I had a dream about you. I was a cat. You were a red dot. And even those times I caught you we couldnt touch. But still I chased you anyway.

In honesty you have to admit to a wise man that prayer is not for the wise not for the prudent not for the sophisticated. Instead it is for those who recognize that in face of their deepest needs all their wisdom is quite helpless. It is for those who are willing to persist in doing something that is both childish and crucial.

I had a dream about you. I invented and sold shoes that left no footprints and you were thinking about committing a murder in a muddy area. I said that committing a murder was a bad idea and that you should commit several murders but I was just trying to sell more shoes.

.. .. .

She will not come back but her beauty her voice will echo until the end of time. She believed in something beyond herself and her death gave her voice power it didnt havein life. She was pure like your father. We you and Ihe touches my chest with the back of his index fingerare dirty. We are made for blood. Rough hands. Dirty hearts.We are lesser creatures in the grand scheme of things but without us men of war no one except those of Lykos would hear Eos song. Without our rough hands the dreams of the pure hearts would never be built.

Dont panic. Midway through writing a novel I have regularly experienced moments of bowel-curdling terror as I contemplate the drivel on the screen before me and see beyond it in quick succession the derisive reviews the friends embarrassment the failing career the dwindling income the repossessed house the divorce . . . Working doggedly on through crises like these however has always got me there in the end. Leaving the desk for a while can help. Talking the problem through can help me recall what I was trying to achieve before I got stuck. Going for a long walk almost always gets me thinking about my manuscript in a slightly new way. And if all else fails theres prayer. St Francis de Sales the patron saint of writers has often helped me out in a crisis. If you want to spread your net more widely you could try appealing to Calliope the muse of epic poetry too.

Ive come down from the skylike some damned ghost delayedtoo longTo the abandoned fieldsthe trees returned and grew.They stand and grow. Time comesTo them time goes the treesStand the only placeThey go is where they are.Those wholly patient onesThey do no wrong and theyAre beautiful. What moreCould we have thought to ask...I stand and wait for lightto open the dark night.I stand and wait for prayerto come and find me here. Sabbaths 2000 IX

The Dream KeeperBring me all of your dreamsYou dreamerBring me all yourHeart melodiesThat I may wrap themIn a blue cloud-clothAway from the too-rough fingersOf the world.

Amen is like the Send button on an email.

I had a dream about you. I had a boomerang and you had a Frisbee. You asked if I wanted to play catch and I said yes. Then you stood around waiting for me to throw to you and I just looked at you like you were crazy because I had a boomerangand therefore I didnt need you to play catch. Geez youre as useless as the Central Bank.