From letter from friend at Maine State Prison:
- “I lay here in the dark letting the realities of spirituality and life play through my mind, but then as I try to write it up the veil closes in until it is muddied up by reason. I know, I really do know, but life in its attempt to evade death will have little to do with that which does not belong to it.”
- “I have always been and remain a haunted person.”
- “Me in the pulpit? I would spend most of my time crying. When one truly touches the divine the tears come as one understands they themselves have never been alone.”
- Poet Francis Thompson wrote the poem “The Hound of Heaven.” He might just as well titled it “The Haunt of Heaven.”
- An excerpt:
Heaven and I wept together,
And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine;
Against the red throb of its sunset-heart
I laid my own to beat,
And share commingling heat;
But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart.
In vain my tears were wet on Heaven's grey cheek.
For ah! we know not what each other says,
These things and I; in sound I speak---
Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences.
Is God walking in the world? What about the person passing you? Maybe not that that’s God — but that God is walking past.
(Do you get the distinction? I’m trying to.)