Maureen Dowd begins her column today with this quote:
“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.
And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”
We all agree we never thought this country would use mercenaries, but under Cheney and Rumsfield, we have. It is sad to see how the country has been handed over, and now, we take it back. The sun is touching the tops of the trees, and slowly sinking down to earth.
Tis a day for peace.
I just spoke with Chris for over two hours about the wedding. He and Frieda are so excited and they are efficient and creative and all is considered and under control. Shuttle busses will run up and down, and some people will be up and some down, but all will meet up for the events, and it will be beautiful beyond belief. The place is special at 1200 feet with Redwoods and wonderful views. All is well. My part is small, and we are all considering on whether it makes sense to have the rehearsal dinner "up" or "down." I feel relaxed on it all and now can get on with this day and all that keeps getting put off and can be put off no more.
The attainment of wholeness requires one to stake one's whole being. Nothing less will do; there can be no easier conditions, no substitutes, no compromises.
Our new paint color is called "White Dove." What could be better than that? Walls coated with Peace!!
Three turkey vultures talk shop on a sand dune.
A slow scorch inches toward the tideline.
No one knows if the hurricane will come in time
to drown the flames leaping out of the swamp.
The ancients believe the oceans remember
the shape of every hull that plies the waters.
I feel that too, sitting with you, some powers
in us may not die even after our life
slips through its wake. How else to explain
the comfort of watching you half asleep,
half drifting between this life and the deep -
your body a lens through which I see
all the boats between us, lost forever -
lost except in the ocean of memory
which is everywhere looking in the lee
for where we've gone. No one knows,
what happens after the body lays down
its sorrows, not even those three vultures,
more patient than priests hunched at the altar,
each red head glistening like a peach.
- J. P. White