Morning Trip (341)

”Magic is a discipline of the mind, and it begins with understanding how consciousness is shaped and how our view of reality is constructed. Since the time of the Witch persecutions, knowledge that derives from the worldview of an animate, interconnected, dynamic universe is considered suspect—-either outright evil or simply woo-woo.

But whenever an area of knowledge is considered suspect, our minds are constricted. The Universe is too big, too complex, too ever-changing for us to know it completely, so we choose to view it through a certain frame—-one that screens out pieces of information that conflict with the categories in our minds. The narrower that frame, the more we screen out, the less we are capable of understanding or doing.”
—-Starhawk, author of The Spiral Dance

Morning Trip (274)

“There are two kinds of silence, it seems to me. One is that place where we tuck out thoughts and feelings. You can betray in silence, brood in silence, envy, pity, plot, year, admire, condemn, lie to yourself, lie to your conscience, forgive yourself, forgive others, all in silence. Love. You can love in silence. You usually do.

Which leads to the second kind of silence, where you find yourself from time to time, surrounded by, engulfed in–that greater silence, to which all other silences run, when you realize that we are all part of the same poem, the same vast poem that began in the first cosmic spark and will end at the last amalgamation of the stars–a limerick, a sonnet, a fucking epic to which surrender becomes a kind of understanding. It’s as if sound, all sound, constituted an intrusion of people invented because they could not stand the overwhelming power of that silence.”
–Roger Rosenblatt, Thomas Murphy

Walking and Cleaning House

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“When I heard the sounds of soft weeping, I
searched far and beyond for the source of the
sorrowful sound.

Above and below I searched.
Under and around I looked.
I peeked between and through.

Yet never did I find the source…until I
peered within.”

–Mary Summer Rain, Pinecones Autumn Reflections, Volume One of Pinecones and Woodsmoke

Still thinking about Kathy’s Grief post. Made it out for a walk this morning. Yay images! I came home and was pulled to grab the book and opened to the page. 🙂
Cleaning the house for a comfortable place to be.

Morning Trip (54)

“It is a release, like a dip in a healing, cool, fresh river. Now I am washed away in the river; after so much fussing, I am torn away and alone in the current. But I can swim, or rather, float. The self I held, I left with my towel on the shore, but I’m still alive; I haven’t drowned or died. Pieces of what I imagined I had to grip to me come floating along beside me. The current of the world is unraveling in faces and forms. Without my will the universe unrolls, and fills my arms with muscles, my heart with human concerns. The scintillating milky way of my back is a winking and shimmering constellation; my body itself is a river, a continent of rivers, a flickering, vibrating, shore less ocean of currents and channels, unfathomable, beginning less, endless. The living ride on life like the foam on the crest of a surge on the cosmic ocean.”
– Paul Fleischman