Tea leaves leave uncontained longing . . .
Wednesday, June 18, 2025. It's Odin's day . . . Moderate Westerlies are forecasted to push morning storm chances out of TulseyTown by afternoon. Partly cloudy and mid 80's by then.
Lighten up. We are so locked into this sense of burden—Big Deal Joy and Big Deal Unhappiness—that it’s sometimes helpful just to change the pattern. Notice everything. Appreciate everything, including the ordinary. . Anything out of the ordinary will help. You can just go to the window and look at the sky. Splash cold water on your face. Sing in the shower,. Go jogging, walking on a different path. Anything that’s against your usual pattern. That’s how things start to lighten up. – Pema Chödrön
Today, Paul McCartney turns 83. The Brit singer, songwriter, composer, bass player, poet, painter and lead member of The Beatles was born on this date in 1942, Liverpool, England.
No shame. – Heather Cox Richardson's update in Letters From An American.
Reading the tea leaves left after the California/National Guard case. Real scary possibilities. – Joyce Vance, Civil Discourse.
Today is the 210th anniversary of Napoleon's final defeat at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.
I’m tired of hearing it quoted but Edmund Burke was right when he said that all evil needs to be triumphant is for good people to do nothing and bite their tongues, not wanting to endanger their families. The shootings in Minnesota were an act of derangement and the president’s supporters need to face up to their complicity. – Garrison Keillor, The Column 06.15.25
We are always in danger of being philosophers, when what we need are poets and artists....Awakening is always like finding a poem. It touches and transforms. – James Ishmael Ford, Zen as a Way of Magical Realism. Tricycle. May 2025.
Uncontained Longing – prompted by Rainer Maria Rilke's Book of Hours.
For your sake poets, painters, creatives
sequester themselves only that the world,
so transient as made in each moment by moment instant,
might be given to you once again.
Lovers are the poets in the briefest of hours,
who gather your inheritance. Awkening desire,
they make a place where growth happens
with all its joy, pain, suffering and laughter.
All the longings that had slept
now awakens to weep in a stranger's arms,
streaming into you when things and thoughts
cannot contain it.
– jab