no idea

 God is

Way too

Mysterious

For me

recognizing the full implications of

I think Francis of Assisi was on to something.

The complete interrelationality and intersectionality of all extant matter, however formed, in and through each other.

That real spirituality isn't just some immaterial spiritualism pointing toward ghostly non apparitions whose power is complete and unimpeachable.

Rather, the conductivity of physical matter, replete with creative energy, sounding itself toward each other being, feeling the communication of both proximate and remote in the near and vast surround of the existing cosmos.

Perhaps Francis felt the dwelling life of all life dwelling in the relational and intersection of Being in and through beings.

What does one do with such experience? With such, as we say, spirituality?

Some call it creation spirituality. It might be called the spiritual creating itself in our midst. Or creation emanating and emerging through what is visible with what is yet-to-be made manifest.

Francis was a fool. An idiot. A silly person who saw, sounded, and felt through the constructs of society and culture -- arriving at the Christic nature of Being that goes beyond our normal and natural cravings and longs to rest and reside in the holy (wholly) -- where not-a-thing is excluded, and everything is of what-is-called God. 

Family. Kin. All our relations. Ourself. Oneself. Itself.

Deus meus et Omnia. 

(My God and my All)  This was the mind/heart of Francis. It was then taken as motto for Franciscan organizations, clerical and secular, since 13th century.

That which is God is that which is all.

Never mind words such as pantheism, panentheism, panpsychism, or panexperientialism. Rather, no "isms". Instead, the bare reality of what-is-here.

Seeing what-is-here and feeling what-is-here is the mystical heart and mind that appreciates the presence of God. "Appreciates" -- recognizes the full worth of. Understands fully. Recognizes the full implications of.

Are you interested in the environment?

Are you interested in all beings?

Are you interested in the sacredness of all creation?

Pax et Bonum!

May you have peace, sharing what you have and are with everything and everyone!

May you be surrounded by all that resounds good for each of us!

Hey man! Hey woman! Hey y'all! Eh!

آمين

Аминь

アーメン

আমীন

Amina

ཨ་མེན།

Амінь

阿門

Amen!

odd that our words disown us

Sometimes words cannot hold what they carry.

The Three Oddest Words

When I pronounce the word Future,

the first syllable already belongs to the past.

When I pronounce the word Silence,

I destroy it.

When I pronounce the word Nothing,

I make something no non-being can hold.

—Poem by Wisława Szymborska (translated by Stanislaw Baranczak & Clare Cavanagh) from Poems: New and Collected

Nor can we carry what holds us, just barely, upright, just barely, all right. 

caw caw, whoop whoop

Ma-tsu is trying to trick us. 

He can't. 

So he turns to crow and crane.

Ha! 

What a laugh. 

Birds, birds, birds!

Can this matter of Zen be understood or not?
If you say that it can be explained and understood,
Then you are attaching to words and concepts
And miss the basic fact.
On the other hand, if you say
It cannot be understood, then how can the
Zen Dharma be taught to all beings?
What can you do?
Look clearly!
A crow’s head is black
A crane’s head is white.       Ma-tsu (709-788)  

the mistake of reading news

 since becoming demented

i've noticed less and less

I cannot see where United States

has gone

ive never been that bright, so much

escaped comprehension, like why

an empty-headed ideologue and 

a greedy billionaire would want

to deprive poor and elderly

of security and care --

but I'm suffering dementia

and they're rich and powerful

a viral 

infection 

with no 

restraint or cure

who to call, what to report

United States 

Undresses

World looks

Away

Sometimes 

nakedness

Seems like 

abuse

quantrika

 Yes

(Just that)

Yes

About Trika Shaivism 

 

The term coined by Guha-Majumdar to describe the quantum principles embedded within Trika Shaivism is ‘Quantrika.’ This concept within Trika Shaivism predates several pivotal moments in history.  

 

To traverse timelines — the Darshanik foundations and spiritual insights of Shaivite Kashmir emerged nearly 400 years before the Islamic invasions, 500 years before Copernicus introduced heliocentrism, and 700 years before Newton laid the groundwork for classical physics. Most strikingly, Trika precedes Max Planck’s formulation of the quantum of energy by over a millennium. 

 

Contextual and epistemological differences between Quantrika and quantum physics are undeniable, and Guha-Majumdar does not ignore them. Critics may contrast between the sutras, aphorisms of Trika Shaivism and the precise mathematical formalisms of quantum theory, but they will agree that the visionary sages of Kashmir explored a cosmic vision that resonates deeply with New Physics — revealing a sophisticated intellectual foresight far ahead of its time. 

 

Just as Newton’s Classical Physics gave way to the more advanced theories of Quantum Physics, Trika Shaivism offers a deeper, more evolved perspective compared to Advaita Vedanta and Sankhya.  

 

In a deep-dive, Guha-Majumdar meticulously explores core Trika principles, such as Abheda (non-duality), Spanda (cosmic vibration), and Pratyabhijna (self-recognition), and shows how they align with the most profound discoveries in quantum mechanics, such as superposition, entanglement, and the observer effect.

 (—about book, From Shiva to Schrödinger:A Cosmic Convergence Of Mysticism and Physics, by Dr Mrittunjoy Guha-Majumdar. Hay House Publishers India. Pages 240.)

My purchased book was shipped from India in brown oilskin wrapping. It was, a few weeks ago, their final copy. It cost 1,460.97 INR (Indian Rupees) Source: https://usd.currencyrate.today/convert/amount-16.99-to-inr.html

Yes

A deep dive…

(And yet and yet and yet)

We touch on it in prison yesterday.

my beautiful and terrible fear

 thick snow drops 

through thin rain 

on road outside window

this morning at prison 

we spoke of 

"enlightened self/other interest"

where both self and other

disappear with enlightenment

when "to be between" (inter-esse)

erases both opposition and its

opposite self-same, until no

difference or sameness exists

does not stand out from itself,

will not be seen as other

will not be seen as same

enlightenment is the instant

(one man said) where complete

feeling surrenders to reality

(he wondered if that's mysticism)

as conversation wondered if children

were the continuation of Itself unfolding

the way the trolly problem has no currency

in a world of enlightened self/other interest

(ES/OI or, esoi, in Hawaiian, "that's it") -- 

this forum of contemplation, fellows and

felons following language of the possible

this dance turning turning turning. Later

in corridor, old friends, one recovering

from stroke, one saying he'll be back, one

with Thor's hammer, one up all night studying; 

our prison time together looking as we

are with and at where we are when we are

there one with one with one, no self no other

not yet a language that would want to be 

pronounced nor kept silent, the playful circle

where, in her poem, Joy Harjo writes: 

I release you

my beautiful and terrible fear

I release you

vatnik

 We are suffused and surrounded by vatniks.

Vatnik (Russian: ватник, pronounced [ˈvatʲnʲɪk]) is a political pejorative^[1][2] used in Russia and other post-Soviet states for steadfast jingoistic followers of propaganda from the Russian government.^[3]  

^{(--wikipedia)}

I suspect, in due time, they will see the error of their ways, go through reeducation and rehabilitation, resign from congress and the current administration, and settle back into America.

Bless their hearts! 

dottore nulla è niente

Someone sends an Ethics paper they submitted to their university. It referenced an incident in school a while back where, in a classroom blackout, someone threw an inkwell that splattered on the religious brother teacher's white habit. The writer of the paper was there, knew who did it, but weighed his ethical options in the situation.

Keeping my hand in, I respond:

Again, thank you. 

 

One additional “ethical option” might be called “enlightened self/other interest.” This is perhaps more a strategy above and beyond ethics, bordering on something of a spiritual/mystical stance in the face of behavior that has ethical and disciplinary consequences.

Namely: The option of self-sacrifice. Standing up, slowly looking around classroom, and declaring “I did the deed. I’m sorry. I accept the consequences."

What might result? The whole class isn’t blamed. The culprit isn’t outed. Brother has some closure. And your status, as self-sacrificing agent, is left to the character of your classmates — forever — to ponder.

I said “enlightened self/other interest” above for the following reason: if we were to eliminate the dualism/dichotomy from this kind of situation, is there any benefit? Perhaps. Perhaps not. It might evoke a moment of honest fessing up on the person who did the deed. But more than that — it might seep deep into the character/consciousness of all experiencing it that there is a more profound morality than our rational mentality usually addresses.

As a Christian (God help my failures) this taking on of one another’s burdens sounds familiar. I’ve not always liked it, not always understood it -- but your paper helped.

Cheers,

wfh

Dottore Nulla è Niente 

 

Having taught philosophy (not well) and ethics (not well) at university, I retain the privilege of responding (not well) when students make the mistake of sharing their current studies with me.

I would say I was emeritus, but it's more like timeritus*.

. . .

* Latin definition for timeo, timere, timui verb, conjugation: 2nd conjugation

• Definitions: fear, dread, be afraid (ne + SUB = lest
• ut or ne non + SUB = that ... not)

spring, no kidding

It passed me 

at 5:01AM --

then again, 

everything passes 

me -- how 

fortunate,

really -- spring

(thanks, winter

for everything)

appreciation for sangha

                            --for Chris, Doris, et al

I imagine

friends sit zazen

equanimous with

equipoise, finding

succor in stability

turning inner the 

outer, rage trans-

formed into deeper

emotion -- consoling

understanding, no 

blame, no vituperation

no hideous rash of ire

instead, nurturing fire

of compassion, fierce

and strong, unbending

yet gentle -- these folks

befriending the awful

taking in the strange

breathing out solace --

they are what family 

should be -- there -- 

no matter what, no

matter the disgrace

no -- MU -- undoing

the multiple, the additive,

resting and residing with

what is here, as it is here

until what will come 

is what will be, here,

with their composure 

and grace, revealing

ibid, tough break for a swell guy, they’ll say

Where have I heard this type of thing before?

Trump and today’s MAGA Republicans are proudly ignoring those laws, not only in Trump’s attacks on the judiciary but also in things like the administration’s lie, reported today by Andy Kroll of ProPublica, that nearly 7,000 employees at the Internal Revenue Service were fired for poor performance despite the repeated warnings of a top IRS lawyer that this was “a false statement” that amounted to “fraud” on the courts.

The administration’s attempt to ignore the laws the Constitution charges it with executing amounts to an attack on the right of the American people to establish the rules under which we live.

In a webcast on Monday, Trump ally Steve Bannon defended the deportations even if, as his guest said, they swept in “some gardener or something who’d never been in trouble.” Bannon replied: “ Big deal…. Maybe some people got caught up in it. Who knows?... I think they got everybody who was a bad guy, but guess what? If there's some innocent gardeners in there? Hey, tough break for a swell guy. That's where we stand.”

(—Heather Cox Richardson, Letters from an American, 19mar25, Substack)

Oh yeah . . . in the same place (ibid) where it all goes down the toilet. That’s where I’ve heard it before.

avogadro’s number*

 One car

Heading east

This vigils time

I am always

In monastery

Even when not

Einstein was right

Pollen and photons

At night in dooryard

Fall through light

Seen differently

By two beings

Maybe…angels

In that instant

Space moving

 through time

It takes dog

And me to pee

...   ...   ...

*Avogadro's number, also known as the Avogadro constant, is a fundamental constant in chemistry and physics, defined as approximately 6.022 x 10^23, representing the number of elementary entities (atoms, molecules, etc.) in one mole of a substance. [1, 2, 3] 

Generative AI is experimental.

[1] https://www.britannica.com/science/Avogadros-number

[2] https://bio.libretexts.org/Bookshelves/Microbiology/Microbiology_(Boundless)/02%3A_Chemistry/2.02%3A_Chemical_Bonds/2.2.04%3A_Avogadro's_Number_and_the_Mole

[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mole_(unit)

saw-dust

 Joseph, they say,

Worked with wood

That’s all we know

mentioned in passing

Remarkably little

It’s all folklore

Made up saga, myth

Hearsay, sawdust on

Floor, the scent of it

Still, I like him

Deep brown companion

Maybe celibate, who cares

He disappears from narrative

Maybe he hung around edges

Sanding smoothing rounding

All we know is his name, 

Joseph, that’s it, not much more

Someone hardly on any page

But there

As sawdust is

Telling 

scenes from a movie

I'm sorry

Blacks and Women

disappear from our history

that Navaho code talkers

are silenced from lore

that anyone pointing out

unlawful acts by chief exec

will be hunted down and 

stripped of livelihood

I'm sorry the United States 

has gone limp and babbling 

making no coherent response

about the vile danger we are in --

It is a time of anguish and sorrow

that imbeciles billionaires and

criminals now run the country

making cower and grovel salute

I'm not sure what to do

I own no gun, only rosary and 

mala; I want to punch someone 

in the face, but won't -- I wouldn't

recommend violence, it is wrong,

besides, the bigger guns would win

-- no -- I'll watch, unblinking, without

hope, as the bastards finally fall dead

as each insidious infection runs its course

eating out from inside the theatric and 

invective poison finding no redemption

only melting faces from open covenent ark

life review in key of 'f ' flat & unsharp

sitting in dentist chair

cars pass by on route 1

my life remembering 

fillings and fallings

failings and flailings

fulsome and foolish

fantastical fandangos

finishing fruitlessly

no breath left behind

 She was my sister

We were there for her final breath

Then, into the night

She was my sister

The night was deep and quiet

As is, each breath, given

Today, her birthday

Night gives way, breath

Sistering each and all

this

 All there is

Is consciousness

Are you

Yet

Where consciousness

Is

once, upon this, time

let's think about Jesus

as having come to earth

think about the creator

as having spoken the earth

think about air and breath

as holding everything on earth up

now, let's think about 

"we all have to find a story

to live by or live inside

or we couldn't endure

the certainty of suffering"

(Niall Williams, in Irish novel

“This is Important”, 2019)

I'll take the story of the earth

which comes, from which all

comes, into which all returns

as the life of God, the life of

Christ, of all Breath Holy, all

experience and consciousness

longing for our listening, our

respect and compassion, a story

we must begin to hear, to feel

before and after one another

above and below nodding tree

schlep: carry heavy stuff, unhappily.

The hoops

to cancel

unwanted

subscription purchase

charge

oy gevalt

ah, the fairies return

They took a turn at march 17, came down the hill, and saw no flag on the stick.

And the season drops the woven-in-Ireland tweed flat wool cap over this thick head and sits atop the day.

ἀλήθεια (alētheia)

 Gandhi was right

Truth is God

Explains why

America becomes

Godless

it ain't over til the listening is done

if you want 

to know

what I think

ask me

if you want 

to think you

know

ask yourself

what is good

and stay still

while God

listens

kicking dirt in faces

I'm uncertain

a turn to evil

isn't the case

no one is arguing

the turn, as faces

smirk and snarl

and in homes

across the land

guns are loaded

all because

a little rich boy

lost at marbles

descending into ellipsis

there is something

going on in america

that is more than cute

disagreement, we are

suffering a real death

some want to say

this harsh lawless 

administration will

soon come to an end

I'm beginning to sense

it will be our end

with freedoms gone

it certainly seems some

perversion is afoot, no one

able to stop the bleeding

. . .

it's just ancestry, don't ya know

march 17

Irish

yesterday, today

tomorrow

standing on porch, watching words

 Pain only hurts

When you think about it

Otherwise

Give it no mind

quia ineptum est

            Prorsus credibile est, 

                quia ineptum est*

i've been thinking

about the man from Queens

occupying the Oval Office --

not. much.

*(It is wholly believable, 

because it is incongruous**)

                    (Tertullian, d.240AD, in 

                           De Carne Christi, V, 4)

**out of place, out of keeping, inappropriate, unsuitable, unsuited, not in harmony; discordant, dissonant, conflicting, clashing, jarring, wrong, at odds, in opposition, contrary, contradictory, irreconcilable; strange, odd, absurd, bizarre, off- key, extraneous; informal like a fish out of water, sticking/standing out a mile; rare disconsonant. ANTONYMS  appropriate.  (apple dictionary)

sometimes, the light

stepping from barn, beyond skiff

shines chapel-zendo window

foggy light through night trees 

from snowbowl shed 

bienvenue

 Maine is really part of Canada 

We touch borders, love the sea

And are embarrassed by the same man

the chill of history

 Beware, 

O American

Caesar

It is

The Ides

Of March

Watch 

Your

Friends

my fallacy

 Everyone is

Writing

Opinion pieces

I have no

Opinion

Therefore

I am

Not

Writing

something runs across porch roof

 There is

Only

God

Here is

Only 

God

At window

Cat

Investigates

Finding

Nothing —

Returns

morning

 Be 

Still

 

Know

This

I 

Am

God

the time of thy visitation

 A.N. Whitehead was mentioned this morning.

This afternoon, this:

Whitehead’s ontology cannot be disjoined from his theory of feelings. The actual occasions ontologically constituting our experience are the elementary processes of concrescence of feelings constituting the stream of our experience, and they throw light on the what and the how of all actual occasions, including those that constitute lifeless material things. This amounts to the panexperientialist claim that the intrinsically related elementary constituents of all things in the universe, from stones to human beings, are experiential. Whitehead writes: “each actual entity is a throb of experience” (1929c [1985: 190]) and “apart from the experiences of subjects there is nothing, nothing, nothing, bare nothingness” (1929c [1985: 167])—an outrageous claim according to some, even when it is made clear that panexperientialism is not the same as panpsychism, because “consciousness presupposes experience, and not experience consciousness” (1929c [1985: 53]).

--Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy 

Good word,  "concrescence" | kənˈkresəns | noun Biology --the coalescence or growing together of parts originally separate.

Is all "matter" capable of experience? (panexperientialism). Does everything material have an element of individual consciousness? (panpsychism).

Is there consideration here of the origin myth that infuses all of matter with divine and creative energy?

We then ask, what does it mean  to say that the universe might be conscious and capable of experience?

Is "democracy" too limited to human beings? Is "communism" too limited? Fascism? Socialism?

Is the environmental movement one step shy of finding a way for the earth, sky, water, and fire of this creation to be represented, not merely by opinion of researchers, but by direct communication with fellow sentient beings?

Have we been too narrow in our understanding? Too insular? Too unimaginative?

Jesus is quoted as saying in Luke 19, King James Version: 

37 And when he was come nigh, even now at the descent of the mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen;

38 Saying, Blessed be the King that cometh in the name of the Lord: peace in heaven, and glory in the highest.

39 And some of the Pharisees from among the multitude said unto him, Master, rebuke thy disciples.

40 And he answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.

41 And when he was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it,

42 Saying, If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace! but now they are hid from thine eyes.

43 For the days shall come upon thee, that thine enemies shall cast a trench about thee, and compass thee round, and keep thee in on every side,

44 And shall lay thee even with the ground, and thy children within thee; and they shall not leave in thee one stone upon another; because thou knewest not the time of thy visitation.

This is not just about Jesus. This is pointing to something beyond our ordinary understanding.

We've long held that the story of Jesus was one of atoning for sin. But perhaps we've been obtuse. What if the "sin" Christians are so taken with has to do more with failure to understand the whole living universe we dwell upon and within? That we have carved out and ignored 98% of the existing, experiencing, conscious companions in this reality we blithely call the known universe?

That it is mostly unknown?

Unseen?

Unheard?

Unloved? 

a sacramental / refusal to multiply

 At prison this morning, this poem:

Backward Miracle 

    By Kay Ryan

Every once in a while

we need a

backward miracle

that will strip language,

make it hold for

a minute: just the

vessel with the

wine in it—

a sacramental

refusal to multiply,

reclaiming the

single loaf

and the single

fish thereby.

(from Poetry)

And these words by Jay McDaniel.

The seven of us, fully engaged, playfully insightful, and remarkably helpful.

as the day moves

 Birdseed is birdseed

mud is mud

warm porch is warm porch

now dusk

evening walk taken

door to porch closed

ever into the distance

Was researching MT & LXX (Masoretic Text & Greek Septuagint) with regard to translations of the Hebrew Bible and came upon the following:

One more point before I answer your question head-on. With respect to the page you linked on the significance of Mary's virginity. William Yarchin may think that he has discovered the real reason for the virgin birth, but Luke makes that clear in his gospel. It's not simply a question of the prophesy of Isaiah, it's a question of paternity: Jesus is the son of God like Adam is the son of God, because both have no other father. Whoever wrote that answer on the page you linked clearly has a cursory knowledge of marriage customs, but he's clearly only read the cliff-notes and not the ethnographic studies. The central issue in virginity is ultimately inheritance and who carries on the family line, not women being property or "damaged goods". I'm not saying bride price had no legal significance (but in its conception it is not about the woman being property, though it has become that in various cultures at various points in history), but that significance is completely dwarfed by the issue of inheritance and - in the gospels - paternity. If Mary is not a virgin, then there is little reason to believe (from a first-century standpoint) that her offspring is the Son of God. Whether or not the translation of נערה into Greek is accurate (and for all we know it may have been accurate for the usage of bilingual speakers in Alexandria at the time), the virginity of Mary in the gospels carries a theological significance far beyond the fulfillment of the prophesy of Isaiah.

--Stack Exchange; Biblical Hermeneutics 

Then the word נַעֲרָה in Isaiah: 

נַעֲרָה • (na'ará) f (plural indefinite נערות, masculine counterpart נער) [pattern: קַטְלָה] 

1. (dated) young woman servant, maid
2. (Jewish religious law) girl of a transitional age (usually between 12-13 years of age), capable of performing mitzvot, but ineligible for marriage
3. (Israeli civil law) girl under 17, ineligible for marriage

wiktionary

I'd been looking into book "The Watchers in Jewish and Christian Traditions" by Kelley Coblentz Bautch, John C. Endres S.J., Angela Kim Harkins, Editors.

From Fortress Press website: 

At the origin of the Watchers tradition is the single enigmatic reference in Genesis 6 to the “sons of God” who had intercourse with human women, producing a race of giants upon the earth. That verse sparked a wealth of cosmological and theological speculation in early Judaism. Here leading scholars explore the contours of the Watchers traditions through history, tracing their development through the Enoch literature, Jubilees, and other early Jewish and Christian writings. This volume provides a lucid survey of current knowledge and interpretation of one of the most intriguing theological motifs of the Second Temple period.

Scholarship has its value in our thought. What is this? Why this? What might it mean?

What does it mean that Adam had no recognizible father? That Jesus had no recognizible father? Neither, other than what-is-called-God?

How do things or beings come to be of themselves? How does creation, the cosmos, all that is, come to be (according to the narrative of our founding mythology) by dint of the energy of the Logos issuing forth from Creator God, Father, Supreme Being?

And where is that utterance today?

What insufficiency forestalls corrective intervention into human flaw and depravity in the realms of war, abuse, cruelty, injustice, or suffering?

What rationale is posited to explain away the erstwhile benevolent divine from the dimension of everyday human discourse and intercourse?

Are we still dependent on the positing of heaven and hell as either reward or punishment for human behavior or mental fabrication?

Or...

Or are our stories obsolete? Have they devolved into obscure mentation? Are we currently bereft of stories but for psychological profiling and DSM-ing one another?

Has once faith handed its satchel over to current fear?

Is anyone watching?

And our stories and our storytellers -- who are they and where do they begin?

And, mirabile dictu -- will the story be one of cheer and quiet appreciation?

Christmas Mail

BY TED KOOSER

Cards in each mailbox,

angel, manger, star and lamb,

as the rural carrier,

driving the snowy roads,

hears from her bundles

the plaintive bleating of sheep,

the shuffle of sandals,

the clopping of camels.

At stop after stop,

she opens the little tin door

and places deep in the shadows

the shepherds and wise men,

the donkeys lank and weary,

the cow who chews and muses.

And from her Styrofoam cup,

white as a star and perched

on the dashboard, leading her

ever into the distance,

there is a hint of hazelnut,

and then a touch of myrrh.

 Poem copyright ©2012 by Ted Kooser, 

Or, Ach du meine Güte -- will it cause us to hesitate and speculate?

Abandoned Farmhouse

BY TED KOOSER

He was a big man, says the size of his shoes

on a pile of broken dishes by the house;

a tall man too, says the length of the bed

in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,

says the Bible with a broken back

on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;

but not a man for farming, say the fields

cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.

A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall

papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves

covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,

says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.

Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves

and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.

And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.

It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.

Something went wrong, says the empty house

in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields

say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars

in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.

And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard

like branches after a storm—a rubber cow,

a rusty tractor with a broken plow,

a doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.

--poem by Ted Kooser, "Abandoned Farmhouse" from Sure Signs: New and Selected Poems. Copyright © 1980

They say that careful listening is also participatory creation.

What do you see?