Pebbles & Gems

The beach. Children play.
Each pebble the stone of the
wise during the game.

Love of wisdom lights
thought’s fire in the hours
of the soul’s dark night.

A point has no weight,
no extension. Why is it
so hard to carry?

Heeding the soft voice
of the internal law un-
ties the self-will’s knot.

Positivists are
as deaf to the Logos as
bats are blind in light.

A deer, all eyes and
ear, is standing in the shade,
head framed by sunlight.

Sameness defines the
Logos who forever is
changing the changes.

Those who know war have
true knowledge. The many make
war without knowing.

Silent, the Logos
suffers the ravages of
logomachia.

Come see what delight
will ripen while time slips by
like a grey field mouse.

The old genome can
now be deciphered, new codes
inscribed in time’s sand.

Thought travels with the
speed of darkness: the private
mind conceives conceit.

Socrates, your words
are but an echo of your
love. Apollo smiles.

Say what is wisdom
but to walk in the heart the
steep way of sorrow.

The Mississippi
River overflows and does
not know the Tao.

The mind grows slowly
listening in silence. The
crowd mills in the streets.

He who seeks wisdom
gains life and God will be pleased
with him. Children play.

The way of wisdom
moves above old cobble-stones.
Donkey hooves chip flint.

True elegance de-
fines the doctrine of ideas.
Fair’s Occam’s razor.

A voice from the deep
repeating words without sound.
Eternity’s beat.

To know the borders
of life and of love. Look, rain
drops on the Buddha.

A maple tree wakes
up to a new day, the leaves
a cool red fire.

The soul moves swiftly
in perfect stillness, knowing
all life from within.

Small birch near the rock
on the hill. Your bark glistens.
You move with the wind.

Red leaf in sun and
snow, I love to see your dance.
Frost’s paw strikes quickly.

In the beginning,
when He calls forth the light, God
speaks sotto voce.

Philosophy is
a birthright. Once claimed it moves
toward transcendence.

Power of conscience
and conscience of power die
in tyranny’s shame.

Love never changes.
Every morning it quickens
the light breaks at dawn.

Wisdom’s house cannot
be seen. Rabbit paw prints guide
to the inner gate.

A child is born in
sorrow and quickening cries of
pain. The book re-opens……

I have no wisdom.
To love wisdom means to love
the wisdom of God.

Christ’s title as the
Wisdom of God announces
the goal of love’s quest.

The titles of Christ
are without number. Rays of
the sun in the fields.

Socrates, I can
not answer what you ask, for
I don’t understand.

Is there a love that
ties the tongue? Cordelia.
The little mermaid.

Necessity and
reason, jointly, create the
cosmos. Eros plays.

Philosophers sit
in leisure’s garden spelling
the voice of the wind.

Grateful, the garden
receives the new snow, silent
and perfect each flake.

Getting ready for
Spring, the grassblade suffers
the snow quietly.

Grey is the snow. A
stroke of green shines through the patch
where sunlight touches.

The city does not
listen. Neither does it sleep.
Angels go homeless.

In the gardens of
the Villa Adriana
philosophers dream.

To give form to a
thought is Eros’ eternal
sweet satisfaction.

The loom of time weaves
endless veils of sorrow that
blind us to love’s light.

Red leaf, pierced by light.
God annotates your swirling
dance in gusting winds.

Go look and find the
face divine mirrored in the
waters of life’s well….

Living forms flow in
superabundance, like tears,
at tragedy’s death

Tarquinus the Proud
beheads poppies and spells the
conspirators’ death.

Let there be freedom
and let there be pity! Oh
Lord, do not forsake.

Masks, messengers, myths
and markers: poets and priests
and philosophers.

An open world
society is in the
making. Acts of faith.

Form is the judge of
life and in each living soul
resides the measure.

Timely emergence
achieves momentum: Chaos
gives birth to the new.

To contemplate is
a transitive verb searching
for its true object.

What makes a sound bite
sound? the tongue? or the ear that
pays swift attention?