A wild chap was he

walking slowly through the wood

eyes grabbing each movement of leaves 

the dance of trees, the swaying wind

He was a wild thing the land reclaimed

for ev'ry ant and twittering bird

entertained his curious glance

His was no rush past nothin'

No insignificance dodged his sight

for ev'ry piece of life be there

a presence like God in hiding

 covered neath clods of green

Just an old man they thought

strolling through the park

an almost dead somebody

or nobody meaningful to watch

But there in his eyes shone wonder

and his heart beat life's excitement

walking slowly through the wood

watching expectantly for life

*Reflections of Alan Jones:

  -...the shortage of mystics, desert believers, explorers of the the inner world is the reason why we are undergoing a crisis of soul in our society, why we do not know how to love.  Love is transformed into psychic poison when it is used as a means to an end, as a way of "solving a problem." 

  -...we need to understand that our basic relationship to reality (we might even say to God) is one of gift, the wild card.

  -Souls come into being when they are willing to contemplate gigantic things, when they are willing to allow the wildness of the wild card to enter their systems.

  -Gigantic questions about love, death, power, and time feed the soul. They do not confront us as problems to be solved, but as mysteries to be wondered at, or intractable darkness to be raged at or endured.

  -...we need to learn that there is power in surrender, in contemplation of the gigantic things.

  -Without the willingness to be still on the beach and play poker, we won't have the energy or the resources that laughter and simple exhilaration in being alive brings.