LOOKING UP

Summer Stars

Bend low again, night of summer stars.
So near you are, sky of summer stars,
So near, a long-arm man can pick off stars,
Pick off what he wants in the sky bowl,
So near you are, summer stars,
So near, strumming, strumming,
So lazy and hum-strumming.

Carl Sandburg

A FRIEND IN NEED...

RUTH AND NAOMI

In the days when the judges ruled in Israel, a severe famine came upon the land. So a man from Bethlehem in Judah left his home and went to live in the country of Moab, taking his wife and two sons with him. The man’s name was Elimelech, and his wife was Naomi. Their two sons were Mahlon and Kilion. They were Ephrathites from Bethlehem in the land of Judah. And when they reached Moab, they settled there.
Then Elimelech died, and Naomi was left with her two sons. The two sons married Moabite women. One married a woman named Orpah, and the other a woman named Ruth. But about ten years later, both Mahlon and Kilion died. This left Naomi alone, without her two sons or her husband.
Then Naomi heard in Moab that the Lord had blessed his people in Judah by giving them good crops again. So Naomi and her daughters-in-law got ready to leave Moab to return to her homeland. With her two daughters-in-law she set out from the place where she had been living, and they took the road that would lead them back to Judah.
But on the way, Naomi said to her two daughters-in-law, “Go back to your mothers’ homes. And may the Lord reward you for your kindness to your husbands and to me. May the Lord bless you with the security of another marriage.” Then she kissed them good-bye, and they all broke down and wept.
“No,” they said. “We want to go with you to your people.”
But Naomi replied, “Why should you go on with me? Can I still give birth to other sons who could grow up to be your husbands? No, my daughters, return to your parents’ homes, for I am too old to marry again. And even if it were possible, and I were to get married tonight and bear sons, then what? Would you wait for them to grow up and refuse to marry someone else? No, of course not, my daughters! Things are far more bitter for me than for you, because the Lord himself has raised his fist against me.”
And again they wept together, and Orpah kissed her mother-in-law good-bye. But Ruth clung tightly to Naomi. “Look,” Naomi said to her, “your sister-in-law has gone back to her people and to her gods. You should do the same.”
But Ruth replied, “Don’t ask me to leave you and turn back. Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. Wherever you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord punish me severely if I allow anything but death to separate us!” When Naomi saw that Ruth was determined to go with her, she said nothing more.

from Book of Ruth chapter 1

MONEY,MONEY,MONEY !

IF I WERE A RICH MAN

A Jewish man goes into the synagogue and prays. "O Lord, you know the mess I'm in, please let me win the lottery.

"The next week, he's back again, and this time he's complaining. "O Lord, didn't you hear my prayer last week? I'll lose everything I hold dear unless I win the lottery."

The third week, he comes back to the synagogue, and this time he's desperate. "O Lord, this is the third time I've prayed to you to let me win the lottery! I ask and I plead and still you don't help me!"

Suddenly a booming voice sounds from heaven. "Benny, Benny, be reasonable. Meet me half way. Buy a lottery ticket!"

A PLEA FOR PASSION

THE HEART OF THE MATTER

"The inner life, the story of our heart,

is the life of the deep places within us,

our passions and dreams,

our fears and our deepest wounds.

It is the unseen life, the mystery within.

It cannot be managed like a corporation.

The heart does not respond to principles and programs;

it seeks not efficiency, but passion.

Art, poetry, beauty, mystery, ecstasy:

These are what rouse the heart.

Indeed, they are the language that must be spoken if one wishes

to communicate with the heart.

It is why Jesus so often taught and related to people by telling stories and asking questions.

His desire was not just to engage their intellects

but to capture their hearts."

--The Sacred Romance

KAHLIL GIBRAN

TALES FROM THE FRONT PORCH !

Continuing with selections from my dog-eared,sun tanned Front Porch Collection,this is a poem by the Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran.Born in 1883,Gibran produced many works of poetry and philosophy writng in a dramatic Biblical-type style.His most famous work is The Prophet which became a cult classic amongst the Sixties Flower Power generation. The piece below is taken from A Treasury Of Kahlil Gibran,and is a gentle evocation of an ocean wave.

SONG OF THE WAVE

The strong shore is my beloved

And I am his sweetheart.

We are at last united by love,

And then the moon draws me from him.

I go to him in haste and depart

Reluctantly, with many little farewells.

I steal swiftly from behind the blue horizon,

To cast the silver of my foam upon the gold of his sand,

And we blend in melted brilliance.

I quench his thirst and submerge his heart;

He softens my voice and subdues my temper

. At dawn I recite the rules of love upon his ears,

And he embraces me longingly.

At eventide I sing to him the song of hope,

And then print smooth kisses upon his face;

I am swift and fearful, but he is quiet, patient, and thoughtful.

His broad bosom soothes my restlessness.

As the tide comes we caress each other,

When it withdraws, I drop to his feet in prayer.

Many times have I lifted drowning souls

And carried them tenderly to my beloved shore.

He gives them strength as he takes mine.

Many times have I stolen gems from the depths

And presented them to my beloved shore.

He takes them in silence,

But still I give for he welcomes me ever.

Alas! Sleeplessness has weakened me!

But I am a lover, and the truth of love is strong.

I may be weary, but I shall never die.

KAHLIL GIBRAN

SON OF GOD

ONE SOLITARY LIFE

Here is a man who was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in another village. He worked in a carpenter shop until He was thirty. Then for three years He was an itinerant preacher.
He never owned a home. He never wrote a book. He never held an office. He never had a family. He never went to college.

He never put His foot inside a big city. He never traveled two hundred miles from the place He was born.

He never did one of the things that usually accompany greatness. He had no credentials but Himself...
While still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against him. His friends ran away. One of them denied Him. He was turned over to His enemies. He went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed upon a cross between two thieves. While He was dying His executioners gambled for the only piece of property He had on earth – His coat.

When He was dead, He was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.
Nineteen long centuries have come and gone, and today He is a centrepiece of the human race and leader of the column of progress.
I am far within the mark when I say that all the armies that ever marched, all the navies that were ever built; all the parliaments that ever sat and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man upon this earth as powerfully as has that one solitary life.

Dr James Allan Francis

PERCHANCE TO DREAM...

THE DEATH OF KEATS

This sketch was made by Joseph Severn as he watched over the dying poet at 26 Piazza di Spagna,Rome.
The inscription at the bottom is in Severn's hand, and reads (in partial shorthand):
'28 Janry 3 o'clock mng. Drawn to keep me awake - a deadly sweat was on him all this night.'
Keats passed away on Friday, 23 February 1821, around 11:00 pm. This is the last known portrait of the poet.

Severn announced Keats's death to Charles Brown in a letter dated 27 February 1821:
Rome. 27 February 1821.

My dear Brown,
He is gone--he died with the most perfect ease--he seemed to go to sleep. On the 23rd, about 4, the approaches of death came on. "Severn-I--lift me up--I am dying--I shall die easy--don't be frightened--be firm, and thank God it has come!" I lifted him up in my arms. The phlegm seemed boiling in his throat, and increased until 11, when he gradually sunk into death--so quiet-that I still thought he slept. I cannot say now-I am broken down from four nights' watching, and no sleep since, and my poor Keats gone. Three days since, the body was opened; the lungs were completely gone. The Doctors could not conceive by what means he had lived these two months. I followed his poor body to the grave on Monday, with many English. They take such care of me here--that I must, else, have gone into a fever. I am better now--but still quite disabled.
The Police have been. The furniture, the walls, the floor, every thing must be destroyed by order of the law. But this is well looked to by Dr C.
The letters I put into the coffin with my own hand.
I must leave off.
J. S.
This goes by the first post. Some of my kind friends would have written else. I will try to write you every thing next post; or the Doctor will.
They had a mask--and hand and foot done--
I cannot get on--

WHEN I HAVE FEARS

THAT I MAY CEASE TO BE

When I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,

Before high-piled books, in charact’ry,

Hold like rich garners the full-ripened grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the fairy power

Of unreflecting love – then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

JOHN KEATS