At this stage of my foundering in cyberspace,it is easier to keep pace with my skittish invisible soul than it is to navigate in the ether chasing words that convey what I want to say. I fumbled yesterday into two places almost 40 years removed from one another. In one entry -much in need of editing- I phrased the loss of innocence. Today I realize how important it is to recognise what it is/was I have /had lost so that I can find it again. Recovery, repetition, the cyclical nature of things, the importance of accepting what I am and what I do as necessary conditions in order to move forward, to learn again and again the beautiful simple truths of being and becoming. What loving is, The lover,The beloved. The grace gained in the transaction. John of the Cross, for me an accessible mystic, talks about Divine love using only what he has: human lover-beloved imagery. So his poetry is very sensual. In The Cherry Orchard, there is a line or two that I memorized to win a bet with an aspiring actor: Varya's afraid we are falling in love with one another. With her narrow mind , she cannot see that we are above love...Onward...to that bright star which shines above us.

About twenty years ago I made peace with my dead father who had disappeared from my life when I was five. Sitting in this very spot at a different computer I imagined him while I was recounting an episode from my youth, The circumstances were : a trip to a friends home at the beach,fighting between my mother and father because we were lost. He suddenely stops the car, hoist me up on his hot shoulders and says: she says you can read at four years old: Read what that sign says,snarling, his rage creeping into my body,seething, my eyes tear over. The flickering dying light from the flashlight , I cannot. That light danced on the barn walls, and flitted in front of me and I was filled with a salfific love for my father. I love you. I think I know whay you didn't come back. She wouldn't let you. She is such a strong, domineering lady who loves till it hurts, then becomes ice cold if one crosses the line. I learn from my father. I learn from my mother. There is no time to not forgive. Hate, dislike diminishes .

I reclaim my innocence now whenever I remember that I can. So I continue to chase my invisible,trickster soul in those moments I cherish and in the now unfolding.