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Showing posts from April, 2022

Unpublished Poetry Series: The Field-Watcher

  The Field-Watcher When in the shadows of the passing day A seat is found, asleep in calm Soundness, as activity of the mind Cease, and the slow and wavy dreams Of reality vanish by timeless Art, he who observes the secrets Of the fast-forgotten world finds purpose Insensible to sleep, remnant Of future life.  The fullness of the stars Softly infuse the distant sky With rays of obscure light, the horizon Ever holds the dawn in glimmer. Douglas Thornton 2018

Nature Within And Without

  Nature Within And Without In an old chronicle a Shawnee Indian was recorded as saying the landscape that was overtaking his native land was artificial.  For the longest time I believed he meant that nothing was instilled with mystery; the unknown had became lost.  I always thought that this was the way to look at things, trying to find what was ancient or unremembered in the ever changing present.  Sometimes we look no further when a piece of advice is clear and endearing, and so I deplored what this man had deplored only because I respected what he said.  The starting point of someone else's unhappiness is usually the beginning of our own.  We suffer in unison and feel attached because we have taken up another's opinion, reinforcing it with our own distinctions.  After searching for so long and believing everything around me was artificial, that no true landscape existed, I looked back upon that Shawnee from long ago and found that he was not speaking of the outside world. 

Hearing With The Eyes, Seeing With The Ears

  Hearing With The Eyes, Seeing With The Ears The more eloquently we are able to describe an idea, the more truthful our feelings become; the more truthfully we convey this to someone else, the more we find meaning in it.  There is the story of two people walking in the mountains, and as one of them was taken up with the amazing scenery, commenting on all the views that he saw, and the sensations these views inspired in him, he noticed his friend ever silent, walking along with head down, only furtively looking up from time to time.  Exasperated, the friend finally says to him, 'But you haven't even looked at any of these beautiful sights!  Are you not touched by these mountains?'  Whereon the friend replied, 'Yes I am, but it is a shame to try and speak about them.'  The truth lies behind the thing we think most evident; it makes it as far as the eyes and vanishes with an echo in the ears; half a sentence is sometimes too much or a whole page not enough.  In the en