Daily Signet

Sacrificing is everywhere in me; sacrificing every moment of every day. Every moment of every day, I’m sacrificing with ferocious intensity some mental and emotional part of me; burning it off, transmogrifying it; the least of me transubstantiating into the best of me. Otherwise. it’s the silliest saunter through life—as Bill Boast often said. So every breath is an intake of fiery spirit that’s Holy, every step is through another fiery doorway so something else is being sacrificed. Through tiredness, footsore weariness; sacrificing and sacrificing and sacrificing, always sacrificing. And so it goes.

—I realize I am saying it poorly. I don’t sacrifice my personality, I sacrifice letting my personality, my feelings, my emotions and my reasons run my life. My personality serves my Soul’s errand in the world.

Ben Leichtling

On This Day…

Wilfred Owen born 1893 in Oswestry, England, died 1918: World War I poet killed the last day of the war
Works: Dulce et Decorum Est, Anthem for Doomed Youth, The Parable of the Old Man and the Young
Quotes: “My subject is war, and the pity of war. The poetry is the pity.” “Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead.”