September 28, 2017

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Steve was looking at two of my poems, today—poems I have shared with you all, before—but he had never read the first one deeply; and he had never read the second one in the context of what I shared with you, last entry. Because Matt was the only person, other than one or two of my sisters, whom I could count on to understand and love me no matter what. Who could see me. And Steve briefly passed by the film, "Avatar" on TV, this evening, but did not have the heart to just "have it on for noise"; but in that film, Neytiri tells Jake, "I see you." Meaning, with her heart. Matt saw me with his heart, in this same way.

So Steve read these two poems deeply, and slowly, as poems are meant to be read, rather than rushing through them or glancing over them (as he is wont to do, when he is inserting them in text). These were both written when I was 14 years old, you see, and very much in love with Mathew—but it was a pure love. He was more than a friend, more than a brother; I can't explain it to Steve (so he can't explain it, to you). I will say it this way—(Steve caught this thought)—he was the reason I took an incarnation. There, does that express it?

So we have seen, in the last entry, what my external life was like; but this gives you some idea of my internal life. It was God, and my soul-mate. Nature, yes; my stars, yes; but if they failed me, I had God, and I had Matt. Is that blasphemous? We wonder, sometimes, if our loving each other as we do is wrong; but God wants it so. If God wants it so, then it cannot be wrong. Only if you make idolatry of your soul-mate relationship, in place of God, can you get into spiritual trouble. Don't take our word for that; but that is what we have determined to be the truth of it.

Who cares what God wants, anymore? Well, Steve is tired, and I am giving him to feel it is not time to go into preaching—not tonight. Oh, about these two poems—two different men claimed them (i.e., one each). Can you imagine—despite the fact that they open so similarly? Men using my 14-year-old expressions from the heart, to try to advance their careers and make a name for themselves. Such men have no shame; and I will say this much, that such conduct burns the conscience when one gets over here and has the life-review. One wants to set the matter straight, and cannot. But one feels awful about it. One is forgiven; but at the same time, one wants to set matters aright. And so one will be given a chance, to do that.

Here are my poems; it is time to let Steve off, now, as he is very tired at the end of the day, and channeling takes still more energy.

Love to each and all,
Abby

The Still Small Voice.

The still small voice! the still small voice!
 Hear ye not—when the morning breaks
  Over the distant mountains,
 And each bird in the woodland wakes,
 While the sunlight gleams on the lakes
  And the silvery fountains—
   A voice in the radiant sky,
   In the grove's rich melody?—
   The spirit of God is nigh:—
'Man, make thy choice! O make thy choice!'

The still small voice! the still small voice!
 Hear ye not—when the sun burns high,
  And the land and the sea are bright,
 And the streams, that meander by
 And through the emerald foliage hie,
  Rejoice in the noon-tide light—
   A voice where the sea-winds play,
   Where the rivulet glides away?—
   The spirit of God doth say,
'Man, make thy choice! O make thy choice!'

The still small voice! the still small voice!
 Hear ye not—when the sun goes down,
  With his crimson banner outspread,
 And receives his brilliant crown,
 While the shades of evening frown
  Upon his glorious bed—
   A voice in the sunset sky,
   Where the twilight breeze goes by?—
   The spirit of God is nigh:—
'Man, make thy choice! O make thy choice!'

The still small voice! the still small voice!
 Hear ye not—when the moon beams fall
  On the slumbering ocean,
 And the stars, at the night-spirit's call,
 Come forth, and shine over all,
  With a tremulous motion—
   A voice on the solemn air?—
   'T is Nature's evening prayer;
   The spirit of God is there:—
'Man, make thy choice! make Heaven thy choice!'

 

TO —— ——

That smile of thine! That smile of thine!
 When first the blessed beam
Of love shone from thy soul on mine,
 Was like a happy dream;
That steals upon the wretched brain,
And brings it back to youth again,
 With momentary gleam.

That smile of thine! That smile of thine!
 Has shone upon my way,
Like a perennial fire divine,
 A vivifying ray—
A part of natureís mighty God,
That lighted up the inert clod,
 To live its passing day.

That smile of thine! That smile of thine!
 Though fame hath fled away,
Has never ceased on me to shine,
 With its confiding ray:
In misery and wretchedness,
That smile has never ceased to bless
 My lone heart on its way.

That smile of thine! That smile of thine!
 Oh, leave that unto me!—
And like the mist of noontide wine,
 The world beside may flee;
Yeah, leave me but that smile divine,
And let me touch my lip to thine!
 And welcome misery.

That smile of thine! That smile of thine!
 Let death at coming wear;
And when he smiles, Iíll not repine,
 But fade into the air;
And free from this insensate sod,
Rejoin the universal God,
 And love, in memory, there.

A.P.