Writer's Diary
6/3/26
A few recent images.
Laying down in the flat-bottomed boat, looking up at the late afternoon clouds, passing from island to island.
Watching the sun set over the water.
Chasing my new friends’ kids around the house, in a game of kick the can.
Chasing somebody else’s dog down a path for half a mile until it decided to stop playing and come back.
Looking at the water in the dark, a few lights visible two or three miles offshore, just one light on the island behind me.
Human wisdom comes down to two facts: love transforms and death tallies. We transform until we are tallied, we struggle until we cease.
I think about my own life—struggling to live up to the love I feel, struggling, but not totally failing, sometimes even making good on the love I feel; year by year.
Think about how long it’s been since I’ve really known peace and how I’m closer to it now, this August, this day, than I’ve been in a long time.
And realizing too that my personal evolution as an artist does depend on peace and not chaos.
Being will always unconceal itself the moment you look at it; divinity wells up like blood after a pinprick. (It’s all really underneath the surface, but we stay on the surface, we’re addicted to the surface.)
If you felt great love or great emotion, then you felt God. If you’ve loved someone or they’ve loved you, even for a moment, then you’ve been on a divine frequency, and you’ve spoken to God.
God wants us to love. He is always pushing us into the arms of love.
The poet is the mystic who’s afraid of silence. The mystic is the poet who is too stunned to speak, who cannot master their own vision.