Archive for the ‘Irvine’ Category

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 —

1985-02-12

Tuesday, February 12th, 1985
            Time moving quicker each day
            memories so fresh they make me ache
            as they recede ... two years, three?
            When does the 'recent' (past tense)
            give way to a fixed and remote history?
            "Ah, this!", Bhagwan says.
            This moment, as those, to cup to our lips
            to cherish it all;
              the receding past,
              the current moment,
              and the promised future.
            Here, on the razor's edge,
            here I must love it all.
            And,
               if I ache for the past,
            I will love the ache
            and feel, with passion,
               that this is perfect too.
                                    gallagher
                                    12 Feb 1985

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

1985-02-12

Tuesday, February 12th, 1985
            Letters wing their way to me,
              caresses on paper, friends in words.
            The warmth is there
              even as the weeks and months roll by.
            My mother, friend, lover,
              is imperishably and gently expressed.
            Like a hand that caresses
              or a look that tells.
            How good it is we remember...
              and how good it is
                 that 'we' survive.
                                 gallagher
                                 12 feb 85
            - upon receipt of Janice's letter.

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —