02 May 2008
Bright Idea #8: Take responsibility for what you want without guilt or shame.
"We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give." Wild currents riding waves emotion i cried in the hallway in the arms of the Doctor who told me she loved me her hair was amazing then the Mountain Man came in like Pan in khakis and i cried to his partner La Loba holistic interbeing belonging it was about belonging it was all about belonging i went for coffee and chocolate bought a basket and a brown creamer bought a hosta and a ranunculus ate more princess leftovers the kids played tomorrow its peat pots and swim party popcorn and bonfire if it doesnt rain ran into a woman i graduated with in the baking aisle she was beautiful in a way most people arent she remembered me the manager trusted me the lady said he never trusts anyone. gardening at night beautiful peace of the Earth the digging deep and discovery of this amazing soil where the hollyhocks will grow. I laid it on the line and hes showing me he can. he called me had an epiphany watching a woman from canada. everyones really amazing in my world and then theres that one room im not allowed to go into she sent him to the nurses with homework so i wouldnt be there and it hurt so much to be rejected and not know why to by estranged and have no error to repent. but so it is in the world and i am entirely grateful for the love and light in my life the luckiest girl in the world. and then i fell in love with a mennonite dog.
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"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.
For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.
"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well." -V.V.G.
"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.
"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.
"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.
"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.
"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well." -V.V.G.
"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.
"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.
"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.
"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)
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Blessed Be.