Alan Botsford
To find everyday our passage never the same, or if it is, to anticipate and appreciate its rhythms, its quotidian music, its wheel of cadences and flux of patterns. To awaken to the interchange of meanings and purposes that define daily existence and under-gird the transient structure we call this day, the way the ancient Greeks extolled the examined life.
No, not much has changed. We still face our bafflements in navigating the currents out on the sea of stories we call our life. May the gods (omnist) teach us well, compassion temper our unholy spirits, love inhabit our hearts and guide our actions. For the forces of imagination are based on no handbook. Wherever the white goddess dwells, there the black wager must be made. Resistance strengthens practice, tempers character. Metamorphosis that matters is responsive. Every day is a specimen day. Ardor is the sun within a sun that gives its word. Peace, what we struggle to find, cannot be re-collected. No experiment is adequate to the healing required, unless sublime breaking of bounds accompanies each step. So let the bloom achieve its idiom. Let the promise of another spring re-script the politics of our days.
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