perversion has its day, and its perverted provocateur

There is no place to go, it seems

But straight up get your guns

Fight it out on the streets

It’s what the administration wants

Probably what they’ll get

Sorrow and more sorrow

Unless congress takes him down

The perpetrator, the oblique criminal

Gone beyond all law and decency

If I prayed, I’d pray for innocent

Compassion and loving fortitude

To end the cruelty to end the slaughter

froid et troublant, source de colère et de tristesse

 I am troubled

They shoot 

our neighbors

It is cold

Very cold

And troubling

boop boop di do

Woman and dog walk at 2 degrees Saturday morning.

sound of all

 Can you hear me now?

The body does not know how to discourse or to listen to a discourse. 

This which is unmistakably perceivable right where you are, absolutely identifiable yet without form, this is what listens to the discourse.

Rinzai (d.867)

(Silly!)

It's only “now” that can hear anything. 

Because it is only now that sounds itself across the dooryard.

If I am not here/now I can’t hear nothing.

And, let’s face it, nothing is the simplest, sweetest sound of all.

fawning, until every follower’s dignity is shorn away

Some words that caught my attention:

Tacitus was especially good at describing the effect the tyrant has on the people around him. When the tyrant first takes power, there is a “rush into servitude” as great swarms of sycophants suck up to the great man. The flattery must forever escalate and grow more fawning, until every follower’s dignity is shorn away. Then comes what you might call the disappearance of the good, as morally healthy people lie low in order to survive. Meanwhile, the whole society tends to be anesthetized. The relentless flow of appalling events eventually overloads the nervous system; the rising tide of brutality, which once seemed shocking, comes to seem unremarkable.

As the disease of tyranny progresses, citizens may eventually lose the habits of democracy — the art of persuasion and compromise, interpersonal trust, an intolerance for corruption, the spirit of freedom, the ethic of moderation. “It is easier to crush men’s spirits and their enthusiasm than to revive them,” Tacitus wrote. “Indeed, there comes over us an attachment to the very enforced inactivity, and the idleness hated at first is finally loved.”

(--

῏῏OPINION,

DAVID BROOKS, The Coming Trump Crackup, Jan. 23, 2026, Nytimes)

last bill and tasty mint

 Reading about hunter s thompson, I feel obliged to clarify my state of mind:

I will not commit suicide.

If I am found dead it will have been a murder by God, some librarian, or being mistaken by ICE for an immigrant at corner bodega buying cigarettes.

All three suspects should be investigated. Especially God and ICE both of whom know no limit or constraint.

Please bury my body on the grounds of mar-a-lago. I want to be near the embalmed bronzed body of  the savior of the known universe who has sacrificed everything to sever [sic] us.

he came from the wrong county of ny

 Criminals are criminals

To lesser of larger degree

I visit as volunteer

In prison with criminals

I’d visit with trump

When he’s imprisoned

Hell, a kid from Brooklyn

Can put up with a kid from Queens 

history

 Time will come

We’ll look back

And say:

What fools they were

To have that man

As president!

Shake their heads

Begin to forget him

As the embarrassment 

He was

quickly, now, adumbrate

 When I

Die

Nothing 

Continues

Apace

only that and light was all it needed

 In prison this morning, Ernest Hemingway’s story “A Clean Well Lighted Place” took us into why we even bother being patient with another.

And, nothing.

Once thought of as possibly disrespectful of two known prayers, now experienced as new prayers identifying the core of existential longing, to be here, to be now, creating what is coming to be.

    "You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant café. It is well lighted.  

The light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves."

    "Good night," said the younger waiter.

    "Good night," the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with himself. It was the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine.

    "What's yours?" asked the barman.

    "Nada."

    "Otro loco mas," said the barman and turned away.

https://yale.learningu.org/download/51358dbc-0c73-4e33-8cfb-967c55a621f5/H2976_Hemingway_A%20Clean%20Well%20Lighted%20Place.pdf 

We wondered about what it meant to call into existence. Whether a phone call. Or the indecipherable Big Bang. 

We wondered about the Inca in Utah, Spaniards in Peru, memorization in the sciences, logic and calculation, and what ‘nothing' has to do with God.

The older waiter smiled.

The barman called him loco.

So much comes to nothing, so much comes from nothing.

Still, he smiled.

ergo

 Jack Smith tells the truth.

Donald Trump tells lies.

Any questions?

soporifique

 Watching Smith hearing. 

It’s surprising that theatrical posing allows anything of substance to occur.

No wonder so many are jaded.

I concede.

This brand of politics is numbing.

les soins palliatifs, c'est apprendre à accepter

 I’d sat with the dying

For decades

A hospice volunteer

Been humbled

At lives going elsewhere

Remaining with bodies

One day I stopped,

Practicing odd prerogative

To attend within silent distance

As a buddhist/christian meditator

And contemplative I am always with

Each brother and sister, within each being

But I’d return, to outer, if asked

To sit with dying president

On his way elsewhere

Trusting

It would be good

For both of us

dasein

 Snow plow goes up hill

Yes

Deer trips light outside barn

Yes

Realms away in dream brought back

Yes

I understand nothing about being-here

No

Snow plow comes back down hill

Yes

As a buddhist christian silence is holy

Yes

un fléau pour un patron

embarrassment 

doesnt even come close

more — horrified sadness

at such a man

then what’s left

 I like that Schweitzer concludes that the Jesus of history is unknowable.

While he was studying medicine, Schweitzer’s book The Quest for the Historical Jesus (1906) was published. In it he rejected the contemporary views on Jesus – both the conservative approach, and the liberal approach that tended to remould Jesus in its own image. In the book he concluded that the Jesus of history is unknowable, and it’s only by accepting the spirit of Jesus that we can begin to see him. This is not knowable through doctrine but only through ethical action based on a reverence for life. It’s not a love of belief nor a love of self, but a love based on respect for life. For Schweitzer this was the true message of the gospel.

Schweitzer concludes his Quest with this eloquent statement:

“He comes to us as one unknown, without a name, as of old, by the lakeside, he came to those men who knew him not. He speaks to us the same words: ‘Follow thou me’, and sets us to the task he has to fulfil for our time. He commands – and to those who obey him, whether they be wise or simple, he will reveal himself in the toils, the conflicts, the sufferings, which they shall pass through in his fellowship, and as an ineffable mystery, they shall learn, in their own experience, who he is.” (pp.127)

 https://philosophynow.org/issues/171/Albert_Schweitzer_1875-1965         

Many say they feel him. Hard to argue another’s experience.

I don’t think I have anything to say about this.

Except --

A New Hampshire Episcopal bishop's stark warning to his clergy is resonating across the nation, drawing fervent praise from some and rebukes from others.

Bishop Rob Hirschfeld was one of several community and faith leaders gathered in Concord, N.H., for a vigil for Renee Macklin Good just days after she was fatally shot by an Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent in Minneapolis. 

Hirschfeld called out the "cruelty, the injustice and the horror … unleashed in Minneapolis," and warned his clergy to prepare for "a new era of martyrdom." 

"I've asked them to get their affairs in order to make sure they have their wills written," he said, "because it may be that now is no longer the time for statements, but for us with our bodies to stand between the powers of this world and the most vulnerable."

Hirschfeld's comments quickly went viral.

https://www.npr.org/2026/01/18/nx-s1-5678579/ice-clashes-new-hampshire-bishop-urges-clergy-prepare-wills 

Is the experience of Jesus one that puts our lives in jeopardy? Are the things of God things that put us in harm's way? Helping the poor? Protecting the immigrant? Attending the sick, the imprisoned, the victims of greed and cruelty?

 If so, then Jesus is an annoying experience.

One that we can do without.

(There you are, I’ve got you covered. You don’t need Jesus.) Right?

Right?

Right?

on the other hand

 Two months 

Until Spring —

Can you imagine

using obviate in a long sentence

 I stay in my room

I do not go out

Am I afraid?

Will I be taken?

Back then

Immigrants from Ireland 

Into the streets of Brooklyn

The schools on corners

Perhaps my great grandfather

Filed wrong form, fudged a fact

Immigration control has found out

Are looking for me, drive passed

Want bonus for each capture, drag

Out of car, pull from living room

Tell me only the pure belong

Only genetic purity is wanted

Decommission human compassion

The Jews will not replace them

I am Somalian, I am Venezuelan, 

I am Cuban, Salvadoran, Colombian

I am Arab, I am Danish, Greenlandian, 

I speak Spanish, speak Norwegian, French

I am now an enemy of the state

A traitor to their race, a piece of garbage

So I stay hidden, tucked away, unclean

While the new masters spew their rhetoric

Load their guns, kneel on necks

Drag us on the streets, punch faces

No one asks where is God, no prayers 

are heard, no churches, no gospel

No children playing in schoolyard or park

Only this, only this — some white men

Believe they own everything, count

Their money, are paid tribute, steal fortunes

And no one, no one can stop their absolute 

hubris, megalomania, superiority, excellence

So…we hide

Waiting fate

Wondering how 

One country’s suicide

Would obviate

Everything

Until

It becomes

Nothing

la peur est un fou dangereux

 It becomes frightening.

The chaotic threats

The frightened people

Frightened legislators

Frightened Supreme Court

Frightened criminals

Frightened pastors and priests

It is frightening

Now then —

Aside from fear

Can we talk about

(I’m sorry)

Can we talk about 

How decency has died

(I’m sorry)

How we now have to live

In his indecent world,

Again, there’s no antidote

No cute political banter

No facile name calling

A turning point

Dancing cacophony 

to my representatives and senators

 Forced myself to watch 45 minutes of trump at White House podium.

It is, in my estimation, a criminal dereliction of cabinet and congressional responsibility to allow this man to continue in office.

Unless, of course, the goal is the destruction of the US government as exemplified these 250 years.

And if such is the goal, I say — well done, and well played, you are overlooking and overseeing the end of the American experiment of democracy.

Now, then, tell me what’s next.

Shall I write my last will and testament? Leave the country?

Or should I buy a gun and cans of provisions for a long siege?

Thanks for your counsel.

sgìth

I used to think I was a pacifist. 

“True pacifism,” or “nonviolent resistance,” is “a courageous confrontation of evil by the power of love.” (--Martin Luther King)

 I'll have to ponder this.

These days it seems that the courage required exceeds my ability to see through the fog of evil to the light of love.

This realization leaves me bereft. 

oración haiku

 Creating 

Wholeness

Gracious

One

We long to

Become

Your

Face

True

Here

αυτό που είναι, που έρχεται να γίνει

 Creating

One

Heaven

Itself

Your name

Is beyond us

May your 

Reality

Be our

Reality

(As it is)

As it must be

Today, move through

Us, be each beginning

(Even though we forget 

Causing others to forget)

Merciful compassion

Assisting us

To walk 

In peace, svāhā!

έτσι είναι, έτσι θα είναι

 Mothering 

Grace

That which is

Within wholeness

So that wholeness 

Comes through you

As true

Blessings do

You are the prayer

Of grace-filled

Wholeness for those

Of us not yet so

Let it be so — now

And at the hour

We give up our

Illusion of separateness 

Undergoing yes, your yes,

Our completing yes — svāhā!

anything else

 No reason

To love

Only reason

Is love

Anything else —

No, 

nothing 

else

ana-agoraphobia

(again — no easy 

way to escape) 

Ah, nightfall

Hiddenness

If you love me

Keep your

Commandments

I will follow

Your love

No compulsion

No competition 

Just what is true

From which 

There is

No easy way

To escape

worlds percieved -- that which is passing through, that which is passing by

Where have all the religious people gone?

•  “I just want to do God’s will.” (--Martin Luther King, 3april1968)
• 4april1968, Shot dead.
• 19jan2026, Wondering about the correlation of God’s will and the racist cruelty of pernicious personnel calling themselves 'leaders.'

Once christians were christians. 

Now the only christians whose voices and authoritarian pronouncements seem to be heard are white christian nationalists, and those whose designs collate with those voices.

And yet --

God is unknowable

The Trinity is incomprehensible.

Jesus is marvelously, badly, represented by his followers.

The Holy Spirit is beyond articulation or representation.

What we call ”The Christ” is the deepest longing of creation and the human heart for justice, compassion, service, peace and beneficent love. 

“Christ” is yet to appear for the vast majority of us.

Christianity, in its essential nature, thus, is mostly mute and moribund. What we hear are archive recordings of once vital proclamation. A nostalgia of oratory.

There is no creating a new religion. We've given things over to exegetes and historians to re-dredge our absurd arguments over who owns Jesus, who controls God, who is worthy to be saved, or, at least, have their name on the congregant registry.

We are sociologists scanning humankind's conceptualization in language of its religious sectarian and denomination variety, the parsing of subtile belief preferences, the registering and codifying of domicile congregations and fundraising letters.

We are left with fundraising appeals from our new political religions -- the republicans, the democrats, and the heretic independents.

What else is there?

Perhaps the return to the originating energy sourcing.

What is the originating energy of that which astounded us before we came to word trying to describe it?

Listen carefully

Fall into silence.

Look carefully.

See through everything.

Stop trying to nail your suspicions to the wall. 

That which you are seeing through, that passing breath, that sound gone by, that uncomprehended image faded away -- that is your very being, surrounding and surrounded by being-itself.

Umwelt. 

            Umwelt | ˈǒǒmvelt | 

noun (plural Umwelten) 

(in ethology) the world as it is experienced by a particular organism: the worlds they perceive, their Umwelten, are all different. 

origin 

German, literally ‘environment’.

The surround.

Seen through . . . seeing through.

This is what we are.

This is what is God.

What an experience to have faith in!

That is, if anyone remains willing to have faith in what-is-most-intimate. 

for martin and renee, prière du lundi matin

 Call me

Old-fashioned 

But I still hate

That a good man

And woman

Were assassinated

By stupidity and

Arrogance (the

Hidden rulers

Calling shots)

Rather,

(If you now dwell

Elsewhere),

Forgive our hatred

With

Your love

a pornography of perverse portraiture

Pernicious

Precedent 

President

Chooses

Himself

Over country

Persistently

We are poorer

A too-patient

Populace

Broken

By this perversion

Looking only

Up at his face

Lusting 

Paid-off

Pinning down

Decency

lullaby

 Snowplow

Passes

Again

Maine

January

Night

Empty

Once again

Quiet

huis clos

And then one day

He closed his door

Going silent

It was hard to know

What broke, but there

Were pieces on the floor

creator, creating, creation

 If you pray,

maybe this --

That which is

coming to be

our life our love

our hope

we are here

for you to be here

amid all who

are absent

refresh us with

presence, 

we are

here, we are

here

γνώρισε τον εαυτό σου, οι θεοί το κάνουν

 Socrates did not believe in the Athenian gods.

for that he was hounded and scorned by the Athenian gods’ believers.

Twenty five centuries later, those who believe in the American gods

Hound and scorn those who don’t believe in the American gods.

Socrates was condemned to death, he chose to drink hemlock,

My guess is he didn’t have a handgun to shoot himself in the head

 

The American gods are a jealous bunch of gods, but, oddly, generous —

They have guns and will happily shoot you, saving you the trouble

The chief god smiles, says you were stupid not to believe, gathers prizes

We're lucky to have such a god, not having to think anymore, we’re free