Pondering why Anne Lamott can say what I'm thinking better than I can think it
As I sit here safely in the heart of 4 tranquil acres.
Willing myself to not succumb to despair or futility or cynicism.
We spiritual types eschew cynicism like the plague, even when a plague is plaguing Africa.
Drawn to and repelled by Facebook, Jon Stewart, Diane Rehm, The Huffington Post,
Resistant to daily practice or reading yet another spiritual picker upper
While exploring Robin Williams's eyes in all the photos of his precious life.
Here I sit in Paris, Tx half-heartedly registering folks to vote in the November elections
Thinking to myself this is not the playing field where real change can happen.
Remembering the refrain of the hippie-dippie Harmonic Convergence of yesteryear,
It's gonna get worse before it gets better.
Overwhelmed by peering and staring at world events, out there,
I can only, reluctantly, turn within even while that voice whispers cop-out.
From within I type these words, eyes closed
Seeking that harmonious touchstone, landing one foot on home base,
Where baptism without water stands a chance of refreshing me
So that I can meet you eye to eye with gratitude and compassion.