The Snow Man, by Wallace Stevens
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
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We lost one of my brothers last week. It had been a long mental illness, and the words for this are hard. They come, but then its hard to organize them, to say things that make sense. But here is what I know now-
His mind is quiet and not in pain.
When our minds are quiet they are with his.
All of us loved him so much, and in a constellation of ways. Not all of them easy. I think James knew, and he loved us exactly where we were at. He understood us, even as some of us could not understand him.
This was his most played song on iTunes.
We come from Source, whatever that may be. And to Source we return.
Rest, my gentle brother. I love you. I'm holding you close.
This is a wild soul-book