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Tuesday, July 23, 2013

P.S. Confession, or, Poet Heal Thyself

p..s  Sometimes I realize with a start that a poem I've written,and even forgotten about,
resurfaces with the ring of prophecy -- to myself.  Take a look at the poem, "Oh, I get noir sll right"
in my April 11 blog.  Now compare that poem's idea with my blogpost of June 18.  See what I mean?!

Unfortunately, a week after my last blog post, I tripped and 'cast' myself upon the front step, causing grievous pain, jarring damage to both knees, and breaking two ribs and two fingers.  It's only this week that I can say I'm as good, perhaps a bit better than in June. A major jolt to my attitude and mood.  Thankful for rest, pain relievers, prayers, personal and medical attention, friends and family, returning to routines, and a week long retreat have all conspired to restore a right spirit.  God is good, life is what it is, and I confess that I am usually the one who causes myself to stumble.

Age advances.  We know we will be slowing down.  Nothing like an unexpected catapult to propel us toward accepting and adapting to the progression.  May I ever be reminded, as in the words from one of Bach's cantata "My Heart Ever Faithful":    "Away with complaining, faith ever maintaining."

Indeed.  Talk about casting nets on the other side.

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