A collection of songs, philosophies, and observations. Christian crumbs, if you will.
I understand now why You are immaterial, why You are spirit,
Coming and going in hearts and in fire and in spiny desert brush without bounds or logic.
Flowing like water.
The physical changes. It ages and breaks. It’s the nature of the thing.
Memories are physical and mark the passing of time like ticks on a watch.
Sadly, they change, and fade, and break.
Yeats was right, I think: an old man is a paltry thing.
Today? Wake, read, eat, work, eat, sleep. Tomorrow? The same. Ticks on a watch.
What jar or pot holds memories? No jar, but other memories.