I wrote:
'behind the cross: light.'

perhaps what I meant was:
from behind the cross: you look at me.

today I was looking back into a deeper darkness.
but words like radiance and beauty mean so little: clanging like tin bells.

I would like to write more about what happened today, but how difficult when I understand it so little! this morning's improvising took me quite by surprise, shaking me into a despair I hadn't been aware of.
It wasn't today's despair, and it wasn't my despair either. Starting in the music (a lonely, lost clarinet wandering disconsolate amidst ruins, scrabbling for a theme) it spread back across my prayer also, but this led me somewhere I hadn't expected to go.
I drove up the mountain, and when I got home I was able to continue a little with that piece which has sat for months on the piano. It's become like the thinnest thread connecting me with my other music. . . . .
There is much more I would like to say: about peter rollins, the book I've been reading about st paul and the other one about the 'authentic voice of jesus', (by vermes, who spent years studying the dead sea scrolls) but I know this isn't the time.
tonight, I dreamed of creating a collage in which a page of the gospel is overlaid with corrections, stuck-on sentences and bits added with papers of different textures and ages. . . . this connects with what I feel about the 'authentic voice of jesus'.