The interior journey
In the mailbox on this day named after Odin . . .
The ten-thousand mile journey taken by the Watercourse is replenished by a single drop of rain,
just as your thousand mile journey begins with a single step. – after Lao Tzu
After reading Mark’s [Mark Hyman, M.D.) essay chronicling his travels to the Blue Zones of Sardinia and Ikaria, I felt a certain nostalgia for a bygone era, a time when TikTok was the sound a clock made, when friends were people you saw in 4-dimensional space-time, when likes referred to crushes among teenagers and when shares required a straw. Are we not thirsting for a simpler time? And could simplicity be the ultimate longevity hack? – Jeff Krasno
The idea of absolute freedom is fiction. It's based on the idea of an independent self. But in fact, there's no such thing. There's no self without other people. There's no self without sunlight. There's no self without dew. And water. And bees to pollinate the food that we eat...So the idea of behaving in a way that doesn't acknowledge those reciprocal relationships is not really freedom, it's indulgence. – Peter Coyote
I'm not speaking metaphorically here. You are a mutant deity in disguise—not a Buddha or a Christ exactly, but of the same lineage and conjured from the same fire. You have been around since the beginning of time and will be here after the end. Every day and in every way, you're getting better at playing the preposterously amusing master game we all dreamed up together before the Big Bang bloomed. – Rob Breszney
A huge amount of freedom comes when you take nothing personally. — Don Miguel Ruiz
Like happiness or peace or calm, paradise is not found by looking for it. Instead, it comes upon us. . .the notion that I have a paradise that excludes you is already an expulsion from paradise. – Pico Iyer
The Tao Te Ching, v80
If a country is governed wisely,
Its inhabitants will be content.
They enjoy the labor of their hands
and don’t waste time inventing
labor-saving machines.
Since they dearly love their homes,
they aren’t interested in travel.
There may be a few wagons and boats,
but these don’t go anywhere.
There may be an arsenal of weapons,
but nobody ever uses them.
People enjoy their food,
take pleasure in being with their families,
spend weekends working in their gardens,
delight in the doing of the neighborhood.
And even though the next country is so close
that people can hear its roosters crowing and its dogs barking,
They are content to die of old age
without ever having gone to see it.
Pilgrim
In Tew’s Day’s mailbox . . .
Robert Frost’s poem “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” was published today in 1923.
Alexander Graham Bell received a patent for what became known as “the telephone,” today in 1876.
On this date in 1994, the Supreme Court ruled in support of the “fair use doctrine,” Without the doctrine, this blog likely would not be possible.
A pilgrimage is a rejection of modernity’s expectations and assumptions about time, place, perception, satisfaction, speed, predictability, and the material world. As in ancient times, motives for contemporary pilgrimages are mixed. Lines between pilgrimage and tourism become blurred for some while breaks in employment prompt others to a pilgrimage more than a thirst for embodied forms of holiness. Yet pathways that move simultaneously in inward and outward directions prove irresistible to throngs roaming pilgrimage paths today. — Richard Rohr
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep
— Robert Frost
Stoned fruit . . .
Thor's day's mailbox was full of birth reminders . . .
Yellowstone became this country’s first national park yesterday in 1872. President Ulysses S. Grant signed the legislation.
Yesterday was the 102nd anniversary of Richard Wilbur's birth. The poet and theatrical aficionado was born on this date in 1921 New York City. Check out “Advice to a Prophet”
Yesterday was also the 109th anniversary of one of my homies' birth: Ralph Ellison. The, novelist and essayist (Invisible Man) was born in 1914 Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
Other novelists born today include Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss), in 1904 Springfield, Massachusetts; Tom Wolfe, in 1931 Richmond, Virginia; and John Irving, born in 1942 Exeter, New Hampshire.
“As embarrassing as that word is — ‘inspiration’ — I do think it corresponds to my experience. A poem comes looking for me rather than I hunting after it.” – Richard Wibur