A friend lent me a book. Theo of Golden. I had just begun reading it. It’s about an artist and people being seen. It led me to think about this friend I made on a pilgrimage in Israel. She is much older than me and darling. We are an unlikely pair, but our hearts are knit together. We were on buses, in gardens, on windy cliffs. I lit a candle in a monastery for her in Haifa, Israel after she fell ill. I photographed flowers for her. She is well now. She lends me books. Ingrid. As I thought about people that I pray for, I could see the depths hidden in their heart. I could see my friend Jenni breaking her alabaster jar in public spaces. She is writing a book. I pray for her fire to illuminate darkened rooms and hearts. I could see my brilliant, beautiful daughter not able to see how wonderful she is. I love her. She’s strumming her ukelele and talking to a cat. Hope looks so simple. Laomai. I could see myself sitting on deep things because they weren’t welcome in the market place....
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HOLY SONNETS. XIV.
Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
I love it! I was wondering yesterday why we don't write love songs to God like Lionel Richie does to women.
I may blog about this. :-)