Archive for the ‘Culturium-II’ Category

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1985-01-27

Sunday, January 27th, 1985 
               Every story or fable about the Masters
                 misleads us, subtly.
               We see how they are
                 and translate it to see ourselves, there.
               And, thus, when we imagine ourselves as they are,
                 we always see ourselves
                   through the eyes of others.
               It's again the difference between
                 being and trying to be.
               We must find the secret within us.
                 Utterly disconnected from
                   all imaginings, posings and motives.
               We must become the light of unity
                 unto ourselves,
                    born only of ourselves.
                                 gallagher
                                 27 Jan 1985

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

Posted in 1985, Culturium-II, Irvine, Seattle, Spiritual | 3 Comments »

1985-03-28

Thursday, March 28th, 1985 
            Rich beyond all measure
            we stand blind in the midst.
            The light of God shines through us
            and around us in every form
            and we go aching
            from mood to mood
            and place to place
            in search of His peace and joy.
            He must smile with compassion
            at children such as we
            who, in the wheat fields of His love,
            cannot find the harvest
            nor simply love the sun.
                              gallagher
                              28 March 1985
            after yet another listening of Gibran's, The Prophet.

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

Posted in 1985, AAA - Recommended, Catalyst, Culturium-II, Irvine, Spiritual | No Comments »

1985-05-05

Sunday, May 5th, 1985

 

            A little boy has the chicken pox
              his skin comes boiling
            but its my heart
              that talks....

            He whines and twitches; it itches so bad,
              and I look at his skin and I just get mad.
            Love and anger, compassion and strain,
              I ache for his innocence, so small against pain.

            These moments are burnt of welling tears
              hard passages through my mortal fears.
            The love we feel, on this stage of death,
              for all the vanished children and we who're left.

            All this was mine, as I held his hand.
              As his little courage
                 struggled so hard to stand.
            All this was mine
              ...but, Dear God, I don't understand.

                                 gallagher
                                 5 may 85

 

 

 

 

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

Posted in 1985, Chris, Culturium-II, People | No Comments »

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