As I was wheeled into the operating room I pleaded withGod for one more day one more week one more month with her.

Music is the love child birthed from the boundless freedom found in dreams and the rapturous opposition faced in life for that we should be so grateful for both the light and the dark.

We read the pagan sacred books with profit and delight. With myth and fable we are ever charmed and find a pleasure in the endless repetition of the beautiful poetic and absurd. We find in all these records of the past philosophies and dreams and efforts stained with tears of great and tender souls who tried to pierce the mystery of life and death to answer the eternal questions of the Whence and Whither and vainly sought to make with bits of shattered glass a mirror that would in very truth reflect the face and form of Natures perfect self.These myths were born of hopes and fears and tears and smiles and they were touched and colored by all there is of joy and grief between the rosy dawn of birth and deaths sad night. They clothed even the stars with passion and gave to gods the faults and frailties of the sons of men. In them the winds and waves were music and all the lakes and streams and springsthe mountains woods and perfumed dells were haunted by a thousand fairy forms. They thrilled the veins of Spring with tremulous desire made tawny Summers billowed breast the throne and home of love filled Autumns arms with sun-kissed grapes and gathered sheaves and pictured Winter as a weak old king who felt like Lear upon his withered face Cordelias tears. These myths though false are beautiful and have for many ages and in countless ways enriched the heart and kindled thought. But if the world were taught that all these things are true and all inspired of God and that eternal punishment will be the lot of him who dares deny or doubt the sweetest myth of all the Fable World would lose its beauty and become a scorned and hateful thing to every brave and thoughtful man.

Hail happiness then and after happiness hail not those dreams which bloat the sharp image as spotted mirrors do the face in a country-inn parlour dreams which splinter the whole and tear us asunder and wound us and split us apart in the night when we would sleep but sleep sleep so deep that all shapes are ground to dust of infinite softness water of dimness inscrutable and there folded shrouded like a mummy like a moth prone let us lie on the sand at the bottom of sleep.

Prayer before BirthI am not yet born O hear me.Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the club-footed ghoul come near me.I am not yet born console me.I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me with strong drugs dope me with wise lies lure me on black racks rack me in blood-baths roll me.I am not yet born provide meWith water to dandle me grass to grow for me trees to talk to me sky to sing to me birds and a white light in the back of my mind to guide me.I am not yet born forgive meFor the sins that in me the world shall commit my words when they speak me my thoughts when they think me my treason engendered by traitors beyond me my life when they murder by means of my hands my death when they live me.I am not yet born rehearse meIn the parts I must play and the cues I must take when old men lecture me bureaucrats hector me mountains frown at me lovers laugh at me the white waves call me to folly and the desert calls me to doom and the beggar refuses my gift and my children curse me.I am not yet born O hear meLet not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God come near me.I am not yet born O fill meWith strength against those who would freeze my humanity would dragoon me into a lethal automaton would make me a cog in a machine a thing with one face a thing and against all those who would dissipate my entirety would blow me like thistledown hither and thither or hither and thither like water held in the hands would spill me.Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.Otherwise kill me.

I had a dream last night I was awake through the pregnancy but I fell asleep at birth when I awoke I was Pinocchio and stuck inside a tree does that mean I dont have to listen to jazz anymore

The energy it took to exit mothers womb is the same force required to manifest a dream...a different kind of struggle. Push push push