Montreal has too many exits, bridges, buses and cars. As does, inexorably, Boston, New York and San Francisco. I spill my coffee on jeans and leg at border. It was cold coffee, a cool and rainy day, and away from home for Thanksgiving in Ontario.
Passing through Colebrook NH, my first time, I gassho Dennis Joos who was shot and killed here in 1997. We were schoolmates in the early sixties in Callicoon NY. He was a writer, became editor of the local paper, and was a good fellow. Whimsical.
He died trying to save a woman from a man who'd just killed two state troopers.
What’s wrong, said poet Richard Hugo, will always be wrong.
What’s not wrong is our inner response to what’s wrong.
The inner response, I suspect, is the only place what is wrong doesn’t own the day and the real estate of greed and delusion.
Think about it. See what is taking place. Say your mind, caring and carefully. Feel what is there and real to feel.
The world is dangerous. People do awful things to each other. Deceit and betrayal are commonplace.
But if you can see your way clearly through the exterior corruption and external chaos into interior understanding and internal peace of personal trustworthiness, there is a small instance of integrity, a core of integration that makes its way with grace.
There’s no saving the world. There’s no happy ending. There’s no rapture come to Jesus second coming clarion justice visited upon the world.
What there is, is you, saying no to perverse belief in perversity, saying yes to simple trustworthiness characterized by simplicity.
Neils Harrit says of the Goddess of Justice, with blindfold, sword in one hand, and scales in other, the meaning is only hard evidence, not personal opinion, should matter. “You can say that science is blind, and justice is blind, but we are not dumb.” (— from, 9/11 - Uncovering Ten Years Of Deception, Episode 4/5) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZeUy_pwRFQ
Delusion is a big problem.
By the time we realize we are delusive, what once was considered real has become obtuse apology, followed by the exhortative, “now let’s move on.”
It’s enough to make you wish for better myths and fantasies.
Or that God would remain what God is -- silent and unseen.
It is the feast of Bruno. He cultivated the silent and the unseen, the Carthusian way of life.
Gott sei dank!