it seems my eyes are going dimmer while also more sensitive and hungry for light. this seems to be visible in photos. both the dimness and the acuteness. you know what, there's a hunger in the spirit world that is closed to us that we access anyway, because the hunger goes both ways, the spirit hunger hungers for us. we're not just consumers, we're portals! light goes both ways! the old in and out is not limited to food and sex or even material wealth. who knew, everyone who forgot knew. by the light we are known. i found under the train tracks this aft a return to love by marianne williamson. i remember someone i knew reading it i think way back in '92 when it was new. and i thought—foo, a course in miracles, new age foo. i didn't give it the time of day, but i listen to her speak now, and i like her, and come on, if it's not a miracle it's a sure sign that her book, signed to alva, appears and appears specifically to me, when i walk under the train tracks toward home with lulu. she even looked up at me as i grasped the book. sometimes it seems in a moment everything comes together when everything in the construed world falls apart. then i grew tired as i do when the light slants west, and i thought how warm it is, japanese ladybugs on my legs and a wanderer butterfly fluttering by, maybe i need some ice dream, and then i say to myself in the shower, maybe not kid, you only did one dog today. and now r. says maybe you should—it's kind of still ice dream weather. and i the one dog was lulu! how can i say only. here i go. and i mo see how a return to love might read to me in the westing light of today.

post dat. i open the book to page 165, the 2nd paragraph: a miracle worker is an artist of the soul. there's no higher art than a good life. an artist informs the world of what's available behind the masks we all wear. that's what we're all here to do.