So Leonard knelled.
as only a great Cohen could.
And you rememered what the gentle one said once : That power is only safe in the hands of a poet.
And you re-membered that Life IS poetry and poetry is life, spilling over into the otherworld.
And only together they make this reality bareable.
For without, Beauty this truly word turly is, but a valley of a shadow of a tear.
But when angels cried, their tears fell like rain of blessings on this hearts of troubled sinners.
And sinn is but an ilusion, and yet we mortals imagine it to be true.
A joke we put on, for we falsely belive we can truly be separate from God.
It is like believeing a hand is separate from the body.
A dangerous and painful delusion, a mental ilness really.
And even if this place we inhabit, and was created as a paradise for us, seem like a closed ward of psychiatry..
When the David played the Harp, even the Great one was pleased
So if you have a talent to throw on, or gently put some beauty in this thing we call Home..
Make sure you do so!
Without wasting
a breath.
For it is the healing of the beauty that enables one breat to follow anoter..