Across the aged miles of truth telling …

It’s the Satyr’s day … and Yers Trooley is back in  osunny TulseyTown after a three week journey  to Colorado visiting family and friends in Colorado Springs, Ridgway, and Durango.

So, Trump is back and wreaking havoc as we knew he and his incompetent accomplices would. Swimming against the The Way, yet not outside it.  Our tasks, my creative sisters and brothers, is singular: Whatever your expressive endeavors speak the Truth of Creation as it flows through you.

Onward, outward, and beyond: Remembering significant tellers of truth who’ve visited us:

It’s the birth date of Virginia Woolf. The author and one of the most distinguished critics of her time was born in 1882 London, England.

William Somerset Maugham was born  in 1874 Paris, France. 

Poet Robert Burns was born on this day in 1759  Alloway, Scotland.   

O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

— Robert Burns, probably written down by Burns from traditional sources.

The story goes that the line “ten thousand miles” prompted the Scotish band The Proclaimers to write and record “Five Hundred Miles” in 1988.

Dostoyevsky said, “To live without hope is to cease to live.” His words remind us that apathy is not an enlightened path. We are called to live with possibility, knowing full well that impermanence prevails. So why not just show up?— Joan Halifax