I Have a Cold

Funny, but when I have a cold my ability to think about spiritual matters plunges to near zero Kelvin. It's not I believe any less or pray any less, it's just that I could care less. Isn't that terrible to say? Yet, when you think of it, the mask of your face is worthless to you because it's involved with cold issues, and you feel like you're at least fifteen feet behind your eyes, looking out through a tunnel. I have a pious thought, but by the time it gets to my mouth or typing hands, it's turned into a sneeze.

I'm sure Merton had something profound to say about this, but personally, I have nothing profound to say, and less desire to hunt down Merton quotes since the LCG mailing list has been flooded with Merton quotes the last few days. I wonder sometimes if people come to the LCG because of Merton or because of the call of the Cistercian Charism? Or did Merton extend the Charism to them? Interesting thought, but again, on a day like today, I could care less.

And now for poetry I didn't write
John Donne

HOLY SONNETS.

XVIII.

Show me, dear Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear.
What! is it she which on the other shore
Goes richly painted? or which, robbed and tore,
Laments and mourns in Germany and here?
Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year?
Is she self-truth, and errs? now new, now outwore?
Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore
On one, on seven, or on no hill appear?
Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights
First travel we to seek, and then make love?
Betray, kind husband, thy spouse to our sights,
And let mine amorous soul court thy mild dove,
Who is most true and pleasing to thee then
When she is embraced and open to most men.