Heilig

Big 9 Music Festival 2016

with Grandma

Rochester John Marshall

You Don't Need To Love Me

"All that's happened is happening now."

I Have Nothing

Great Adversative

Are we big enough with our thoughts- the story of our salvation

A deep peace in giving

Grand Nevertheless

He invites us to believe that he made all things new

Divine intervention (reward the obedient)

to save your life you must lose it

Ultimate However

The waiting God is much different than this world's truth currently

Quintessential But Still

Let us grow out of accustomed

Although God's pain includes everything we are bestowed our own journey

I am equal abundance in this life

My Number by Henry Green

Amie by Pure Prairie League

"Little words are the sweetest to hear; little charities fly farthest, and stay longest on the wing; little lakes are the stillest; little hearts are the fullest, and little farms are the best tilled. Little books are read the most and little songs the dearest loved. And when nature would make anything especially rare and beautiful, she makes it a little; little pearls, little diamonds, little dews. Life is made up of littles; death is what remains of them all. Day is made up of little beams, and night is glorious with little stars."

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

I've Told You Now by Jeremy Jordan

"I am odd, I am new

I wonder if you are too

I hear voices in the air

I see you don't, and that's not fair

I want to not feel blue

I am odd, I am new

I pretend that you are too

I feel like a boy in outerspace

I touch the stars and feel out of place

I worry what others might think

I cry when people laugh, it makes me shrink

I am odd, I am new

I understand now that so are you

I say I, 'feel like a castaway'

I dream of a day that's okay

I try to fit in

I hope someday I do

I am odd, I am new"

"I never regard any narrative as unhistorical simply on the ground that it includes the miraculous. Some people find the miraculous so hard to believe that they cannot imagine any reason for acceptance of it rather than a prior belief."

VIA C.S. LEWIS

"Home, home, sweet, sweet home,

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home."

"That is why no moral question presents itself to the child as long as he is still incapable of recognizing himself in the past or seeing himself in the future. It is only when the moments of his life begin to be organized into behavior that he can decide and choose. The value of the chosen end is confirmed and, reciprocally, the genuiness of the choice is manifested concretely through patience, courage, and fidelity. If I leave behind an act which I have accomplished, it becomes a thing by falling into the past. It is nothing but a stupid and opaque fact. In order to prevent this metamorphosis, I must ceaselessly return to it and justify it in the unity of the project in which I am engaged. Setting up the movement of my transcendence requires that I never let it uselessly fall back upon itself, that I prolong indefinitely. This I can not genuinely desire an end today without desiring it through my whole existence, insofar as it is the surpassed past of days to come. To will is to engage myself to persevere in my will. This does not mean that I ought not aim at any limited end. I may desire absolutely and forever a revelation of a moment. This means that the value of this provisional end will be confirmed indefinitely."

VIA THE ETHICS OF AMBIGUITY, SIMONE DE BEAUVOIR

"When I was in my twenties, I would hitchhike to work every day/ I'd walk down three blocks to route 22 in New Jersey and wait for a ride to work. Someone always picked me up, and I was never late. Each morning I counted on the service of ordinary commuters who had full lives full of their own worries and yet, without fail, at least one of them would do something generous, as if on schedule. As I stood there with my thumb outstretched, the only question in my mind was simply, 'will the miracle happen today?'

Shortly after that job, I took my wages and split for Asia. I've lost track of the number of generous acts aimed at me there, but they arrived as dependably as my daily hitchhiking miracle.

I have developed a belief about what happens in these moments and it goes like this: Kindness is like a breath. It can be squeezed out, or drawn in. To solicit  a gift from a stranger takes a certain state of openness. If you are lost or ill, this is easy, but most days you are neither, so embracing extreme generosity takes some preparation. I learned to think of this as an exchange. During the moment the stranger offers his or her goodness, the person being aided offers degrees of humility, indebtedness, surprise, trust, delight, relief and amusement to the stranger.

One year I rode my bicycle across America. In the evening I'd scout houses for a likely yard to camp in. I'd ring the bell and say, 'I'd like to pitch my tent tonight where I have permission. I've just eaten dinner, and I'll be gone first thing in the morning.' I was never turned away, not once. And there was always more, like an invitation into their home. My job at that moment was clear: I was to relate my adventure, and in the retelling of what happened so far, they would get to vicariously ride a bicycle across America- a thrill they secretly desired but would never do. In exchange I would get a place to camp and a dish of ice cream.

When the miracle flows, it flows both ways. With each gift the threads of benevolence are knotted, snaring both giver and recipient. I've only slowly come to realize that good givers are those who learn to receive with grace well. They radiate a sense of being indebted and a state of being thankful. As a matter of fact, we are all at the receiving end  of a huge gift simply by being alive. Yet most of us are no good at being helpless, humble or indebted.

As with my hitchhiking rides, the gift is an extravagant gesture you can count on. No matter how bad the weather, soiled the past, broken the heart, hellish the war, I believe all that is behind the universe is conspiring to help us-if we will humble ourselves enough to let it in."

THE UNIVERSE IS CONSPIRING TO HELP US, KEVIN KELLY

No Stranger

Be My Angel

A trigger was found deep in my ribs
sometimes I cock it and hold my breath
as to not stir one bone or make one move
Although this gun lies deep inside of me
I only often see it when draped against the brow of my head
when it's held there- my frontal cranium turns elusive, dark silver
As is, time stands still and even the best intent could fall in-
it shimmers and wanes in rage & frustration
not knowing who's weapon this is,
and why i'm guarding it
I would run, but I often choose a direction
I then learn the undesirable option
And warning shots are fired
deep inside that black space that has no name
And I am scared
because people are dying
And i'm at gunpoint.

The Less I Know The Better

purpose + self + the all/pain + suffering

= truth

"But it can't be true. Drifting from one reality to another, independent of the logic of time. This is not possible. You are made out of time. This is the force that tells you who you are. Close your eyes and feel it. It is time that defines your existence."

unfucktheworld

"She spent hours at the computer screen looking at a live-streaming video feed from the edge of a two-lane road in a city in Finland. It was the middle of the night in Kotka, in Finland, and she watched the screen. It was interesting to her because it was happening now, as she sat here, and because it happened twenty-four hours a day, facelessly, cars entering and leaving Kotka, or just the empty road in the dead times. The dead times were the best.

She sat and lookied at the screen. It was compelling to her, real enough to withstand the circumstance of nothing going on. It thrived on circumstance. It was three in the morning in Kotka and she waited for a car to come along-not that she wondred who was in it. Simply the fact of Kotka. It was the sense of orginization, a place contained in an unyielding frame, as it is and as you watch, with a reading of local time in the digital display in a corner of the screen. Kotka was another world but she could see it in its realness, in its hours, minutes and seconds.

She set aside time every day for the webcam at Kotka. She didn't know the meaning of this feed but took it as an act of flowing poetry. It was best in the dead times. It emptied her mind and made her feel the deep scilence of other places, the mystery of seeing over the world to a place stripped of everything but a road that approaches and recedes, both realities ring at once, and the numbers changed in the digital display with an odd and hollow urgency, the seconds advancing toward the minute, the minutes climbing hourward, and she sat and watched, waiting for a car to take fleeting shape on the roadway."

 VIA THE BODY ARTIST, DON DELILLO

Crystalfilm

"Life lived irreducibly as sheer respiration.

First breath, then pant, then gasp."

"Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you'll have it forever, real and eternal."

VIA JOHN 12



Our aggression breathes-

watch it flatten the hills,

deepen the valley,

run through the river

North to South.

Our weapons garnish-

every opportunity a word.

Lay down your collaterals

in front of life's chance.

Given room to grow.

"Let us shoutaloud; to the rock that binds us."

And, the Sunsets Have Been Pretty

Weathered wind blows cold

my body receives

sky lately sheltered

lies blue today

barely touched

clouds discerning creature

from man

heat, the sun shines

between clouds

allowing colored grace

against skin's shade

firstly taken.