exquisite poem Cailin full of emotion excellently penned

You write with passion always, sometimes loving and sometimes dark, but always with the passion that is you

You know I am passionate and I'm only recently coming to realize how true that is compared to most people. But I'm quirky, even in my passion. What I care about, I care about intensely, and what I don't care about does not even register among my considerations beyond what is required for expediency sake. It makes me mostly pretty easy to get along with. In fact, I am effusively indulgent of those I love, but not myself. I'm a little stoic that way. Actually, I am very stoic. I rarely feed this body and it's a worry. I run a farm and feed and water contentiously all my flocks and pets, but not myself. I often go two or three days without solid food and I don't understand this disconnect in my persona. It's as if I am saying to God, "If you want me here you'd better sustain me yourself or send someone to love me and feed me, because you know I never pay any attention to that until I am faint from hunger." And yet, I have this fairly large, muscley body. It's as if the laws of physics do not apply to my form. I'm soon to be 55 and people honestly take me for 38 to 40 years old all the time. (ANYway, back on topic:)

I was thinking about Dad last night. He was a lot like me. In fact, we were emotionally twins. But I always perceived him as much more fire and me much more sentiment (Water: My astrological chart is all water and air and a tiny bit of fire--just enough fire to spark the phase change from liquid water to steam/vapor/"air", But, by nature, I am quintessentially fluid.) Of course, fire consumes and yet it's no match for oceanic sentiment. When Dad noticed cobwebs on the house, he literally lit a handheld propane torch and burned them away. (Fire based emotionality--and Dad was emotionally combustible. He was also Captain of the Tampa fire department for 22 years. And what finally killed him was the loss of all his stuff: his machine shop and gun collection and everything he felt made him himself, when his shop burned down.) When I notice cobwebs on a building, I pick up and apply the pressure washer. Everything gets a thorough dousing. When I hurt or am angry, I do two things simultaneously: I leak emotion (cry) and I laugh. I laugh because all that drama surprises me and seems truly ironic. Life is a cosmic jest and I am amused that I can still tell myself the silly stories that result in "hurt" and "anger". My heart gets a thorough soaking flushing-out. My mind shifts, the locus of what "I" identify as me shifts: I am not these emotions. I am the space in which the emotions occur. I am not this story. I am the awareness that sees the story, watches the emotions come and go and I am blessed to have experienced them at all.

Above all, relationships are more important than things. Relationships are the temple we build together and that temple is a shrine to what we hold dear and precious. Certainly that is not these passing small lives. No. My temples are all built in honor of principles and so too is all that I write: Love, Life (as Love), Compassion, Truth, Honor, Candor, Dignity, Mutual Respect, Creativity and the invulnerability of the Being that makes its own life story a Tribute to these. Make of your life story, with each passing moment, tribute and shrine to these principles and you have embraced all that God Himself holds dear. You have, in effect, identified with Him. You have put your "self" on His team. You chose Him and you used your entire life to make that statement of allegiance. THAT is ART!

Live this way and you cannot die because you are Life its loving Self. And so I say again, as I always do and maybe you will know, if you chance upon this posting (led hereto by God/Life--which is what we all are) that I mean it intensely when I say...

...I love you All.

Cailin
You are ALL mine, mine, mine. God blessed me not with babies in this life. But He gave me the world.