The time is nearing. No words of mine could possibly better represent this season of standing on the edge of final darkness and eternal light than this performance (included here) of When Jesus Spoke From The Cross (Trinity Episcopal Church, Jazz Fest 2012). Composed by Dave Brubeck in 1989, arranged and performed by Paul English (piano) with David Caceres (Vocals/Saxophone), Continue reading When Jesus Spoke
The rest of the story is that I did. And walk, and draw, and read, and write, and pray and eat. Oh I ate!
Here I am on the top of Prayer Mountain – not my best look, but I was pretty happy up there. Continue reading The Hill Country #4 : The Rest of the Story
There’s nothing like walking up 218 steps, to 1,182′ elevation, to get the blood flowing. As I huffed and puffed and looked around from way up there (I know, I know – not much of an impressive elevation outside of Texas), I said some prayers for a few folks who I know are struggling. After all, it is called Prayer Mountain (as well as Mount Baldy).
But in short order my mind drifted to just looking at the horizons and earth’s blanket of sprouting greens and bush, and I heard a simpler calling to just enjoy the view. This is prayer, and sometimes, like now, appreciation for God’s work and wonder is the best prayer of all.
Hillscapes. Sun. Tea. Books. Birdsongs. And a new location – on the other side of the hill. Quiet. It takes a little time to unwind. I forget that when planning a trip. And sometimes it takes changing our minds and changing our location as we did last night. It was a good move.
Now the breezes come and go, the small manmade waterfall offers her calming rhythm, the hawks glide overhead on rising currents of warming air, and I think about … how much does the soul weigh? Continue reading The Hill Country #2 : Bucking the System
I’m not settled. I could maybe relax if I knew I didn’t have to go somewhere and do what people would do when here – hike, explore, be active in nature. But I just sit.
This porch is nice but I’m finding it difficult to not think about what it would take to own a place like this, or when we leave finding the next B&B to go to and avoid going home. This constant and mostly unconscious need to mentally leave the present for more of what was abandoned in the now is too familiar – like pressing my tongue again and again against the rough edges of a tooth. I can’t seem to stop the circular thinking long enough to lay down pencil and paper for the view, or ignore the droning noise of cars and trucks racing along the nearby blacktop road. I’m flabbergasted at how these sounds echo through the hills and mimic the toll way volumes of Houston. Continue reading Day 1 in Paradise : Like a Bat in the Dark