Morning Trip (99)

“We gaze with perplexity at the highest part of the spiral of force that governs the Universe. And we call it God. We could give it any other name: Abyss, Mystery, Absolute Darkness, Total Light, Matter, Spirit, Supreme Hope, Supreme Despair, Silence. But we call it God, because only this name – for some mysterious reason – is capable of making our heart tremble with vigor. And let there be no doubt that this trembling is absolutely indispensable for us to be in contact with the basic emotions of the human being, emotions that are always beyond any explanation or logic”.
–the Greek author Nikos Kazantzakis

Morning Trip (96)–Incandescent

in·can·des·cent
/ˌinkənˈdesənt/
Adjective

Emitting light as a result of being heated.
(of an electric light) Containing a filament that glows white-hot when heated by a current passed through it.

Synonyms
glowing – white-hot – red-hot – flaming

IV

The dove descending breaks the air
With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre of pyre—
To be redeemed from fire by fire.

Who then devised the torment? Love.
Love is the unfamiliar Name
Behind the hands that wove
The intolerable shirt of flame
Which human power cannot remove.
We only live, only suspire
Consumed by either fire or fire.

–Little Gidding T S Eliot from Four Quartets

Morning Trip (17)

This morning, the Morning Trip is a little bit different, in that I am sharing more than expressive triggers. This morning I am on my way out to pray and walk at the Tree Place earlier than usual. I will be shortly working with 30 teenage young ladies who are coming from a safe haven residence and treatment center. I ask for grace, not to assume. I ask for a quiet and grounded mind and center, that I speak the words that are granted to me, in order to ease suffering and to bring joy. (and to avoid irritating those who do not wish to be with us, but have no choice)
I will share with you, some of what I will share with them.

“a piece of the River
there’s a river
that invents us together

a river you write
out of the matter
you become when you read it

a river translating
on paper
what my senses perceive

a river
where our eyes commune
with the bread of each letter

there’s a river
a river passing through my head”
– Manuel Ulacia