pay attention

Oh Lord, hear my prayer

Whey I cry answer me

Oh Lord, hear my prayer

Come and listen to me.

Can you still hear it? I can hear it, I can still hear it. From the Taize community, liturgical, and a mantra. Maybe, especially if in your mind you can hear the community at prayer chanting it at the end of each petition, the opening setting for meditation, a spiritual session. Alone: not lonely, but alone. Solo. Solitary.

Maybe contemplating a dream. Recurring, it keeps coming back. Why does it keep returning? The mind won't let go.

Tomorrow would be his birthday, my grandfather Weller. Born February 13, 1872, Pop would be 153 tomorrow. He died in June 1964 at age 92 while I was in Japan. Why don't I think on this tomorrow then? Because I'm not there yet, I'm here and it's on my mind now. A vision, a real experience: ... You spoke to ..., why can't you speak to ME?

"I AM speaking to you, Tom Weller."

Is there still revelation? Does God still speak to us? Can I lay everything aside and listen?

It's the other way round: the mantra is "come and listen to me."

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Fog, it's fog season. Every February I remember that the fog always comes. Carl Sandburg, eh? "The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on." When you're 89&c you'll realize that life was that way too, it came on little cat feet, sat looking, and moved on while you were busy with nonsense, unimportant, meaningless things. Pay attention or you'll miss it.

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With my magic mug of hot & black, maybe a bit of cheese on a lightly buttered saltine cracker? The smear of butter holds the cheese on. Bite carefully or the cracker will shatter and fall on your lap and to the floor.

Wednesday, Feb 12. Hey! I'm still here! RSF&PTL, eh?

T89&c