What misery to be afraid of death. What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven.

Sing, if you can sing, and it not still be musical inside yourself.

I took one look and fell, hook and tumble.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine

Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.

Tom Dancer’s gift of a whitebark pine cone You never know What opportunity Is going to travel to you, Or through you. Once a friend gave me A small pine cone- One of a few He found in the scat Of a grizzly In Utah maybe, Or Wyoming. I took it home And did what I supposed He was sure I would do- I ate it, Thinking How it had traveled Through that rough And holy body. It was crisp and sweet. It was almost a prayer Without words. My gratitude, Tom Dancer, For this gift of the world I adore so much And want to belong to. And thank you too, great bear

Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled---to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world.