make about it
right over its face:

(worldkarma)

This is a very direct
and
unfortunately often
brutal
way to deliver
a message.

And its a syntax that is already in use
for much of the rest
of the world.

Consider this:

( killercoke )

It's only America that hasn't figured out
that the new language
of the new Century
is already taken
root, is
already making meaning
and changing minds.
And you'd think that America would
have figured out
and learned to communicate
more tactfully,
after receiving the kind of message
they did
on a rather ill-fated September Day
some Nine Years Ago.

Attacking one's central imagery
clearly expresses
what the other culture
thinks
of that central imagery.

( cargolaw )




Yes,
we have to protect ourselves,
but
we don't have to kill them all.
They are
our brothers
They are
the lover
we need
when no one else understands
US.
They are our
polar opposites, the ones
we don't tell
the rest of our friends
we love.
They are our
alcoholic sisters,
bisexual brothers,
paranoic mothers,
all the nutty ones
the ones
the human race has shunned,
the ones we love.

( accidentalmysteries )

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So we have a choice
as the rocking sphere
swings inward
towards its magnetic
center:

a) to love the Other,
all of the
Others
who we really love
already
or b) to shun
them
completely,
even knowing
that the other
will always
be other and
honestly be
other
for US,
we who need them
to hold us together
so we might be
one.

(Astronomy Picture of the Day

2002Nov25 )

The Scholar: A Channelling

. . . . and so it begins

the horrendous roller coaster 

treadmill of the academic

year

Some people think college professors

have it made,

but honestly

these days

that isn't true.

( Shelah )

Of course, there are those 

tenured faculty, who

admired what appeared to be the easy life

of their 

English Professor,

in the 1970's,

and perhaps it was 

easy

in its way.

But like a child who admires his father's

authority,

the students who envisions and envies

his professor's 

solitary ease,

imitates it, and 

imitates it with exaggeration.

After all, the child doesn't see the work

that goes into 

apparent ease.

So, yes, there are

professors today

who are very, very

lazy, and then

there are those who do

their jobs, which means

when September hits, so too does their

4-4 or 5-5

teaching load

hit

the fan and splatter

and so begins. . . 

the meetings and the committees and

the papers and the

                  Task Forces

designed by administrators

with literature Ph.D.s 

who are either more cunning

or more beguiling

or more corrupt

than the menial faculty.

And the duties they design

so urgently 

will become passe

when they move away

in a year or two

to a seaside experimental College

not too far from Berkeley.

( Bowman )

Yes, so it begins,

and I 

a faculty 

member

spawned by hardworking mentors

begin my struggle:

my mind gets cluttered

with a multitude of tasks

designed to appeal

to my well-meaninged

intentions,

designed to quell my cantankarous

ruminations.

All week long I trudge

from day to day 

from paper, to paper,

pursuing these days

when my brain, so full

of mutterings

can spill

on this miserable page.

With a little help

from my friends, I squeeze

the chatter 

into oblivion, for a time

when time gallops

forward, and so does

my pen, just barely

fast enough

to capture the moaning voices

of captives in my head

my head

the cave

the cave

where perhaps exists a

universe just like

the one we live in,

and the great mind 

that fashions the wheel

that spins around a glowing

center in this world

is mine.  And somewhere

on a planet circling that star

in my mind

                                         lives me, struggling to see

                                 the meaning of it all.

The savior of the world

in my own mind is me,

and if I can just be true

to me

everything will be all right.

 - - - ) ) ) ( ( ( - - -

This is where the current 

academy

comes in:

it is designed to detain

the minds of men

and women

from themselves.

It was designed by men

living inside their own heads

100 years or so

ago,

and it worked for awhile,

But not anymore, as the 

master brain evolves to meet

the God-Brain,

the ways of that mind

that Old old mind

will no longer fit the bill.

Jesus will come as the scholar

in the 4 days of the grid,

in the

Age of the Grid

at the exact

point of juncture

where & when

women &  men

realize

The Messiah is the mind that

unites us,

the point

of agreement

and acceptance

and forgiveness.

It's so easy

that it's hard, the hardest

thing in the world

to do.

( spanblog )

Most people would just

laugh

and say:

it's the stupidest

most asinine

idea, and no way

could it happen:

what could happen:

humans would advance to the point

where they could all

we could all 

just look each other

in the eye

and just

stop

fighting

              just

stop

demanding

notoreity

or equality,

because

If we all stopped fighting,

stopped hating,

started communicating

we'd all be equal.

That's right:

suddenly,

we would all

be

equal.

Jesus will come as the Scholar

in the 4 Days of the Grid:

in earlier entries

I've contemplated

who Jesus was

       or is,

and mostly,

what the Grid is,

but have I spoken of the scholar?

The scholar is the greatest

any man can be,

recognizing that scholar

-ship

means reaching the highest

intellectual potential

one can reach

on the subject that one

is born to be best at;

therefore;

one can be a scholar

in their taxi, or a

scholar delivering mail,

or a scholar

teaching infants,

or a scholar

in jail.

 Just as long as the mind

that God gave you,

that absolute 

 organ

made in His likeness,

just as long as you are true

to its greatest potential,

you, too,

                are part of

Jesus rising. 

- - - ( ( ( ) ) ) - - -

Jesus will come again

as the Scholar

to the scholars

when the 4 points unite:

the East

the West

the North

the South

at the moment of the juncture

when the eye of God

gazes directly

at the mind of Man

through the only aperture

in the heavens

that makes this possible:

by the way,

it's a mirror

in the mind

of God:

that's the ticket,

that's the 2-way street,

the moment of Reflective Practice

when God reflects 

on himself:

and when he does, we

are the image he sees:

We happy Three

We Trinity.

( lovezanedale )

Is this a joke?

Is this a drug induced

harangue?

Or is it

a channelling,

a message

from the galaxy

inside of me

that is really

my point of entry to

the entirety

of the almighty.

Don't think too hard.

Just ride that trai

and if you fall off,

don't fret

there's always another.

But if you're wondering the date and time

of this miraculous

mirror gazing:

it would be

some time in the 12th month

of the year

2012.

The Brain as a Muppett

. . . thanks to

Dangerous Minds,

I saw this fabulous little video

done by puppeteer Jim Henson:

All I can say is:

I wish I'd done this myself!

Blood Red Pants

(from Google search page, thanks.)

*

On 9/11/2001,

I was living in Turkey.

I had just returned from

My summer with family in the States.

Only a week previous,

We had celebrated my youngest brother’s wedding

In New York City.

With our new-found family members
(my sister-in-law’s Greek family,

The kind generous people

Who welcomed me so warmly

This past summer)

We had taken the Circle Line Cruise

And enjoyed the Manhattan skyline,

Complete with

Twin Towers.

( photo by Makropoulos )

What a happy day that had been for me,

To be with my whole family,

In New York City,

One of my favorite cities

In the world.

I had lived three and a half very happy years

In that city

While I completed coursework

For my Ph.D., and

I had my own relationship with the

World Trade Center:

One summer I had done temp work in one of the Towers,

For a month or so

On around the 64^th floor,

In a bustling stock trading office.

I don’t remember the name of the place.

But I remember the people,

All frenetic, some struggling

To find a human moment

In the bustle of the day.

I remember being amused

By the high-stakes game they were playing,

But only really wanting to watch.

I knew that if I tried to participate,

I’d probably destroy something,

Like somebody’s

Fragile fortune.

I remember my lunch breaks, too,

Sitting out in the heat,

Under the creaking,

Looming

Monoliths,

Eating my simple sandwich

Every now and then wishing

One of the besuited men

Would take a shine to me

And invite me to lunch.

(But I was newly married then, so I played it safe,

wearing non-descript cotton

dresses

and hose.

In the heat,

That’s right.

I wore hose.)

My other memory of the Towers

Was a daily one:

I would step out of my

East 9^th Street apartment building

And head West

To my classes.

Crossing 1^st Avenue, I could look down

And see them in the distance.

They became my beacon,

My guide,

My reminder that I was headed

In the right direction.

It was very hard to live in New York City

And not have a relationship

With the

Twin Towers.

( guardianchronicle )

* *

( alibaba)

On 9/11/2001,

I was living in Turkey.

I had just returned from

Shopping

In the streets of Ankara.

I loved the new red pants

I had bought

That hugged me

Like hose.

But as pants,

They were far more sexy

Than hose.

Blood red pants.

I still have them.

I came into my apartment,

Turned on my TV,

Always set

On CNN,

And

Without looking,

Went to the bedroom

And put on my

Blood red pants.

(photo by Makropoulos)

They were very sweet,

Indeed,

And made me smitten

With my own ass.

Returning to the other room,

I saw it:

My lovely city

New York

An aerial view

An airplane flying

Low

And colliding

With a Tower.

Like so many others,

I thought it was a hoax at first,

But then,

I saw the next plane.

When the first Tower

Crumbled,

I too

Crumbled

To the ground,

Sobbing,

And suddenly

Very alone, and very frightened.

I could see very clearly

How the massive

American Ship of State

Now had a gaping hole

Torn right into its water line,

And all I could think was:

Now all the passengers,

Those US Citizens,

 on board that massive

Ship of State that they thought

Was the Love Boat

Have a clear view of the rest of the world.

What will they see?

They could, if they dared, see very clearly

The position America had come to assume

In the rest of the world.

They could, indeed, if they dared, look closely

At the now imperiled vessel

In which they had blissfully

Floated for nearly a century

And recognize

That it was not the Love Boat after all,

But rather,

A Battleship.

And they could apologize and get on with mending their wounds,

Everyone’s wounds.

Or

They could get really pissed

And fight back

And keep pretending they are on the

Love Boat

When in fact the more they fought

(the more they fight)

The more the rest of the world

Would see their concealed weapons

More clearly,

And watch how frantic they would all become

As the still damaged

Ship-Of-The-American-State

Began (and begins) to slowly sink

Into

The Sea of History.

Seriously,

That’s what I thought.

Sometimes my brain

Waxes quite poetically.

If you haven't noticed by now.

* * *

On 9/11/2001,

I was living in Turkey.

I had just returned from

The U.S.A.

I had brought some gifts

For my building’s

Kapacı,
(door man, building manager, maintenance man)

A lovely always-smiling man

Named

Salaam.

Which, by the way,

Means “peace”

If you didn’t know that.

It’s often part of a greeting.

I had bought with me a bag full of gifts

For his children,

And he had been so shocked

When I handed them to him.

(In my then very modest Turkish,

I had asked him,

before I left,

how many children he had,

or I thought I asked him that.

After a confused expression, he answered
“altı” – six

So I had brought back a bag full of

Six little stuffed animals.

I later learned he had two

Children,

And the oldest was

Six, and the question I had posed

Was actually

“How old is your child?”)

Salaam was always smiling at the door of the building,

Or working in the grounds, making them a fabulous garden.

His beautiful wife

Aylın

Would bring me homemade food
when she had extra.

After the events of 9/11/2001,

Salaam brought me flowers,

And wished me and my country
a quick healing.

People in my building who I did not know

Stopped me in the elevator and on the stairs,

And said they were deeply sorry

For the attack on the

Twin Towers.

That was not, they said,

The true Islam.

Within the year that followed,

When my apartment was broken into

Salaam took personal responsibility for it,

And did all he could to make the building secure.

My neighbors paid to have my door fixed;

They gave me money and food until

I could stabilize myself.

In my independent American Way,

I was embarrassed
and told them
they didn't have to do that.

But a neighbor explained to me

That the moment I moved into their building,

I became a member of their family,

Their community,

And they felt it was their duty

To help and protect me.

It was, this woman said,

The Turkish way,

The True Islamic way,

Not like what happened in New York

On 9/11/2001.

( brewed coffee )

It is 9/11/2010,

And I live in America.

And somewhere

In Florida,

A preacher,

A religious man

A man whose job it is to train his people

Ethically

About the true nature of God,

And the Peaceful,

Forgiving,

Self-Effacing

Teachings of Jesus Christ

Has threatened to  burn

The Koran –

And I say to you

That man is Not a True Christian.

He should go move

Into a working class apartment complex

In a Muslim country

And see

What a true Christian 
Is supposed to act like.
 

AbusesubA

The reverse of the abuse is
love


The initial abuse occured
when
for a split second

God
or the representation of god
that was produced so god
could see what he
or she
looked like

looked

and said:

"what the heck is that?"

and for a moment the love faltered,

and part of god laughed

at the other part of god

and that laughing part of god

made the other part of god

feel it was less than god,

and so

the cycle of abuse

began

. . . .



slowly,


through time


the abuse has compounded to the point where


pastors abuse parishioners


fathers abuse children


lovers abuse beloved


and the abused are so confused --  because


it all started for them


a long time ago,


when they had come only seeking


love.



It's time to break the chain;


it's time to look in the mirror and recognize


we are all complimentary parts


of the total image






The only way to make that change

to the man in the mirror

is to change the man

looking

at

the mirror.

little children . . .

And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.

Matthew 18:3

when will I get done, revolving it all? (a channelling)

This semester I'm teaching Footfalls,

That fabulous Beckett play

the got itself etched 

in my mind so many years

ago,

that, and 

Medea.

 It's funny: I may be setting myself up
for failure.

Whenever I decide to teach
a play I know oh so well
and love so much,
I find when I reach the actual
teaching itself,
I can't do it.
Students get really mad at me,
because I love all that old stuff like
Shakespeare,
or Euripides,
all guys I once knew once.

and beckett

The problem is: I know so much about these guys
and their times
that it would take forever
to teach it,
so for about a week
I'm silent, demanding the students
teach themselves some little part of
the
history.
(Oh, these 21st century students hate an old
history bound chick like me --
it's not their fault;
they were raised in an age
that scoffed at
history)
Still, I force them
to teach themselves.   I want them to
get it in their bones
as deeply as it is in mine.
And the only way they can do that
is
embody it.

When that's over, I teach the play and I teach it intensely.

Unfortunately, some students think that anything not taught directly by the teacher doesn't count.
For them, there is a  tough leap
from self-taught to "worth something."

( detourart )

So much of what I know
is self taught.
And it's all worth something.
I confirmed that
when I did a dissertation
at a fairly well known university
and won a departmental award for my work
in a blissfully forgiving cross-disciplinary field called
"Performance Studies."

Yes, that's right, in this age, Makropoulos is a PhD.

By gaining that, I confirmed to myself
that all that stuff
I taught my self
over the ages
was both worth it an
well taught.

If I can teach myself
all the crap I taught
myself as well as I did,
then,
you'd think I'd be able to teach
others,
and for a decade or two
I could: I was recognized as a good teacher,
at some very good schools.

However, I'm not as one of those schools now.

This generation,
lovingly referred to as
Generation Z
is so different from any I've ever encountered
yet.
They just want to be spoon fed
(I don't like doing that)

Students don't like me,
because
I just don't take their bullshit.
I want them to take
responsibility
for themselves and their learning.
Not a good thing to require these days,
in the good ol' U.S. of A.

MY CONCLUSION ABOUT GEN. Z in the U.S.A.:

Students in generation Z
are either
the most spoiled children we've ever produced
OR
they're the most literal generation in recent history.

( timeoutsydney )


So tell me:
have I finally hit
the Generation Gap
or
is this another marking of a
major cosmic shift?
Has Generation Z inherited the task of being
the cusp generation?
If it is a cosmic shift, it is heralded by a generation
that is honest and true; they see life simply for what
it is.
That is the constant,
and then there are the variables,
and that depends a lot on who their parents are:

1.  Those raised by the more Idealistic Hippies of the '60's and 70's - Empaths, that would be,
the kids are empathic to a dangerous extreme.

2.  Those raised by the Folks-Who-Like-To-Get-Stoned Hippies,
Some of Whom Still
Giveadamn,
and some of whom who don't,
well,
they are the largest group
who produced kids,
and their kids are
a mixed bag.
They're either really thoughtful, caring, ethical, slightly
goofy, but nice to be around

or

They're stoners.

3. That group is nearly rivaled in size
by the children of the early generation
Stoners,
whose kids, for the most part
are stoners;
but there are also children of Stoners
who look at their wasted parents
and decide:
"there must be another, better way";
and they are any of the above

. . . . and then . . .  .

4. there are the children of
the Nice, Straight Kids From the Seventies
Oh, yeah, they're out there,
those kids.  Some become
stoners, because their parents, who were
Nice, Straight Kids
when they were young
have become
Anal Retentive,
so their kids are either
doubly anal retentive
or they become
Any One Of the Above.

5.  And then,
There are the kids of the
Religious Zealots, and often
those kids are psychopathic religious zealots

or

they're any of the above
with any level of
Religious Fervor.

But,
the common denominator across all these groups is:

they are matter-of-fact and literal.
They live day to day;
they have trouble dealing with
authority
and that may be
because many of their parents
yielded it abusively.

---^---
They don't like me
all that much.
I didn't have kids this time around.
Instead, I was and still am
the nerd you kind of liked but also kind of hated
because
I didn't ever turn around and say to you
"why the hell did you do that?  That was really stupid!"
NO
I just refused
to participate.
I have done
my own thing.
I suppose some
would think me a snob;
others,
after they get to know me
just come to see
I'm actually very nice
and always honest.

Well, why not?

What the hell?

I'm 424 - going on 425
years old, and
it just doesn't make sense to
alienate
all the people around me.
I've seen you all
so many times before;
you just keep coming back
and you don't remember
a damned thing about what you did
the last time you were here.

(Many of you look at me with that vague
mist of remembrance
and say:
"wow, I know you from somewhere!"
but generally
you don't remember
who you were.
You were a girl.
You were a king.
You were black.
You were a slave.

You put yourself
in those roles
because you knew
it would teach you something.

The problem is: most of you
didn't learn it the last time around;
you never attained that identity;
you went to your grave denying
you were a girl
or a slave
or a black man
or a muslim
or a christian
or a jew,
and therefore,
the thing you were the last time around --
the thing you never were able to see --
is the thing you hate the most
today.

So the challenge of this lifetime
is double:

Gain the knowledge you didn't gain in your last life
(ie: OK, that black man could have been me 100 years ago)
and gain it
in the body you chose for
This Life.

Learn to be honest
and frank
with yourself.
Learn
from Makropoulos
who is the most honest
person you will ever meet.

That's right,
I'm past my gripes with you -- we
dealt with them a century
or two
ago,
and now I just want us all
to get on with it.

There are only a few; indeed,
a very select few I
haven't met in all
my decades; and those are the ones
I am supposed to meet.
Not just one, mind you, but the ones,
the ones who are like me,
like CricketSong.

We're here looking for each other
because
we are the pillars
of the next generation of humanity.
Our words will be preserved
into the future, and
humans -- in whatever form
they take -- will say:

"well, hell, it's not like nobody told them."

********

We've had prophets before
who proved themselves
right; and we have prophets
right now, of equal magnitude,
and that is because
we are the same
prophets.
It's our cosmic fuckin' job.

  The funny thing about
the words of the prophets
(not those on the tenement halls, but especially
those on the internet)
is that they will last for an eternity.

Humankind, on the other hand,
is physical and will pass,
but
it is a Fact; humankind is God's
Creation, and it will
return
in some form or another
until
it gets it right.

(What is it to get it right?
To get it right is to reflect back to God
Her Image,
unflawed and as perfect
as an Image
can possibly be.)

(docarzt 's interesting blog entry on Bentham )

The problem is:
if the revolving
Eye of God,
which loves to turn around  and survey
all its creation,
when it finally comes back to
that place where
it is looking directly as US,
well -- if it's not happy,
like it wasn't happy the last time it looked
(see the book of Genesis, chapters 6 - 9 : the story
of Noah)
well -- He kind of warned us
that the next total destruction
(that is, if She's pissed)
will be fire.

That's right -- fire --
He's moving through
the Elements,
folks:

 In His first Disappointment,
he used
Death by Earth:
ie: to be sent out of the
Garden of Eden and told
"Now it's ashes to ashes,
dust to dust
for you"
is, fundamentally,
Death by Earth.

The flood was
Death by Water.

The next threat on God's agenda is
Fire.
(check out the Book of Revelation
for that one)

( picsdigger )

Therefore,

we  have two choices
more or less,
assuming the majority of us don't want
Death By Fire.
There may be enough among us who do,
and given that,
we'll get it, but
some will live on
to carry the burden of our errors;
to reproduce
exponentially until
all the souls who have yet to get it right
have hand another change.
We
will have to learn to live in the askes
as they wait an eternity for God's
Eye to come around again.

And I would have to keep coming back, dammit.

ANYWAY>
so that's what happens if we do nothing.

However,
we could  do a really good job of remembering what the hell
we did wrong and fix it, quickly, and then,
 well, one of two things would happen:

a.  If, say, 90% of the world was being good
and 10% or so were still raising hell, well
She (I mean God) might decide to be 
light on us.
We might get off with Death by Air,

or

She might give us a little more time,
just a little more,
and then check on us again
a little sooner
 (God is, after all, a just God, and a forgiving God)

or

b.  If we were ALL good,
when the Eye of God
is suddently facing us fully
again,
well, then,
 God would see His Creation,
that reflection of Herself
in all its Perfection,
which is what
He wanted
all along.

And, well,

God would look at Her creation and
finally see Himself, and
finally find that He
could Love Herself
or at least Their Own Likeness,

which is Us.

God is Love:
He keeps insisting;
why can't we give Him
what She wants to see?

> > > > > > > > 

The good thing about Generation Z
is that it is wise enough
to be willing to at least try Love once --
and if they find Love 
to be Good,
they'll stay in it.

It's their parents
who will be the ones doomed
to another turn 
on the dance floor of time;
and it could be a very long time
in fire
if we're not careful.


Ah.  So.

So I'm teaching 

Footfalls

and wondering:

". . . will I ever be done
revolving it all
in my poor mind. . . . 

it all.


it all.