Cat Woman. June 17, 2012Posted by littlebangtheory in Art and Nature, Love and Death.
Tags: cat, cat woman, love, woman
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A beautiful woman, loving one of her beautiful cats:
This little guy wasn’t sure he should be comfortable with me and my camera, but his mommy got him to relax and accept me for long enough to snag this shot.
Coronation. February 20, 2009Posted by littlebangtheory in Love and Death, poetry.
Tags: love, pure and simple
Outside the wind howls,
An east-bound train on rippling blue rails.
Maroon sheets surround my back, hold me still
As your angel hair traces my meridian, dances across my chest,
Swirls in the candlelight while your warm lips find
Each depression in my man-belly, Oh!
What a delightful turn of fate
To be so lovingly crowned
King of The World!
In God’s Eyes. October 28, 2008Posted by littlebangtheory in Love and Death.
Tags: equality, fairness, love
My dear, dear Elder Progeny (SG1, if you’re a friend of The Pagan Sphinx) is a marvel of self direction and determination. She has an indomitable passion, at times terrifying in its intensity, and when she wants something, she generally gets it.
So it didn’t surprise Pagan Sphinx or me when she and the Love of her Life, Shannon, announced that they planned on getting married in California right after graduation from college. They’re so sweet and right together!
But lately, the momentum of California’s Proposition 8 had them worried that their window of opportunity was about to be slammed shut by a campaign of fear-mongering and bigotry.
So this morning at 3am they hopped a shuttle to Bradley Airport in Connecticut, caught a flight to San Francisco…
…and at 5pm Pacific time, they were married.
My Little Girl, my first-born, my tiny jewel, two little hands-full, who at a week old had eyes deep with the clarity and wisdom of the ages, who struggled for most of her young life against seemingly insurmountable odds, who wrestled with Demons we could barely imagine, who beat them back with her bare hands and iron will, who climbed out of an abyss so deep that there were times when we could barely see her, hardly touch her, held our breath and prayed, Dear God, for her life…
…Yes, that one, who is now a beautiful young woman, finishing up a stellar career at an excellent college, and who found herself a beautiful, loving soul, a Kindred Spirit, a partner as beautiful and brilliant and brave as herself…
Meredith, I couldn’t possibly be prouder of you, or happier for you both.
May the Holy Spirits of Mother Earth, and of Father Sky, and of the God of All Love keep you safe, and strong, and together.
Postscript – I decided to take Fran up on her suggestion that I cross-post this over at Mombian, because we all need to come out about and support each other in our acceptance of Love in All Its Forms, and our rejection of the bigotry which is embodied in Proposition 8.
Humbly, Thank You. March 3, 2008Posted by littlebangtheory in Love and Death.
Tags: art, life, love, you.
At some point this past weekend my site-meter registered twenty thousand page views.
This blows my mind. The fact that I, a shy little country man who may not have had twenty thousand conversations in his protracted life has had that many interactions with YOU, my friends here in the ‘sphere, leaves me speechless, humbled, grateful.
I’m well aware that most of you probably first came here when I had things to say, about politics and society and life and love. And I’m painfully aware that that well has run low and turgid for some time now. For that presumptive bait-and-switch, I apologize. It’s primarily, I think, a matter of not wanting to paraphrase the more lucid offerings of those of you with televisions, access to CNN, MSNBC, real connections to the day’s events, and minds sharp enough to explain it all to me.
Please know that your insights and interpretations resonate in my heart, fuel the fires of my resistance, feed the flames of my passionately burning mind. You teach me, you guide me, you sustain me.
And what have I to offer you in return for this great gift?
I have a connection to a disappearing Nature, a Sky beset by unnatural pressures, an Earth in Crisis. I have a mind tuned to the seasons, an eye calibrated to the Things Unnoticed, a perspective informed by my burning desire to know Father Sky, Mother Earth, the Universe.
I’m finding that my mission statement has changed, from socio-political rabble-rouser to something softer, the whisper of a breeze in the forest, the gentle popping of a brook heading toward a river. My futile attempts at sharing my visions of God with you are hopefully better than not making the effort, though doubtless fall far short of conveying to you the gift I receive every time I walk out of my front door.
At any rate, I’m reduced to showing you The World As I See It, and, of course, my dinners.
Thank you all for taking the time to visit and share my visions, and thank you all for being my inspiration, my reason for being here, my heroes.
A Message From Our Friends In Whately, MA February 23, 2008Posted by littlebangtheory in Love and Death.
‘Cause you know, these hills are full of smart people!
A Conversation September 28, 2007Posted by littlebangtheory in Art and Nature.
Tags: deep thoughts, love, nature
A warm September night in a deep pine forest. I’m stacking firewood for the long-anticipated gathering of Weekend Warriors, come to slay rocks, trade tales and get loose among friends.
The Sun has departed, something about a prior engagement to the West. The Full Moon is expected, but is fashionably late. I drop an armload of dry wood into the roofed crib, my hands and arms streaked black with pitch, sticky, smelling gloriously of pine, and turn to appreciate the evening’s symphony: cicadas in the meadow down by the river, a chorus of tree frogs surrounding me, the distant hum of short-haulers dieseling up the hill on their way to Points Unknown.
Then you glide in, silent as the sky, curiosity conquering caution, come to see what the commotion could be. I smile, and settle back against a tall stump. I had hoped, dreamed, wished for you without having the temerity to speak your name, without daring to expect you, without believing I deserved you.
But here you are, securing your perch, taking my measure, and before long, asking the Eternal Question, your lucid eyes fixed upon my sorry silhouette, “Whooo?“
I let the night slide past like a slow-moving cloud. There’s a pace to this, like leaves falling, like a vole snuffling a circuitous path toward its destiny.
In time I take in the night air, cup my hands about my mouth, and exhale a reply: “Hoo-hoooo!”
Your head swivels, tilts, feathers fluffing. You digest me as the minutes pass.
Then, shoulders hunched, forward-leaning, you catch an unseen current and glide away, not away, but to a nearer pulpit. Now my head swivels, shoulders hunched, a lesson well learned, thank you, and I ask again: “Whooo?“
The thinness of my entreaty startles me. I had meant to sing your song, but instead had sung mine.
We’ve had this conversation before, you and I.
Your forward lean becomes a trajectory, and you disappear into the night.