Webs
There are webs in my garden,
delicately guy-wired from twigs to drainpipe,
easily captured in my two-dimensional photo,
the orb-weaver sitting proudly
at the lacy center, visible to all.
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There are webs in my garden,
delicately guy-wired from twigs to drainpipe,
easily captured in my two-dimensional photo,
the orb-weaver sitting proudly
at the lacy center, visible to all.
Back in the days of my Dark Night Journey, I worked hard to define what I meant by “spirit” and “spiritual.” What my reasoning mind came up with was an analogy: Just as our eyes are physical organs of sight, designed or evolved to detect certain frequencies of electromagnetic radiation, our spirits are as-yet-unidentified organs of relationship.
A poem about loneliness and connection.