In a world of broken dreams, we have a choice – live our lives in beauty, or sit in the ashes.
What will the mare do? Will she return to her wild nature, or will she allow the Controller to shrink her?
And so. Will she toss her head and throw the mannikin and that bridle into the bushes, trample her down and return to the hills?
Will she let her gifts come from the wilderness as they ought? Will she let the wind flow through her hair as she dances with the storm?
They say your earliest experiences form your character. Too young to remember, my father and I breakfasted with the gypsies whose caravan we followed.
Strangers, accepted but not part of the tribe.
Anyone who tells you that they enjoy waiting* is a liar.
Wendell Berry said, “There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places.” I’m working through this, and my thoughts wash back and forth… as they should. Spending time with someone’s statement, masticating it, that’s how you come to be wise. I would be a fool to discount his statement off-hand, and…
The Epstein Files hurt. Knowing the stats about all the other children who are abused, who have disappeared, hurts. It is pain. Evil, by its very existence, poisons that which it touches. We have been confronted by evil, confronted by a shocking reality in which its tendrils extend into every corner of what we had…
Do you want to learn how to construct your wardrobe to reflect you and your life? This seminar is my gift to you. There are hours of video instruction and discussion, multiple worksheets, and a lot of introspection. I tried to put this out for sale – but apparently something that takes at least a…
One of my earliest memories is my grandmother’s burial. I was about three, and it was a summer day. The grass was green, the sky blue, and the flowers decorating my grandmother’s grave and the other graves in the cemetery were beautiful. I remember running along, enchanted by the beauty all around me. I remember…
Modern life has left us with the illusion that if one just arranges things ‘properly’, we can be safe. This feeling of safety is ultimately illusory, though – we can’t actually arrange life in order to make ourselves perfectly safe. But safety is something we long for – or at least the feeling of safety is something I long for.
Recently they found a dead man on the hill up the street from me. My hill. The hill I walk halfway up about three times a week. The hill I drive over several times per week. “Active murder investigation” are the words that the police have used. I’ve been thinking about it all day, because my reaction is odd. I’m nonplussed. “Oh. A dead guy up there, huh? Yep, had to happen sometime”.
I was re-reading “Braiding Sweetgrass” by Robin Kimmerer and came upon this quote: “In Potawatomi 101, rocks are animate, as are mountains and water and fire and places. Beings are imbued with spirit…” In the book, Dr. Kimmerer discusses the tug of war between her scientific self and her Native spiritual self, and the knowing related to each.
My Christian self should not have this dichotomy. Am I not told that the very rocks would cry out, and that the world aches for the day of the Lord’s return? Are not rocks cut with human tools unfit for use on God’s altars? Nowhere am I told that the animate universe is inanimate.
There are a number of different types of “style blocks”, and one of mine is the fact that wardrobe items wear out. “Replace it? Didn’t I just get it sussed out? I’ve moved on to the next thing!”, is a phrase you would hear on repeat if you broke into my brain. (I don’t just feel this way about clothes – and yes, this is why I’m terrible about maintenance. I’ve moved on!)
Nevertheless, it’s true. And we can make it work to our benefit. How?
The Thing does not have to be perfect. It’s a wardrobe item, and it will wear out. Thus, The Thing will have to be replaced. This does not excuse treating it poorly – but it does give the opportunity for improvement.