Thoughtful Fridays

I have been reading a book by Ethan Hubbard, entitled Grandfathers Gift: A Journey to the Heart of the World. It is a powerful book, filled with simple vignettes and essays that provide a poignant and often eloquent window opening onto the lives of ordinary individuals the world over. I read each persons story with the reverence of a prayer and the sweetness of a caress. When I was very young, I determined that I would travel, see the world and its many ways of living. Not for some grandiose purpose(I was probably seven when I first became impassioned by the idea), but because somewhere embedded deep in my soul, I felt that if I were to travel, to see the faces of the multitudes, to experience their lives, to walk on their path, however briefly... then compassion would reveal itself to me in all its splendor. Not compassion born of gratitude for the many blessings in my life, but rather compassion that evolves when the boundary between "self" and "other" blurs. When the "reality" of my upbringing, no longer holds sway and the vision of "MY TRUTH" waivers before the luminosity of life itself. I remember a quote I read years ago when I was tipping my years toward the teens, "Belief is the greatest impediment to true knowing". It was this notion that cemented my desire to travel.
I didn't though.
I could easily dismiss this by enumerating a thousand things, great and small, that made staying seem necessary, even inevitable...but that wouldn't be honest. When I really look at myself and my relationship to my life, I realize that I've become tame. Tame in that I am comfortable with the reality I live in...with its warm bed and reliable meals, with its softness and convenience, with its numbing predictability and fearful security. Believe me, I am appalled to admit this. I haven't traveled as my young self assured me I would, in large part because it frightened me... the unknowns, the dangers, the lack of this or that.
But reading this book, is like hearing her voice, determined and resilient ...beckoning.

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grief

Grief is defined as a deep or intense sorrow. I have been thinking a lot about grief, about it's wide and sticky reach, about the watery quality of it's absorption and the agonizing effort of swimming to shore. Intense sorrow happens. It is a part of life. Yet we press against it. We try to eradicate it. How? We encapsulate our grief in a story, thus effectively removing us from the immediacy of the pain. The mind promises salvation and begins to tell a story, over and over and over. We listen to the inner ramblings, the constant diatribe, the neurotic attempt to avoid the experience. When someone is hurting we listen to their story, we talk about it, we recount our own story, but we certainly don't jump in the waters of sadness, instead we sit on the bank of our familiar longing. Once, when I was floundering in deep grief, my youngest brother knelt next to me and held me for over an hour. He didn't speak. He didn't commiserate. He just jumped in the

a story recently shared by a friend

Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others, including Love. One day it was announced to the feelings that island would sink, so all constructed boats and left. Except for Love. Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to hold out until the last possible moment. When the island had almost sunk, Love decided to ask for help. Richness was passing by Love in a grand boat. Love said, "Richness, can you take me with you?" Richness answered, "No, I can't. There is a lot of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you." Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by in a beautiful vessel. "Vanity, please help me!" "I can't help you, Love. You are all wet and might damage my boat," Vanity answered. Sadness was close by so Love asked, "Sadness, let me go with you." "Oh . . . Love, I am so sad that I need to be by myself

Inosculation

I learned a new word today! Imagine my joy to discover "inosculation", to taste the word for the first time, rolling it around the soft interior of my mouth before speaking it aloud with a shiver of delight. I am a lover of trees, not metaphorically but literally. I linger beneath their branches. I tear up beside their solid beauty and revel in the rough, steady touch of bark beneath a wide sky. I love learning anything new about my beloveds and today I discovered inosculation , which literally means to unite intimately. Sometimes trees grow so close to each other that they rub up against one another. The friction of bark on bark wears away at the hard outer layers, revealing a tender, vulnerable, embryonic layer of life. If they stay in contact through the friction they will join together, uniting into a third thing.... a tree union. In such cases the trees share their life force with one another. I can think of no more perfect metaphor for beloved companions. Th

angelbirdflies

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