From a Poet

Transformative Light Today, Tuesday, sun all day; feel the days getting longer.  The slightest variation in light is perceptible only by the way in which it hits certain objects.  With the eye, we may notice morning, evening, and noon, by taking into account the incline of the sun, but as for our earth moving in its orbit and the light growing longer or brighter on the hills or the walls of our homes, that feeling and that change is lost unless we take minute observation of our daily surroundings.  Light, by contrast, is a transformation of the understanding of the inexplicable; it enlightens but does not clarify our perceptions, and even though it is to make the day longer, it is not a privilege granted for our comfort.  Though the object may help us see, it makes us turn our backs to that which we really want to know, and so the languor and discomfort of these ever-widening days is a burden and something careful to be shrugged off. Douglas Thornton

  The Cycle Of Being Focus to lassitude; Lassitude to indifference; Indifference to disassociation; Disassociation to unfulfillment. When we arrive at the end of this cycle, regeneration begins. Unfulfillment must turn into something; it cannot, according to present thinking, remain stable.  When there is a difficulty, we look at the details, and these give off a feeling of knowing something greater, and so the intention to go forward, but they also keep us from knowing that something greater, and so our intention to fall back into comfort.  It is often through this that the idea of conquering comes forth; every activity, feeling, attachment, must be overcome.  There is always the idea to solve something, to become better, but these are the details that lead us through the above cycle.  There is no end to anything except what can be stabilized in the mind, and without this it is just going through the motions, awaiting the highs and the lows, excitement and boredom, the foolish and the

  April 30th, 2015 It is easy to think that books are worthy for the knowledge they impart, but there is something even greater.  The moment we realize that they have been with us for many years, hidden in the background, a silent companion to our inward movements, and in one instant come forth to charm us or engage us in an old friendship, it is right then, the moment of that first meeting, that we hold in highest regard.  We know not of our joys or our misgivings until they find unique expression; in books there is a place for our troubles, and a word for our vision. It helps us look back at the places we've been and whom we've seen, giving perspective, never harsh or unneeded, but always with the glow of a distant light and an unerring respect.  And finally, when the book no longer serves its purpose, but has introduced us to something much deeper within ourselves, we can shrug off and get rid of our attachment, and turn to what remains unwritten. Douglas Thornton

  April 24th, 2015 It does not matter how much we see the world because there is always something to it that is not exactly attainable.  A wild landscape, a colorful bug, an unexpected stray dog, they hide behind a meaning that we search for, and whether we find it or not, we accept them into our experience as having given us some insight.  Our opinion and our reconciliation with this opinion is the only way happiness is thought to be had.  When the wild landscape is no longer wild, it does not grieve, but our spirit is conquered by the fact. When our happiness is no longer so, the stray dog is a pitiful creature; thus we create the stories that keep us in the world we live in.  But if there is a world outside of this, where do we look, and do we want to see something that is devoid of our sentiment?  If we hold the rope too long our hands will blister, but if we let go, the rope will no longer be there to save us.  Some may ask why they are holding the rope in the first place, and som

  April 21st, 2015 Watching the sunrise leaves us with a greater impression of what a day actually is.  When it starts up from the horizon, it does not have its sights set on how high it will go, nor what it must do, but only in giving off light, in clarifying what appears in front of it.  Our day already begins as the phantom of something we want to be, or have to be; before our eyes have even focused on the sun, we already think about when we can close them again; and so for many of us it never really rises, or hardly ever sets.  Perhaps the only thing decent in the world is to watch the sunlight brighten and fade, and leave all of our other actions to disappear beyond the shadow of doubt. Douglas Thornton