It's not a disease . . .
Sunday, July 12, 2026. It's Sol's day . . . Easy Northerlies are to bring cooler conditions to Green Country today. Sun, some clouds, upper 80's and an index in the mid 90's are forecasted for the afternoon in TulseyTown.
We have thousands of opportunities every day to be grateful…There’s opportunity upon opportunity to be grateful; that’s what life is. — Br. David Stendl-Rast.
Today is the birth anniversary of poet Pablo Neruda, born Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto in 1904 Parral, Chile.
It's also the birthdate of Henry David Thoreau. The author, poet, philosopher, abolitionist, tax resister, and transcendentalist, was born in 1817 Concord, Massachusetts.
And, (Gaius) Julius Caesar was born on or around this day in 100 B.C. Rome.
The Republican Party’s message four months before the midterms appears to be, “You’re not getting affordable housing unless you give up your voting rights.” – Heather Cox Richardson, in Letters From An American.
Robert Reich is grateful today.Sunday Thought.
Contemporary western culture conditions us to see loss as a problem and grief as some kind of disease. You are expected to get over it, solve it, move on. Marabai Starr invites you to move in. A free workshop for anyone who've ever experienced loss of any kind no matter how profound. There will be two sessions: July 25-26 at 1 pm Central timr. Sessions are recorded for future registrant access.
Love Sonnet XVII
I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
– Pablo Neruda, “One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII” from The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems, translated and edited by Mark Eisner. This edition: City Lights Books. 2024.