https://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/20/technology/personaltech/20basics.html

Kindness covered me on that dark night.

Then I knew the meanings of this pain

I must get up yes I must walk again

Without a compass map or any guide

The darkness my companion as I strive

The golden light was love but also fear

We are never lost if we are dear ear

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Wrapped in your smile,I saw the golden light
As if a hidden world our love revealed .
Our spirits touched, our sorrows pushed to flight

In that space, our worries did not bite
The trees were shelter, losses were each healed
Wrapped in your holy smile,I saw the light

Do you learn there is a second sight
From heart and soul , the golden bells shall peal
Where spirits touch ,where sorrows quickly fly

And who but you would see my inner plight
Would know the false from what is right and real
Wrapped in your smile,I felt warm golden light

No army with its metal and its might
Can win the final war , love conquers steel
As spirits touch ,as sorrows say goodbye

I know it’s hard to learn what others feel
And not draw back from grief, from loss revealed
Wrapped in your holy smile ,O golden light
Our spirits touch, our eyes weep their delight

 Like children’s   gleaming tears in a  bright sun
That can be dried respectful of the source
The points of light on holly leaves  each shone

The  pink horse chesnuts’ flowering  has begun
May flows on to June  as rivers  course
As children’s   gleaming tears drop in  the sun

Nothing human should be broken,shunned
Yet evil screams till its sharp voice is hoarse
The points of light on holly leaves  still shine

When we learn of genocide , it stuns
I was  unborn, did not know of  such force
As children’s   greying tears dropped  under sun

Each  child is God,  yet such vile acts are done
Anne Frank ‘s  haunting memories now cursed
The points of light on holly leaves  will wane

Where did   our evil start,what makes it worse?
Unheld and hungry   baby needing breast?
Like children’s   golden tears in a   black sun
The points of shame, the prickling leaves may win

Enraptured by your smile,I lost my soul
It  joined with yours to make a   presence whole
A wall of light  curved round , enchanting me
Gave me  comfort, gave me history

For after such illusions ,we are changed
Our soul and heart and body rearranged
In the memory,  we image bliss
To comfort , showing nothing is amiss

Afterwards we wonder  was it real
That golden light such comfort  made us feel
Vivid is the symbol of delight
Dreams may  use this symbol in the  night

To lose ourself will fill our vacant mind
Like holy water cures the one  who’s blind

Could it be despair  that held me tight

in the wintry evening and the night

I could not see a way to  carry on

Everything  was wrong and I was done

I saw great blackness all around myself

I could not be restored, I had no health

I   had reached the end of seeking aid

God alone  knew all the coins were paid

  Inexplicable, the  golden light

That made a sweet shawl round me on that night

Impressing me with kindness and goodwill

Holding me until I had had my fill

Most sensuous, most tangled with love’s  grace

Surrounding me,  protecting my lost face

As if the arms of love were something real

That anyone  who knew this  must reveal

Only when we reach the very end

May the force of love on  us descend

i

 

May the force of love on  us descend

Shocked by life events I fell down low

Unsure of what to do or where to go.

I lay unmoving on the muddy ground.

I did not speak nor did I make a sound

I grew colder as the sun sank low

Till all that could be seen was a faint glow

At last I stood then sat down on a log

Fearing I might sink into a bog

Getting to my feet I tried to walk

I must move before the midnight dark

I felt no hope no comfort, had no faith

Yes all my face was sad,in tears I bathed

I thought that I would die of bitter grief

My life eclipsed by trauma unreleased.

And then I was enveloped by warm light.

Kindness covered me on that dark night.

Then I knew the meanings of this pain

I must get up yes I must walk again

Without a compass map or any guide

The darkness my companion as I strive

The golden light was love but also fear

We are never lost if we are dear

The government have decided doctors can give love on prescription to older people who often live alone.

The problem is no one seems to know what love would look like

You can’t describe it in words but you would know it if you felt it said Mary Darkwood

She said that if you act lovingly to a person eventually you will begin to love them and they will begin to love you

But she recommends you not to waste your love on men who never get washed. In this time of pandemic we must remember clean hands and possibly clean lips and face and nose are the best way to protect ourselves against catching viruses.

Maybe it is better not to kiss anyone unless you’ve known them for 3-months and you have had time to inspect their bathroom.

And if you are dirty yourself it might be a good idea for jet wash before you go out looking for love.

The time of the hippies has passed. The question of the kind of clothing that you life on men is something that you should think about

I don’t like shorts on most men nor sandals with hairy feet.

Also be aware of very strong deodorants could this be a murderer who is trying to cover his tracks or is he trying to hide the fact that he never gets washed by sprayin ghimself with antiperspirants

Remember that you can make yourself ill using too much antiperspirant because they stop sweat from coming out of the body and if it can’t you will die.

T.his is getting confusing it seems that nature prefers dirt and sweat

I don’t think Jesus would have won a deodorant or antiperspirant even though an angel would have been glad to buy some for him What about Mary Magdalene? I doubt if she wore anything more than red lipstick. And a dress

Well that’s very interesting do you think the doctors in Jerusalem would have prescribed love for their patients? Jesus was a doctor possibly. And look what happened to him.

Where are the real doctors now?

https://lithub.com/read-13-of-the-best-literary-interviews-from-interview/

E

June of 1982, Joan Didion travelled to El Salvador with her husband, John Gregory Dunne, to report on the country for The New York Review of Books. The results of that trip appeared as three articles, and were published in book form last month by Simon and Schuster. To readers familiar with the work of this highly acclaimed essayist, critic, reporter, novelist, and scenarist, the trip made a great deal of sense;­ the region had obviously been on her mind for some time. A Book of Common Prayer, her novel published in 1978, prophetically depicted the downfall of a Somoza-like regime in the imaginary Central American nation of Boa Grande, which bore a startling resemblance to Nicaragua. Moreover, it seemed reasonable to assume that if any writer could get a handle on El Salvador—caught, as it is, in the throes of a savage civil war, as the newly-unleashed anti-Sandinist insurgency in Nicaragua causes tensions in the region to mount, at a time when the political atmosphere of the United States is charged by issues of human rights violations by the Salvadorian Right and the question of increased U.S. military aid ­— it would be Joan Didion.

After reading the book, one thing became searing clear: What has always informed Didion’s non-fiction in the past and distinguished Slouching Toward Bethlehem and The White Album as classics — a sensitivity that is viscerally sensitive, vulnerable yet always tough-minded, an unerringly keen eye for detail and irony, and a prose style of singular brilliance—only makes Salvador that much more devastating. Perhaps the most telling phrases she uses in the book to describe her impressions are those like “a prolonged amnesiac fugue” and “a true noche obscura”— in other words, there is no “handle” in El Salvador; there is mainly the ambition for power — (“Don’t say this, but, there are no issues here,” she is told by a high placed Salvadoran. “There are only ambitions.”) — obfuscated by the rhetoric of “el problema,” “la situacion,” “la verdad,” “la solucion.” Mostly there is “the exact mechanism of terror” she comes to understand so well; there are El Playon and Puerta del Diablo, where the mutilated bodies of the “desaparecidos” are dumped by the death squads, and the kind of “practical information” she imparts at the outset of the book:

In El Salvador, one learns that the vultures go first for the soft tissue, for the eyes, the exposed genitalia, the open mouth. One learns that an open mouth can be used to make a specific point, can be stuffed with something emblematic; stuffed, say, with a penis, or, if the point has to do with land title, stuffed with some of the dirt in question.

“Terror is the given of the place,” she tells us, terror and death are the true tangibles in El Salvador — the rest is rhetoric, illusion. Seated across from her in a suite at The Carlyle, what comes immediately to

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/05/25/dining/cooking-relief-grief.html

It’s exhausting and seemingly endless, as my colleague David Leonhardt wrote a few hours ago for The Times: “The list from just the past decade includes supermarkets in Buffalo and in Boulder, Colo.; a rail yard in San Jose, Calif.; a birthday party in Colorado Springs; a convenience store in Springfield, Mo.; a synagogue in Pittsburgh; churches in Sutherland Springs, Texas, and in Charleston, S.C.; a Walmart in El Paso; a FedEx warehouse in Indianapolis; a music festival in Las Vegas; massage parlors in the Atlanta area; a Waffle House in Nashville; a gay nightclub in Orlando, Fla.; and a movie theater in Aurora, Colo.”

And I’m here to tell you

Funeral marches horses silent crowds

The one day that our mourning is allowed

The lonely long bereaved find comfort here.

Releasing withheld tears they are sincere.

The gods of war the monarch show their teeth

While we struggling mourners mind our grief

Dukes and earls and princes eye the crowd

Thinking of the sinking of the pound

Houses with extensions will feel cold

What will this do in the polls?

Voter’s won’t like losing their hot air,

The emperor has no clothes on he is bare

God save the King he’s waited long enough

The demons in the Belfry almost laugh

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2022/sep/18/scramble-for-new-royal-figureheads-begins-among-britains-arts-organisations?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other