Mea culpa, my friends. I have been so busy. Did poorly on one test and I was angry with myself. So I've been driving myself to finish this university year well. 

Anyway, I have neglected this blog for twelve days now. And I will have to be brief today. Here's a poem I have posted here before. I will be back on a regular basis in this space by April 20 or so. But between now and then, all I can do is put up the odd thing at the odd moment. Which is fitting seeing as how I am odd. I hope you like. 

Have a lovely Easter. Eloi, Eloi, lama sabach thani! Remember that that man's words have been distorted and abused for twenty centuries, but some of what he really intended has gotten through and down into our time. 

The message? 

"If you recall nothing else of what I've tried to tell you, at the very least, remember this: Love one another as I have loved you." 

For me, he was not divine. He was a morally driven man who lived a life that can stand even today as an example for the rest of us. But not divine. 

His message is the core of Buddhism before him and Islam after. And of Rabbi Hillel, his contemporary. What contradicts that message, you can trust, is the result of flawed reasoning, delusion, or someone's out and out lies. 

Enjoy your family this weekend, or, if you are alone, enjoy your biosphere family. There are more living things in a teaspoon of good soil than there are humans on this planet. All living in balanced, interdependent relationships. Want miracles? Go for a walk in nature. Drink it in by whatever means works for you.   

The Source

The heart that yearns to make a thing so pure,

To carve its curves and dance its moving sense,

To sing its notes with words that will endure,

In harmonies unbearably intense ...

Is filled with aching, fearing making things

Most surely and most finally empties things

The aria is yelled to yawning toads

The ballerina stumbles and unloads

The staring, glaring portrait fades

Believe first in believing. Only then ...

In one uncharted wing within your soul

I will be entering your secret den,

The room where precious things are safe and whole.

And look! An oaken harpsichord, still tuned!

A Strad, a music stand, a bacarole.

A rare edition ‘neath a Renoir nude.

And all arrayed about a blue-white gem,

Exquisite, perfect beauty ... ahh, still gleams!!

(Where could we meet, we two, if we were rich?

What gallery or trove could equal this?)