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I held a funeral for a future I had always thought was coming, and buried the world's face as yet. The silence then turned me so tiny the only way forward was to dream downward to an early day on earth before a single heart beat. The atmosphere filled with an abiding, cataclysmic knowing- that if everything could be born, every thing could be born. Love promises no less. But a future is gone now. All we are is this. Our way could be to fall toward the medicine seeded right inside the untamable, fertile grief remaking things. - Brooke McNamara
You didn't come here to get mangled by the gleaming machinery of the Mind. You didn't come here to get welded and forged into a Republican, Democrat, Sunni or Shi'a, to get angry at your jagged shadow in broken glass, or see your own reflection as approaching disaster. You came to be astonished by a dust mote. You came to find the Maker of all things embodied in a dandelion. You are here to be torn by laughter and pain, then healed by the tang of a berry on your wild tongue. There are no right angles, no straight lines in the serpent body of the earth. Valleys, rivers, and hills are the only borders. Dark-eyed Mother Raven looks down and sees them as restless waves in the ocean of Holy Matter. What makes this planet sacred is the unfinished circle, not the wall. What guides us is the wayless curve in a labyrinth of fallen alder leaves after the storm, a cloud that stains the soft rice paper sky, brushstroke of geese in flight. Why waste another moment arguing for or against when you could slip back down a beam of breath, soft as moonlight, into the silent radiance you Are? - Alfred K. LaMotte
This week's blog is dedicated to my dad who died September 21, 2012. Dr. Rev. Samuel F. Rowen was a Presbyterian minister who frequently ended his sermons with a highly inappropriate joke and then this poem.
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