This is disturbing in so many ways.

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    • #8524
      • Total Posts: 5,325

      “ROCHESTER, N.Y. — She is six months pregnant, but for her there will be no baby showers, no gleeful decoration of the nursery, no stubborn search for just the right name.

      She has been in a coma for 10 of her 29 years–and she was in a coma last summer, living in a nursing home, when she was impregnated by a rapist.

      Her parents have ruled out abortion. So her pregnancy progresses, leading to a joyous event from which she will derive no joy.”

      If this was posted earlier – my apologies. I thought I’d read this earlier today but maybe not here. In any case, there is much food for thought and despair in this article. Personal, familial, ethical. How disturbing that these things still happen in an ‘enlightened age’.


    • #8655
      • Total Posts: 6,358

      for us all, in a land beknighted by a madman and a cadre of demons playing along…

      “Never argue with a fool, onlookers may not be able to tell the difference.”
      ~Samuel Clemens

    • #8663
      Cold Mountain Trail
      • Total Posts: 13,289

      In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
      I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
      I hear my echo in the echoing wood–
      A lord of nature weeping to a tree,
      I live between the heron and the wren,
      Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

      What’s madness but nobility of soul
      At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!
      I know the purity of pure despair,
      My shadow pinned against a sweating wall,
      That place among the rocks–is it a cave,
      Or winding path? The edge is what I have.

      A steady storm of correspondences!
      A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
      And in broad day the midnight come again!
      A man goes far to find out what he is–
      Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
      All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.

      Dark,dark my light, and darker my desire.
      My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
      Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
      A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
      The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
      And one is One, free in the tearing wind.

      Ted Rothke, 1963

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