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Found in My Journals After 45 Years
Not quite the dead sea scrolls. More like a mosaic of my soul.
Three years ago, I sold my home in Woodstock, NY, after 26 years of living there with my wife and two kids.
In the process of emptying out the house for the new owners, I found four boxes of old journals in the basement— some of them going back 45 years.
Leafing through them, time stopped and I began to cry — back in touch, as I was, with the ancient, youthful moon-howling seeker within me of everything holy and divine.
Most of this writing I have never shown anyone, having long ago decided it was too private, too personal or too insane. And perhaps it is.
What follows are selected excerpts from these journals in no particular order. While they may seem to be a poem, they are more like a mosaic of my soul dropped from a place high above my head, me slowly picking up the pieces. Enjoy!
Words are only burrs on the path
through the high-country brush with God.
I sit in the cave of myself,
alone with my breath,
there is nobody else here but…
