Seen at the Inauguration

A delightful piece in the Times of London  concludes:

The filming on Tuesday [of the inauguration in detail] wasn't about illusion or manufacture, however: the intimacy was real and in real time. Anybody watching the footage surrounding the oath will have felt closely acquainted with the Obamas: they laugh with each other, they sometimes look as if they are going to have a giggling fit, sometimes she rolls her eyes and then stops herself, sometimes he suppresses a yawn. She kicks off her tight new shoes, like we do when we sit down at weddings; he goofs around with his children, like a normal person. They are immediately familiar, recognisably human, like us (which means that, cleverly, the colour of their skin becomes irrelevant).

So, even in gesture and simple acts, the new first family helps us transcend the old patterns in which what was familiar was based on race and introduces us to a new world in which what is familiar is based on humanity.

As Rikkity says: We can all make it if we focus on connections, not difference!

And sometimes a word is worth a thousand pictures

A great composite from Inauguration Day - people were asked to choose from among dozens of words - see what we are saying about our feelings that day:

DId I really see this????

I thought I was seeing a Frank Capra Inauguration:  

Cheney being assisted into the events.

Hmm . . . where have I seen him before?????

O, now I remember:

Have a wonderful life!

Worth more than a thousand words

ONE MORE DAY!

Tomorrow Barack Obama will be sworn in as our new President.

For the eve of the election, a clever film was made based on the scene from Les Mis "One More Day". 

Enjoy!

The Missing Days

Where have I been?

The virus which took control of my vocal cords did not want to go quietly into that gentle night - and they exhausted me in the process.  But, by Sunday morning, I had enough voice back to preach on Dr. King.  

If you want to hear the sermon, you can go to my sermons on line, or even link into the podcast rss feed. 

It is good to be back!

Mandatory Recycling - or canning the can in the can

Key West is currently in the midst of a Commission decision-making process about a mandatory recycling ordinance. It has passed the first reading 4-3, but faces some obstacles for the second reading. The main complaint is with the "mandatory" language, which would eventually lead to potential fines for those who do not recycle.

The arguments have been pure Libertarian in nature: don't make us do anything, use education instead of fines, and most of all, respect that there is a Key West way of doing things and that is not by making it mandatory.

In response, I helped our Social Concerns Committee write a letter to the Commission to be read in the public hearing before the second reading of the Ordinance. Here is what I said:

"As you continue to wrestle with the issue of recycling in Key West and approach your vote on the second reading of the proposed ordinance for mandatory recycling, we hope that these thoughts might help you vote “Yes.”

"Governments are created to serve the common good. That good includes not only the protection of individual rights but also the protection of the collective health and welfare.

"The great Magna Carta, cornerstone of western liberty, was initially signed in 1215. However, the version we know now was codified in 1297. It is significant that in 1297, this basis for so many of our rights was formally enacted AND a bill mandating collection of refuse was also enacted. In the Common Law tradition we have over 700 years of understanding that mandating action in the common good is not an infringement on people’s rights.

"In the City of Key West, where many cosmetic actions are mandated (the precise colors allowed for doors and trim in the historic area) and many petty actions are equally mandated (removal of holiday lights by January 10), it would seem the height of hypocrisy to conclude that making recycling mandatory would be contrary to the spirit of Key West. If anything, protecting the future of our island for generations to come by thoughtful and forceful action would seem imperative.

"Please, take recycling as seriously as you do parking regulations and electric car rental solicitations. Vote “Yes” at the second reading."

Madoff, Justice, and Equity

Let me see if I have this right:

a person, especially of middle-eastern appearance, who is suspected of doing something, anything, or even nothing, is rounded up, not charged with anything, subjected to rendition to a country where torture is legal, and finally lands in Guantanamo.

a real terrorist, someone who has admittedly stolen billions from people great and small through massive lies and financial manipulation, is allowed to live in his luxury penthouse, with full staff, even though charged with multiple offenses that eclipse the annual crime rate of most small countries.

did someone say "with liberty and justice for all"? I surely know why I can't bring myself to say the Pledge of Allegiance.

I couldn't have said it any better

My colleague, the Rev. Chris Buice, has a column in this week's Newsweek. 

I could not say any better the message he shares about living in a world that can be filled with terror, hatred, and violence but which can also be filled with love, acceptance, and peace. 

http://www.newsweek.com/id/178853

Speechless

Literally!

Saturday, I had a wedding at the beach with a strong wind blowing.  Had to give it the full voice into the wind (I do wonder where those words are rippling around the universe carried by the wind). 

Sunday, the morning service called for preaching, not just speaking.  

By Sunday afternoon's installation service of my colleague at Bethel AME Church, my introduction of the Presenter of the Message demanded all I had left. 

So now, I am speechless.  Laryngitis has struck.  Me quiet!  

And so I have to practice the other half of ministry - listening. 

Shhhhh, do you hear that?  

Does the Democratic Leadership Really Want Change?

I am beginning to get some uneasy feelings that some of the leadership in the Democratic Party, especially some of those in either of the houses of Congress, did not see their overwhelming victory in November as a mandate for change, only a mandate for a transfer of power. 

As President-elect Obama begins to put forward his agenda of real change, some of the crustaceous legislators and party pundits have begun to dig in their heels, looking almost like Republicans. It would seem that they only wanted to be the party in power, not the party of paradigmatic changes as our country attempts to move into a more creative, more inclusive 21st century. 

I think it is time to say to all of those who battled the old battles as leadership in both houses, "thanks, but it is time for you to step down."  And then people who did not base their careers on being over-and-against the Republican majority and who embrace a bigger picture should be brought into leadership.  And that new leadership needs to be open, radically open, to what President Obama will propose - not following without questions, but proceeding faithful or optimistically in concert with eyes wide open. 

Standing on the Side of Love

I just signed my first Conch Republic marriage license.  It was such a pleasure to add my signature to a license which is granted to all couples in love who wish to solemnize their relationship in a public way.  The two men whose lives have intertwined over a number of year, standing on a strip of sand where earth, air, water, and sun meet, spoke words of commitment as deep and moving as any other married couple.  I was honored to offer the blessing of spirit to the occasion as I knew for these two people this was not only a physical but also a spiritual union.

Now, note I did not say I signed a State of Florida marriage license.  Florida is held in the grips of extreme prejudice, hatred, and manufactured fear where we could uphold acceptance, love, and faith.  The religious "right" (they think they are the only ones right) made rejection of acceptance, love, and faith a cornerstone of their efforts in the most recent election.  Wait a minute!  I thought that the essence of the Abrahamic tradition was acceptance, love, and faith.  I guess I got that wrong. 

I also thought that the Realm of Heaven, the idealized state of being toward which we would all strive, was beyond the limits of the physical, so it was more a state of mind, a concept of being, cleansed of the impurities of separation, hate, and worry.  

So, it is puzzling that the State of Florida which identifies itself so thoroughly by physical and legal boundaries tries to define something as spiritual as marriage. By contrast, the Conch Republic says it is a "state of mind" which seems much more conducive to having something relevant to say about marriage.  And for them, marriage is about love, and commitment, and responsibility, not about sex and gender roles. 

A State of Mind Standing on the Side of Love. 

 

Atheism and London Double-deckers

This week, thousands of buses in London and throughout the UK will carry a banner advertisement that reads:

"There's probably no God.

Now stop worrying and enjoy your life"

The banners are the work of British Humanist Associaiton, sparked by prior bus ads that pointed riders to a website  prophesying a future of hellfire and brimstone for all non-Christians. 

The idea was to promote an alternative, and by including the word "probably" to do so non-dogmatically.   The original hope was to generate about 5000 British pounds (about US$ 3300.) to festoon a couple of buses.  However, when the appeal went public the response (mostly in the range of 1 or 2 pounds) was a total of over 100,000 pounds.  The campaign expanded to hundreds of buses, not just in London but around the UK. 

What is interesting to me, as a Universalist, is the assumption in the banner that the only way to escape a prophesizing of hellfire and brimstone is to remove god from the equation.  I am sure that it is uplifting to many an atheist or agnostic to be able to see a bus pull up with this message, but what about for all the theists for whom the choice has been narrowed.  Belief in God is equated with a belief in exclusive salvation and its lack is equated with eternal damnation.

That's not the way I think of the concept of God.  In fact, I could just as easily have written:

"There's probably a God.

Now stop worrying and enjoy your life"

I think of what is usually defined by the word "God" as being the inclusive, creative spark which manifests as the continuity of existence and the infinite possibility of meaning.  Without such an affirmation of being (more "yes" than "no" or else the whole of existence would, in the fullness of time collapse), I would think you would need to worry more than a tad. However, since existence has been persistent, both physically and spiritually, there has probably been and continues to be this essence of being. 

More than that, such an essence must transcend the actions or beliefs of any one individual or else, again, in the fullness of time, the "sins" or doubts of some one person would have negated the source of being.  In simpler words, this understanding of God does not rely on my actions or beliefs for its meaning. 

So, this essence of being will take care of itself.  I might just as well stop worrying and enjoy my life.  The measure of enjoyment of life is not pleasing some God, but rather finding fulfillment and meaning in the ways I live by which I may comprehend more of the inclusive, creative world in which I live. 

In fact, believing that I live in just such an existence which is inclusive and creative makes life meaningful and allows me to enjoy it. 

Random Tuesday Thought Meanderings

Yesterday I spent part of the day watching the demolition of a building in my neighborhood.  I had known it only as  "that place on the corner" which housed two studio apartments and a Jamaican Restaurant.  It looked old but the porch which surrounded it looked new. 

As I stood with others watching the swift destruction of the old Dade county pine beams and flooring, I heard the story of the building.  It had begun as a small house over on Whitehead Street.  It was already old when the La Concha Hotel was poured into existence.  By then it had been added onto by at least one addition.  When the era of easy motor car travel to Key West became established in the 1980s, it was moved to make way for an enlarged hotel parking lot.  That move sealed it fate in a way: it was not longer considered historic having been taken from its spot of origin.  In its new home, it served as a childcare center as well as Johnson's Cafe, famous for its conch salad.  Another addition increased its size.  Then, not that many years ago, the covered porch was added.  

In the crowd yesterday were a young woman who remembers playing on the floor, a much older gentleman who remembered the food, a middle-aged woman who remembered working through a hot summer week double insulating the house to prepare for central AC, and so forth.  Everyone had a story to tell about a building that would soon be only memories.  

I was surprised that only the tourists coming by took any pictures of it all.  The locals, however, put that into perspective for me:  "we want to keep the building we remember." 

Last night I was thinking about how much that building is like anyone's life.  We begin somewhere, are added onto, move here and there, facilitate a variety of roles, touch many lives, slowly age and creak a bit at the joints, and then in a short period often pass into memory.  But, even as the lot is cleared of the last physical remnant of that building, what has been ripples outward in community, in memory. 

Soon a new building will arise on that same site, all new and shiny and up-to-code.  But, like a family remembering its loved ones at the annual reunion, I can hear the voices now that will echo into the future:  "go down to where Johnson's Cafe used to be, and turn right," "best damn conch salad on the island," "the childcare place by Blue Heaven," "you know what once stood right here? No?  Sit down, and I'll tell."

They can cart away the debris, but nothing can end the story. 

My Friend Bob

Back in one of the places I lived, I had a friend named Bob.

Bob had lived there his whole life; his "people" had lived there for more generations than he could name.  

Bob had a simple home and a simple life.  He didn't ask for much.   

Then, one year, the government granted development rights for all of the land around his place.  The next thing he knew, some of the places where he had hunted and fished all his life (and his fathers before him) were off limits at him.  Early on when he went over to see what wildlife was about, the developers had a security guard posted who demanded that he get off the land.  The guard even fired a warning shot over his head to keep him moving towards home.

Before long, the developers were crossing his land with bulldozers to get to some of the development.  When he went out to tell them to stop, things got a little heated.  Yes, he did fire a few shots in the air,  but the contractors brought in their own arms and put a few holes in Bob's barn. 

Over the years, Bob kept finding that corners of his family's property had been taken over by the developers.  Some of their workers even set up camps on his land.  But, when he went to court, he was told that he better live with it; the government had assigned the rights to the developers. 

Now, I wish I could tell you things got better.  But, they did not.  One day Bob found that the developers had cut into his water line and capped it off, leaving him high and dry.  Another day, when his daughter was injured from some lumber that fell down from one of the contractor's sites, the ambulance couldn't get to his house because the road had been plowed over.  Later, his road was back in service, but the main road into which it connected was severed in direction of town.  

He took to planting traps for the developers: their bulldozers tumbled into pits; dead trees fell across their road.  The developers retaliated by building one of those sound walls along the edges of his property.  The shadow on one side blocked the sun in the morning, and the one of the other side blocked it in the evening.  He slowly became a prisoner in his own home.  

Feeling trapped, he began to hurl his garbage over the sound wall.   The next day, his garbage service was cut off by the town.   So, then he began to hurl some of those M-80 fireworks over the wall; the response was a few sticks of dynamite hurled back.  One day, one of his M-80s slightly burned one of the kids in the new homes on the other side of the wall who was playing where his favorite fishing spot had been.  By night time, three Molotov cocktails had reduced his out buildings to cinders.  He was outraged to find out that the gas in those Molotovs had come from the US strategic oil reserves, provided to the developers to help them protect their investment. 

This week, however, things changed.   One of Bob's young cousins who had come to visit thought that Bob had been treated horribly and threw some of those lawn darts over the wall.  One of the darts punctured a swimming pool liner in the backyard of the developer's showcase home; another one slashed a tire on the guards' Hummer parked at the security post; and another one cut the leg of one of the kids in the neighborhood on the other side of the wall.  

As I write this, Bob's home has been reduced to rubble, two of his children are dead, he can't get any medical care for his grandmother who was injured.  This all came right after the developers yelled over the fence "You better watch out . . . or better yet, get out," just  before they launched fire rockets on his property.  In the local newspaper, the developers claimed that Bob, "had made them do it."   The state government sided with the developers, giving a special grant for the added security they needed  to protect themselves from Bob. 

In that local newspaper, an editorial argued that anyone supporting Bob or his family, or criticizing the developers, was anti-prosperity. 

So, the story continues with my friend, Bob.  That's Bob Gaza. If you happen to see him around, I hope you will listen to his story.  As far as I am concerned, trying to sympathize with what has happened to him is not anti-prosperity, only pro-understanding. 

Sundays are different

Sundays are different. 

Not that I have ever known the difference.

For most people, Sunday is a day when one can sleep in later, have a little more relaxed breakfast, and late morning perhaps take in an engaging spiritual message before retiring to a large Sunday dinner, some shared family time, and the mysterious realm of Sunday evening punctuated by left-overs and old movies. 

I have never known that kind of Sunday.  As long as I can remember, Sundays meant getting up at or before the usual time, being especially cleaned-up, and being off to prepare the way for others' Sundays.  I grew up in a household which took church attendance to the extreme.  We were part of the "first-to-arrive, last-to-leave" group.  My mother would be running the Sunday School, my father would be setting up chairs or tidying some corner.  After all the events of the Sunday classes and services, there were supplies to be put away, dishes to be washed, and chairs to be stacked.  This pattern also ensured that we were not ever going to have that big Sunday noon dinner, nor ever attend a Sunday brunch.  (Now, lest anyone think this means I must have grown up in a Fundamentalist tradition, this was in a Universalist Unitarian congregation.)

But, to redeem the day, the evening was often spent at my maternal grandparents' house, where a multi-course meal would be served (we were always assured that if Pillsbury had introduced a new refrigerated dough treat, it would be on the table) followed by a chance to see favorite programs on TV that could not be seen on our set because we lacked the attic antenna which my grandparents had.  

This pattern continued through my teen years as the church became one of my main social connections.  And into college, when the local UU congregation was a warm, welcoming community even through a few groggy mornings of mine - the promise of an invitation to someone home for a home-cooked meal was a bonus.  

So, it is probably not surprising that I heard and answered the call to ministry, the call to not have the same kind of Sunday that others had.  

But, this is what I have found in a life-time of having that different kind of Sunday.  That the people I serve on Sundays (and all the other days) as Chief Spiritual Officer are more like family to me than I could have ever predicted.  As I watch the rows slowly fill with people before the service, it feels like a gather of "my people."  And it is usually at that moment each Sunday that I think about how different my Sundays are, and how blessed I am by the difference. As I will point out later today in my sermon,  one can be assured that one is never alone.  Sundays are the ceremonial reminder of this. 

Sundays are different because, if we let them, they remind us of our place in community, chosen community, covenanted community, blessed community.  And I wouldn't want to miss that for all the opportunities to sleep late, browse the paper slowly, or even an all-you-can-eat brunch. 

Finding Paradise

Eight years ago I was in the midst of planning for a long-anticipated sabbatical six months in Venezia. I was looking for time to write and I was looking for some measure of paradise. I found both but the trouble was that when the sabbatical was over, I had to relinquish the paradise part. It felt wrenching. I had come to so appreciate living so close to water, in a walkable city, with constant interactions with other people.



But, I think, that experience of loss (Paradiso perduto) helped me to ask some profound questions about what I wanted out of life. Would a sense of paradise be saved only for vacations or sabbaticals?

I know I began to search for ways in which that paradisical spirit could be found in my old ways. That was a time of painful learning, for while I wanted to change others did not want me to change. I would open doors and others would slam them shut. But then it dawned on me that I was just dreaming new dreams set in old settings. What if I let go of trying to make my hopes and dreams fit my situation? What would it take to try to have my situation fit my hopes and dreams?

It would mean letting go. Letting go of the familiar anchors of life. Letting go also of the well-constructed hopes and dreams which had become caricatures of themselves.

It would mean letting in. Letting in possibilities without restrictions. Letting in options that might not seem like the perfect dream realized.

Not worrying about set outcomes, but looking more for process. Giving up control in search of experience.

So, two years ago we were in the final planning stages for the move here to Mile Marker 0. It was very different from the sabbatical planning of 2001. In 2001, I was frantically trying to put the final touches on all of the details. In 2007, I was admitting I didn't have a clue where it would all take us, but I knew I wanted to go wherever that was.

And when I let go of the outcome, and put my faith in what would unfold in a place where I could again be close to the water, walk to where I needed to go, and interact with people, people of all kinds, on a regular basis, I found something.

I found paradise. It's not a place. Rather it is any place where you can live the life you have found or imagined as being the best for you. Each visit somewhere tells you something about what is essential to you. You go away from each place, each experience, saying to yourself, "Now, I really liked that."

Finding paradise is not about finding any certain place, but rather finding a place where all the things you really, really, really liked while being elsewhere can become the everyday reality of your life. And if you are lucky, you will find a place where you can live and work and learn and play . . . so that everyday even when filled with life's work and stresses you feel like you are on vacation or sabbatical.

Paradise is where the core of who you are feels at home, and only you know where that is.

END TIMES

There has always been a temptation of human beings to believe that they live in the "end times," those minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years just before the reality we call existence will cease to be as we know it and a new physical reality will begin. 

In the 19th century, predictions often arose about a time and a place for that end.  Congregations of believers would gather then and there to either witness or participate in the new beginning.  In the 20th century, the notion of the "rapture" enticed more people with a vision of the heavenly assumption of the faithful (or the saved, depending on one's beliefs) and the earthly-now-turned-hellish left for those "left behind."

Central to such notions of end times was a reliance on a parochial belief system and some form of arcane validating scripture.  

Toward the end of the 20th century, the traditional religious systems and scriptures began to be replaced with pseudo-science and crypto-spirituality.  Using terminology born out of experimentation and verification and personal insights gathered out of personal experience and applying them prescriptively and universally, these new "end times" are supported by such concepts as time "worm holes,"  black holes, and convergence of spatial influences, and cast in idiosyncratic terms by self-selecting personalities who project their experiences as prophecy through the use of common "new age" language symbols.  

Common to both the older and the newer forms of "end time" thinking has been an appeal to people to consider that they live at a period of fulfillment, and a fulfillment which is not to be universal but particular.  Fulfillment is portrayed as an interruption of the flow of existence, not merely a paradigm shift.  This is not about change, but about conclusion. 

Underneath all of these projections of "end times" is a tremendous egoism: the assumption that some one theory or some one person has access to the meaning and secrets of the universe and that the biggest meaning and secret is that there is to be a loss of continuity of being.  There is also the egoism of the followers of such prohets of ultimate doom/hope, coupling their own specific participation in the revelation of meaning to the ultimate event of existence.  

Each of these "end times" models locate the source of ultimate change outside of ourselves in either a spiritual or a physical model.  People will be taken up by a rapture or swallowed up by a black hole.  Always so physical.  Have we missed something by thinking that the great shift of being will be physical and that it will happen to us?

What if we are each the agent of our own "end times," through which we spiritually find a transcendence beyond physical reality?  What if we are the creators rather than the victims? What if we leave the physical world not through cataclysmic end of meaning but by inclusion in a larger experience of meaning?

Are all the predictions and projections of "end times," either religious or scientific, just ways to avoid and evade our spiritual potential for change?

Down here one can stand at Mile Marker 0.  Standing there, one can decide they have reached the end of the road - an end which was predicted by Mile Marker 106 and Mile Marker 81 and Mile Marker 24 - and that now something will happen to one.  Or one can decide that they have glimpsed the beginning of the road, whose path ahead is unknown but will surely offer something different than what has already been.  At Mile Marker 0, one makes the choice of thinking they have reached an end and it is all about them or one makes the choice of thinking they have seen the beginning and they have the power to be a part of all that will be.  

And if someone standing beside MM0 tries to sell you an insurance policy of past learnings to save you from what is likely to occur or tries to sell you a map based on the physics or metaphysics of others showing what you will definitely find by choosing the path of your own exploration, keep your spiritual money in your pocket and say "No thank you!"  

The only "end times" which are coming will be when we "end" our own exploring, our own thinking, our own visioning, our own traveling. 

A New Start

First Steps

Yesterday a new year began.  

With it this blog, eminating from the beginning of the world at Mile Marker 0.  

This will become a place of daily reflections from the perspective of someone who is both deeply embedded in a universal culture and seperate from the mainland of thought and experience. 

Sometimes I will passionately expand on what is true for me.  Other times I will equally passionately explore concepts and ideas which are not (or not yet) true for me.  From the beginning of the road it is always important to know that anywhere you go you explore; one cannot claim any place or time or idea as set forever. 

We shall see where this new road will take us.

As Whitman said: (a bit abridged - sorry Walt)

Allons! whoever you are, come travel with me!
Traveling with me, you find what never tires.  

Allons! we must not stop here!  
However sweet these laid-up stores—however convenient this dwelling, we cannot remain here;  
However shelter’d this port, and however calm these waters, we must not anchor here;  
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us, we are permitted to receive it but a little while.    
Allons! the inducements shall be greater;
We will sail pathless and wild seas;  
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.  
  
Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements!  
Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;  

Listen! I will be honest with you;  
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes;  
These are the days that must happen to you:  
  
You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,  
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d—you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction, before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart,  
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you;  
What beckonings of love you receive, you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting,  
You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you.  
  

Allons! after the GREAT COMPANIONS! and to belong to them!
They too are on the road! they are the swift and majestic men; they are the greatest women.  
Over that which hinder’d them—over that which retarded—passing impediments large or small,  
Committers of crimes, committers of many beautiful virtues,  
Enjoyers of calms of seas, and storms of seas,  
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habitués of many distant countries, habitués of far-distant dwellings,  
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,  
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,  
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,  
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers down of coffins,
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years—the curious years, each emerging from that which preceded it,  
Journeyers as with companions, namely, their own diverse phases,  
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,  
Journeyers gayly with their own youth—Journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood,  
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,  
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,  
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.  
  
Allons! to that which is endless, as it was beginningless,  
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to,  
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys;  
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,  
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,  
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you—however long, but it stretches and waits for you;
To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither,  
To see no possession but you may possess it—enjoying all without labor or purchase—abstracting the feast, yet not abstracting one particle of it;  
To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,  
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,  
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them—to gather the love out of their hearts,  
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you,  
To know the universe itself as a road—as many roads—as roads for traveling souls.