Even in absurdity, sacrament.    Even in hardship, holiness.    Even in doubt, faith.     Even in chaos, realization.   Even in paradox, blessedness.   

Home of Theodore "jay" Joslin; divinity student, author, wingnut, and queer nature boy. Dedicated to the Unity and Sacredness of All-That-Is, including and especially you.

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May 2003
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The Archival Thingy

moon phases

Digging the Immaterial;
Yet another human
pondering the Universe
and what it means to be
alive and well within It.
by jay joslin

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Saturday, 17 May, 2003...........................................................

"Holy City"

I rolled right out of bed, entirely too early, and penned this poem. I was just fresh from dreaming about three chickens, unwatched, who were tossing things up in the air and laughing. Also of my old forests where I played as a child, which were turning to deserts, and an old man who was dressing up to leave his house for a walk, intent on never returning. Over all this, hijacked planes streaked the sky, reporters trailed after them. Very strange indeed.


This city is the Holy City
The stones you kick with your feet
Have been cast at saints who walked the Earth
Before their time, and little birds sift the dirt in which
Great Pronouncements were writ, with their tiny beaks.
Many would tell you that the most important event of history
Happened right here, did you see it?
A yellow butterfly wrapped in glory flew by
Just a minute ago, is that what you’re talking about?
Books and blowing paper litter sidewalks that heave with sacred ambition
All this jetsam; hagiographies, illuminated texts, lost gospels that know the
Name of God, keys to the city.
That road there might lead to the end of time
A reckoning of mythic forces that will compel the galaxy
To spin us into even more brilliant light, fruit trees will erupt everywhere
Truth and Knowledge a dollar a pound at the produce stand, oh the seeds and pits.
Up on that hill miracles are performed
I’ve heard it; the sick and dying are healed
Their wounds placated with improbable nectars
And yet there is a crowd who do not blink as death is cheated
Who are blind sided by the power they claim, wouldn’t know a miracle
If it saved their life.
Up that way, and to the left,
Just aways from the heart of town,
There is this temple, surrounded by supermarkets
Choked almost from view by the swift hollow rewards of profit
While a prophet is inside, wiping down the altar and sweeping the aisle
Whistling a familiar tune through ancient teeth surrounded by deep laugh lines.
This city is the Holy City,
Where your struggles and toils
To thrive will win you paradise, which lies
Just beyond municipal limits, but you can smell it
On the breeze, and hear it’s sweet music amidst the din
And hustle of your obligations and prostrations to a heaven
From which no finger has pointed lately; only flocks of pigeons
That descend on rooftops with a quickness, cooing long into the night.
As you sleep, dreaming that salvation is just another breath away and you have
One ritual left to do, to do it right.


Today I'll be boxing and moving, off and on all day. In just two exciting weeks and two days, it will all be official, power will be on, and I'll begin anew. The yard sale won't happen until the last week; I haven't sorted out the odds and even more curious ends yet. It's still quite early, and there's much to do.

jaybird wrote this at 09.35 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Friday, 16 May, 2003...........................................................

First loads of books and whatnot are in the new place... I'm gyrating wildly in excitement, thrilled beyond measure to leave behind the drama... The new neighbors are so great ( they build altars to the Goddess! ) and the whole area just radiates contentment. Exhausted right now, hovever, and need a long, uninterrputed sleep.

jaybird wrote this at 23.59 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Thursday, 15 May, 2003...........................................................


It's celestial, alright. Composite of eclipsed Moon over Asheville, NC.

jaybird wrote this at 22.47 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Anita Roddick: Kindness and
"...I do believe we are living in remarkable times. Every country around the world there's an insurgence against much of what we've been taught. What we're seeing now is an amazing rebirth of grassroots community, including community economic initiatives. There is a plethora of these social experiments. And I think this is what to me is the most exciting."

jaybird wrote this at 19.24 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

No they didn’t, girlfriend! Homeland Security Department Used to Track Texas Democrats. Meanwhile, here’s the resume of another Texan, albeit of a totally different stripe all together.

jaybird wrote this at 19.06 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Study: Only 10 percent of big ocean fish remain

jaybird wrote this at 18.19 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Alarm raised on world's disappearing languages

jaybird wrote this at 17.56 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

"Hail and Well Met"

Observe the hail, that came down just a few minutes ago. The little world around me became a percussive cacophony of heaven sent nature. Amazingly, as I walked cautiously into this very real sense of atmosphere, this dense fall of ice, I didn't catch a single sting from gravity, no icy rebuke. I gathered and ate the stones, letting their cold shock my tongue and their electric taste move down my throat, as the roadsides cluttered with frantic flotsam. How curious that these frozen particles of sea and stream can be suspended at all in the thick of cloud. Why release them now? How old are they? If one brained me, would I really chill out?

A single day can be so full of surprises. Ones that fall, or float, or flow. I woke up today empty handed, and I found a thing that had fallen far in the bent grass. Eyeing it, I can't say exactly what it is, or how it came to be... it might never say, but I hold it tight. It could be a key.

Last night, Joshua and I gabbed wontonly, among many other things, about manifestation and it's permutations and happenings. So, today, still shaded with such talk, I went to work manifesting a new place to live; with a yard and some sense of "outsideness" about it, private and quiet. Bingo, such thinking out loud to the cosmos paid off. Once I heard the address, on Old Home Road, ironically enough, I had a very strong feeling about it, my guts warmed with the peculiar sensation of future-familiarity. Mind you, I've called dozens of wannabee landlords, and this was just another string in the web. Pulling up to the drive, I knew I would live there, as if the future me was waving at me from my future doorway. I sign the lease tomorrow.

I've lived here, in this presently decomposing house, since 2000, and before that in the house next door for another three years. In fact I tallied today that I've lived under 15 different roofs. In that time, only a few months did I officially live by myself. This will be something quite new, quite fun, and yes, much pricier than the current uncozy arrangement. I have this totally private porch perfect for late night zen sessions and star gazing. The first incredible sign was a rooster near by... I got Haiti shivers. This is the right way, and the right time, to do it. L'chaim!

jaybird wrote this at 17.45 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Wednesday, 14 May, 2003...........................................................

"Surprise on the Moon"

At last, a dream to write home about. Which I did, earlier today, in this way:

"In the wee hours
That are the domain of muses
And the dewing of grass
I saw upon the southern edge of the moon
A brightness nested in a tiny point
As if a star had fallen into an incomprehensible crater
An incredulous shine that jarred reason.
Soon this phenomena spread from eye to eye
All manner of wires crossed
And the whole planet, our busy doings, confused,
Dwindled in inexplicable conundrum.
'What is it? How did it get there?
Are we safe? What will this do to what we claim in knowledge?'
Oh vexing sky,
what unnamable thing has bejewelled the moon?
The uncommon became the common language,
Fingers poked the ceiling of our understanding,
Making so many holes which leaked so many utterances of why, why, why...
Soon, light simply stole the moon
And we left the night without shadows.
Of course, this was a dream,
And in it's glare I overslept, overshot my obligations,
As cardinals hulled seed in those beaks
Where rough tongues cup sunrise in sound.
I scurried too,
And now all I have is an aftertaste
That has lost the connotations and importances
Of strange portents in the molten black of sleep.
If there was a meaning
It floated from my yawns and back to
That unknown orbit of indwelling lunacy,
The origin of such night flights
That illumine new days with otherworldly brightness
Even as the moon hides under the horizon
And it's glittering surprises."

What's more, I don't remember going to bed, didn't set the alarm, and wound up with those images in the ibasket of my waking consciousness. How 'bout that? Mystery, omens, portents, signs, or lunacy?

At any rate, the classifieds are out, listings circled, and it's time to scope out cardboard boxes and friends with pickups. And so, I move on...

jaybird wrote this at 20.46 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Soulmate Calculator. My results: "You have to meet 1,202,184 homosexual males who are between 21 and 35 years old."

jaybird wrote this at 19.39 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Vonnegut: Strange Weather Lately

jaybird wrote this at 19.27 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Sister Mariam McGillis of Genesis Farm has developed the Cosmic Walk as a tool to symbolically reenact the creation of the Earth, from ineffable void to right now.

jaybird wrote this at 19.23 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Total Lunar Eclipse Coming May 15-16

jaybird wrote this at 00.04 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Tuesday, 13 May, 2003...........................................................

Badger Terrorist Cell in Worcestershire! Rampage injures five! Ashcroft! Ashcroft!

jaybird wrote this at 19.54 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|


An email I just dashed off, as I dash off and put my energies towards literally moving on, out of this house and this increasingly distressed neighborhood:

"emancipation is at hand! i gave notice to the housemates, and now the search is on. [moving by] june 15 is my target date, and sooner if a dreamy situation opens up. lemme know if you want any [of my soon to be dispensed things], i'm shedding a great deal of my material skin so i can focus entirely on immaterial skin; that porous stuff between us and the infinite."

jaybird wrote this at 16.22 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Monday, 12 May, 2003...........................................................

Does America have the Buddha-nature? "People have good hearts whether or not they live like Dharma Bums. Compassion is the heart of Buddhism"

jaybird wrote this at 22.43 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

The Mysticism of Dillard's "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek"

jaybird wrote this at 22.28 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

In Parallel Universes would parking be easier? via MeFi

jaybird wrote this at 21.32 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

"Mile a Minute"

Like Heraclitus and his river, you really can't return to the same home you've left. Stasis and surety are sandcastles, built with human hopefulness on the brink of raging tides. All that lies behind the door when I leave will transform and transfigure as soon as the wheels turn and the flesh that holds my name is beyond sight. I did not expect to arrive to a house frozen and listless, an absolute zero where nothing mas moved. Thank goodness for change. Thank goodness for the rush of it's leading edge. It guides me to ideas, ideas to action, action to manifestation, and round and round again.

Leaving a thing certainly makes you appreciate it. Ask renunciates, or the Buddha himself if you can find him. I appreicate this town, and in time daresay I will let it go too, like it did with my old home, and the one before that. Once I've threaded the next pearl on that strand, I'm sure I'll have much good to say for this speck in the greening mountains, just as I've divined delight from my former state, albeit in a roundabout way. There are still twists and turns in certain roads that are new or unknown to me here. There is still much to give, and many surprises that have not yet lept out within the sleeping granite that rings us in serpentine winding. For now, it is good, very good, which is good because there is only now.

Within a month I've dipped into obvious ironies; the lushness and scarcity of Haiti, the blandness and opulence of Eastern Metro-America, and the laissez-faire obligations of Home, I've mediated wild extremes. There is no return to normal. Once this pendulum of perspective starts it's wide arc in a rush for stillness at the middle, it will spin and never repeat the exact same swing, no point revisited. As the wind whips by, and the emotions from that tumult rise, I can only be thankful to feel them; I have something, out of all this space, to feel! Upset at returning to an injured cat who had been entrusted to friends, tired from lack of sleep, goosebumpy in chilly shadows, ready to sell off everything and live simply... all blessings, oddly, that there is stimuli to evoke emotion.

For each human there are nearly a trillion stars you could have to name, and yet Annie Dillard found this great statistc opining that all humans presently alive could fit standing in a small lake outside of London. Feel that? Is that awe? Good. Now feel something else. Is that the injured cat peering at you with veternarian vexed eyes? Good. Now pet it, gently. Is that love? Whatever, hold it tight, for in the coldness of eternity there is no feeling like it, none shown just so as you've just done. You miracle worker, you.

The sun is setting on this day and on this shelter along a street I know too well. I pray that in the rising I'll come across something I don't know, or even won't know. Let me be puzzled. Let mystery be the floor and my curiosity that dances barefoot on it to the sound of the birthing of clouds. Let me awaken with trembling unfamiliarity to a morning light whose color cannot be named and painted. Is there any greater wish? Is this any way to feel about coming home after steering a glob of metal through ten hours of mile a minute velocity?

I cannot feel the turning of the Earth but I see the side effects; the evening is dizzy in thoughts. Change is in the air, and caterpillars are climbing stalks for the sake of doing just that. But less sublty, Heraclitus' river rolls on and on, through tidal mudflats and mountain glens of fern and jack-in-the-pulpit. It flows through me, and it flows through you, and you never step in the same river twice.

It's good to be back.

jaybird wrote this at 19.59 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

Sunday, 11 May, 2003...........................................................

"Discards, Keepers, Returns"

I'm imagining there's quite a clean-up effort at the church this morning. Cake just went everywhere... no delicacy there, when it was time for the bride and groom to partake of their cake they partook alright. As I hope they partake of their union; wild, free, and full of joy. Congrats, Nate and Amber.

There's a sort of clean-up effort going on inside my head right now. Sure, I'm a little "winded" from last night's celebrations, but as I pack up for the mountains and today's drive, there's a pile for discards and a pile for keepers. In the discards go the savage energy (I may have soaked up a
little) of commerce and fear that forces so many souls into surrender and dissolution. In the discards go frustration with certain familial traits and behaviors. In the keepers, however, goes the love for the family and those which, despite their grating or jarring tendencies, are thoroughly wonderful human beings with stories to tell, and love in their hearts. Anyone who can live here is of braver stuff than I, so I raise a glass to those who make their bed in Babylon but who dream of the goodness that is surely down the road. In the keepers; the love I've received and given, the joy of friendship, and the surprise of discovering beauty in the midst of ecological brokenness. Beauty is a seed that no chemical can kill; it will take root and grow whether you like it on not. There, that was easy.

So, minutes from now I'll begin my southward fling, with stops in Smyrna and Rehoboth to see my mother and grandmother respectively. From there, I've got 600 miles to home and I won't stop until I smooch the cats on the backporch, who play with the night and make catnip out of moonbeams.

jaybird wrote this at 09.21 EST| entry link| your thoughts?|

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jay/Male/26-30. Lives in United States/North Carolina/Woodfin/New Bridge, speaks English and French. Spends 40% of daytime online. Uses a Normal (56k) connection. And likes creativity/mysticism.
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United States, North Carolina, Woodfin, New Bridge, English, French, jay, Male, 26-30, creativity, mysticism.

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