I’ve edited myself too much. Perhaps.
Actually posted posts stand apart like a child’s semi-toothed smile.
I think I’m going to try showing more teeth on this blog. Just not the bared teeth of ranting rage (I will leave that to much more qualified, bold, prophetic souls; I will continue to joyfully don the robe of the jester monk). I would offer here the toothy grins of holy irreverent curiosity and wonder; musings and haverings and attempts at the poetic; theological finger-painting – which I’ve discovered is so much more fun than religious or moralistic finger-pointing, whether employing right or left fingers – though I reserve the right to finger paint with the middle finger on either hand. Propping up shoulder chips and grinding axes makes such sad grist for this wordhavering mill!
So you may be seeing a few more meandering, reckless lines painted with these neuropathetic fingers as I attempt to jump more faithfully from the canvas of my soul to this one.
Do I want your critiques, your reBUTtals?
No more than a child wants an art critic’s review of her work.
Though I will listen.
Even as a child will listen patiently — until she rudely interrupts by throwing another finger-painting in your face, exclaiming excitedly, “Look, look, look! Now look at this one!”
Just know that my palette is always and eternally Christ.
Not the one on display in our religious cages, but the Cosmic|Word|Christ at the center of all reality, enlightening all, energizing all, holding all, infusing all.
I breathlessly chase the One whom I find everywhere. Everywhere.
I thank my friend Harry — and you can blame him for it — for the revived passion I feel.
It was his parting gift of life to me in death. Seeing him lying lifeless on that mortuary slab was quite the vivid reminder that there lie we all. Quiet tongue. Stilled hands. And yet his words speak.
So what am I waiting for?