I was traveling along a road at night.  Itt was in an area without street lights. An unidentified person was in in the passenger seat.  I felt like I was on familiar road from the past.  All at once we came on a a guest area it was brightly lit but more than that the light was a chromatic radiance gold firelike  and as if the diviseable spectrum was seen  I drove on into the darkness complaining to my companion that the brightness was too much.     After a little while we we came to another brightly lit roadside settlement, it was similarly lit and this time I noticed that as I passed the light did not fade but passed through the atmosphere undiminished by the distance-a bright  amber fire that was immediate even from miles away.  I said to my traveling companion that it was a new light  unlike any that I had known before.  Thinking I was complaining he said yes it was new.  Then I said that it is beautiful -the most beautiful light I have ever seen. He said: Thank you   It was then very early morning and I awoke feeling a sense that having seen the light even in a dream that I had been healed.  But  I remembered that it might be wiser  not to  hope.  
Mica is fools gold but it glitters not less for that; and the sea with diamonds sparkles with praise no less as it give its kisses back to the sun.  If a promise is not kept is a rose arose that promises less; can I then give up a  love that is too little? So I look back and forth upon a dream for  all that is yet  to be ..

The fact that history may ever be a burlesque leaves villains space to make themselves likeable disguised as they are in our very own neighborhood Rubes and so winsome by a default predisposition for the merely familiar whereas the superior is merely strange.  It is an almost endearing flaw.

Certainty and Uncertainty.  How can I be so sure of myself even sure that I am unsure.  Is there not somewhere in me my certainty and that in contention with my uncertainty and why should one prevail over the other?  Yet to say both maybe true ; and so co mingle them seems a muddy solution that may not be so easily  clarified.  Let us say that Iwe separate them in a still and then condense the purer vapor from the residue what then do we have not one but two  back where we started from.  Yet from this perplexity in time may not a pearl of great price grow; and in the constancy of the conundrum may not an enduring peace ensue-In the night a starry beacon winking seems to fall into the summer darkness  declaring heaven near and it is so.  So so beautiful being here with you

The dog barked down the road.  He is facing something I cannot see but a solemn silence surrounds both of us.  What is what was.  A chip of time, a bit of mica catching a sun beam; capturing infinity in a moment that only we can see.  Diamonds in the dust so are the  children of the everlasting one.

Any path would I take that you showed me love along and promised there was more to come.   What would tribulations be to me on that journey.  Yet not every guide conducts us forever.    And to persist for the sake of a mistaken loyalty,  to betray grace by meritorious  abnegation  is to be led astray.   It is not Love's way nor Charity what is not freely given. (to be continued)

Was the memory of the word before it was written; or was the word in the memory or the memory in the word.  There are ragged wholes in the memories of the old.  People gone; landscapes and places, entire epochs gone.      Not neatly subtracted but torn out, rent out large moth holes chewed out.  It is this irregularity that makes them poignant.  They cross the regular boundaries like pages ripped and irregular across the measured grid; and we are like  ancient wanderer mendicants are dressed in holey beggars garments from all the countries of the heart still homeward bound, clowns of time becoming the naked memory of that which was  was before the world.

Though a thousand yesterdays were to pass in unremitting gloom If today be that day when all is changed and we could begin again  where we left off in Love"s first bloom what are all those days that went before?  They would be as naught  For now we would be in the midst of amber  Oh child the wonderful particulars of you.  Oh child  I  say it- let me love you always.