Dancing with Tiger Lilies
In Thor's day's mailbox . . .
163 years ago today, in 1860, Abraham Lincoln was nominated for president.
The arc of history is longer than human vision. It bends. We abolished slavery, we granted universal suffrage. We have done hard things before. And every time it took a terrible fight between people who could not imagine changing the rules, and those who said, "We already did. We have made the world new." The hardest part will be to convince yourself of the possibilities, and hang on. —Barbara Kingsolver
We are of the same stuff as flowers and trees. Hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, calcium, phosphorus. These elements, forged in the crucibles of distant stars, self-assembled into towering redwoods and tiger lilies and into you and into me... – Jeff Krasno
Join with some 90+million who get what “joy” is …
The Way of the Watercourse is also that of Great Love...the possibility of something that sees us exactly as we are, with all our deep flaws and ugliness, and that accepts us just the same...emptiness, the endless kindness of Gaia, or the Benevolent Great Unknown will work just fine...it doesn’t really matter what you call it. The important thing is to bring people into a relationship with source. – Satya Robyn
The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe about us, the less taste we shall have for destruction. – Rachel Carson
I cannot dance upon my toes
I cannot dance upon my Toes—
No Man instructed me—
But oftentimes, among my mind,
A Glee possesseth me …
And though I had no Gown of Gauze—
No Ringlet, to my Hair,
Nor hopped to Audiences—like Birds,
One Claw upon the Air …
Nor any know I know the Art
I mention—easy—Here—
Nor any Placard boast me—
It’s full as Opera—
The one-eyed king . . .
Odin's mailbox is overflowing this morning. . . so . . taking things slow, awaiting sunshine .
Many consider that everything is sacred. Many others who've never considered it are intentionally or not exploiting all they can for profit ignoring the damage and dangers they are creating. They live with blinders. – Peter Coyote
It might do us well to remember that evolution is biological, and as such is not necessarily rational, while curiosity has killed more than one cat.
Blind faith...is like saying you should read a book because this book is a best seller, therefore it must be good. It is possible that five million stupid people bought it and read it. But that’s the kind of reference point of blind faith. – Chӧgyam Trungpa
You are, I am, we.
– remembering e.e.c.
The universe is a temple –
a pimple, a humble gimbal,
a dimple, frankly fickle
in a pickle, loud and proud
to be ignomineously ignorant,
dumb to the level of a stubbed toe –
toiling with shame in the shambles
of spilled leftover soup on a linoleum
floor, slipping out from under foot
at a speed faster than that of light.
– jb
To be engrossed by something outside ourselves is a powerful antidote for the rational mind, the mind that so frequently has its head up its own ass. — Anne Lamott
Starting again . . .
Tew's day's mailbox had a lovely note and poem posted by David Whyte from his site:
One of the more difficult but rewarding states to achieve in today's world, where we seem to hover on the one hand between being completely overwhelmed by other people or finding ourselves in extreme states of isolation and loneliness. All the more necessary then, to learn how to be rewardingly alone, to find solace in the familiarity of our own breath and our own body and perhaps even, if we are lucky, our own garden. Resting into our aloneness, we inhabit our bodies as a beautiful unspoken question, rather than a fraught and never ending explanation.
At Home
At home amidst the bees
wandering the garden
in the summer light.
the sky a broad roof
for the house of contentment
where I wish to live
forever in the eternity
of my own fleeting
and momentary happiness.
I walk toward the kitchen
door as if walking toward
the door of a recognized
heaven, and see the
simplicity of shelves and
the blue dishes and the
vapouring steam rising
from the kettle
that called me in.
Not just this aromatic cup
from which to drink
but the flavour of a life
made whole and lovely
through the imagination
seeking its way. Not just
this house around me
but the arms of a fierce
but healing world.
Not just this line I write
but the innocence of an
earned forgiveness flowing
again through hands
made new with writing.
And a man with no company
but his house, his garden,
and his own well peopled solitude,
entering the silences and chambers
of the heart to start again.
- David Whyte, from The House of Belonging