(In response to the Word Press Weekly Photo Challenge.)
A cold dissatisfaction oozes poison into hours
of solitary boredom that once tasted summer’s warmth
and rejoiced in sensate ponderings of heaven’s languid clime.
Now prayers lie frozen on my lips these bitter, ashen afternoons.
Glossy catalogs and magazines lie orphaned at my door,
but I will not adopt their cheer
nor bed th’insouciant whoring of our winter holy days.
So melancholy punctuates the numbing march of time
into that darkened solstice of medieval isolation —
propelled into the farthest arc, forsaken by the sun.
Thus emptied into neediness, to famine and despair,
I search the yawning pitch-smeared void
and there behold a piercing Star!
No gaily burning candle nor twinkling hearthside glow,
this is the hard-edged hopefulness forged pure and straight of cosmic might,
arising out of nothingness toward Life’s salvific land.
My soul, a silent universe,
lies naked in its beam,
a prayer more fragile and profound
than any summer dream.
© 2014, poem and photographs, Priscilla Galasso, All rights reserved
Carl Sagan says that “we are made of star stuff”. My mother-in-law used to say that Jim was “shiny and pink” as a baby. He glowed with the vibrancy of good circulation and white-blond hair, I guess. I remember almost putting his eye out once when that twinkle made me just so curious that I wanted to touch it. 
photo credit unknown
How do you remind yourself of the shimmer that is our existence on this beautiful sphere in this living Universe? Do you surround yourself with round, sparkly things? 
Or do you simply look up from your life?
in response to WordPress’ weekly photo challenge.
<a href="http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/twinkle/">Twinkle</a>© 2014, essay and photographs, Priscilla Galasso, All rights reserved
The afterglow: 5 couples around the table, relaxed adult conversation. “Isn’t this nice?!”
Fear is at the dinner table, and we let it talk. It is mostly about The Unknown. What will happen? What will my options be? Will it hurt? I am uncomfortable. I squirm. I weep. I want to flee, but I stay put. I keep talking. Memories of pain join the conversation. I don’t want to return to that place. I realize that I can’t return to that place. Each place is different. Life moves forward; we flow with it. Now that my emotions and thoughts are freed from repression, I feel movement in myself. It is comforting. I am unstuck, calmer. And exhausted. How much energy it takes to be afraid! I will sleep, and use my energy differently tomorrow. © 2014, essay and photograph, Priscilla Galasso, All rights reserved
“Seeking enlightenment or the Promised Land or the way home, a man would go or be forced to go into the wilderness, measure himself against the Creation, recognize finally his true place within it, and thus be saved both from pride and from despair. 
Human limits. Humility. Our struggles, our desires, our wants, our hopes and feelings of elation are not the stuff to tilt the planet. There is a rightness outside of our sphere. I like to remember that perspective each time I encounter the “world wide web” of hype and OMG! and products and extracting resources and cruelty and pettiness. © 2014, essay and photographs, Priscilla Galasso, All rights reserved
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Gone, But Not Forgotten.”
We’ve hosted Steve’s family for dinner at our place for the past 4 years. “Our Place”, however, is not just a home. It’s an online book business, which means that our inventory is stored under the same roof. That roof was replaced this year, bringing inches of old cedar pieces and dust down on top of our piles of books. It was a mess. The clean up and resorting was enormous. But Thanksgiving was the deadline: we wanted to host as usual. Piles of books, CDs, video tapes and packing materials carpeted all the rooms and stairwells in the house. We literally had to pick our way through for months. Steve took infinite trips up the narrow, steep stairs to the attic, laden with heavy boxes and stacks. But yesterday was a triumph! The place was clean, the table glistened, the food was colorfully delicious, and everyone had a great time. And Steve got to put his feet up and read aloud in Italian.
We are really getting good at team work. The next triumphant convergence will occur tomorrow, when we get together with all my children and their ‘significant otters’ for a holiday which we call ‘Galassoween’. Five couples, two generations and as many various lifestyles merge to create a feast of conversation and edible togetherness. And it will take place in the house that my daughter and her fiance have rebuilt. (see this post, “Harvesting Hope”) I’m looking forward to it! (but first, I have a lot of dishes to wash…)
scillagrace 
