As you fall through a motion all knowing, a connection to the tail bone shows the Milky Way of Stars. For a couple of weeks, the pain is debilitation.
If you are the other side of the Cosmos of having your thumb in the dyke of the on-rushing sea, you are seeking to flood the reactor now breathing dragon fire, and carried in your work by the almost certain prospect of the end of your life as we know it on Earth.
50 Nuclear Plant workers have returned to the task of protecting an entire nation, entire world from the threat of what the Media calls a meltdown. It would seem that they are carried on the wings of Angels, the prayers of all sober, sane folk and and the updraft of lost souls...they leap, in faith, across the chasm of a frontier unimaginable.
In Irony, the refugees endure arduous cold, seeking shelter from wind and snow of Japan's winter, yet the withering heat surrounding the power plant melts all that is, lest these Titanic 50 prevail.
Oh, Mary, Conceived without sin,
Pray for us, who have recourse to Thee.
In these times of man pitted against man, I look to my spiritual mother - she who has come to my Sister, Catherine, with assurance that all who seek her protection will find as much therein. The Middle East roils and rocks, yet the Far East sustains Mother Nature's urgent demonstration of unrest. Aching hearts drive the recovery of the victins of the One/Two pummelling of the Island.
(The Beacon atop Pittsburgh's Grant Building, blinking P-i-t-t-s-b-u-r-g-h in Morse Code for 82 years changed color today, from red to green. Saint Patrick and Huntington Bank and Tommy Knockers.)
No comments:
Post a Comment