and don’t waver in the wind
but be the tall tree in the farthest field
who paints stars on canvas sky
with a blush of her leaves
and knows that sacred darkness
blinds like the brightest light
and that on the narrow road between them
is a very high bridge
where there is no word for down
but only for out
where the first breath is the embrace
of what has been waiting there
patiently and quietly
by the side of the road
bathed in the softest dust
just for you
Academics report their discovery that Rome was, in fact, built in a day! An April Fool’s Day spoof of a BBC-style news report that aired on KGNU Boulder.
One day when my mother told me to clean my room, as she often did when I was little, I thought I’d finally found the perfect response to this ongoing oppression.
“Why should I clean my room?” I said to her. “It’s just going to get dirty again.”
I felt so clever, heading off her incessant demands for cleaning once and for all. Alas, my three-year-old smarts, it turned out, were no match for her.
“OK, fine,” she said, unfazed, standing in my bedroom doorway. “Don’t come to dinner tonight, because you’ll just get hungry again.”
Score: Mom, one. …
Refugees, aliens, immigrants, migrants, undocumented. Wanderers all.
You can’t turn on the news these days without hearing about people fleeing their homelands en masse on both sides of the Atlantic. How many perished in the latest capsized Mediterranean boat? Who’s paying for the U.S.-Mexico wall? Should we or shouldn’t we let them in — and how many, and from where, and from what religions? How do we know they’re not terrorists? What about extreme vetting …?
Joanna Macy, longtime Buddhist peace and environmental activist, scholar, and grandmother of deep ecology,* packed the house at the Boulder Shambhala Center, a local Buddhist hangout, in March, when she spoke about “The Time of the Great Unraveling.”
Based on the response to my interview request, which was denied, I was expecting to see a frail, elderly woman gingerly rolled out in a wheelchair, straining to raise her head to deliver a brief message. I had been told that the nearly 88 year-old Macy was closely monitoring her energy, and was no longer doing interviews.
So I was quite surprised…
I have to admit that for a grown woman, I probably do more than my fair share of crying, often over something I wish were different about my life. Sometimes the tears are a cleansing release. Other times I spin in a vortex of my own creation, like staying in the water until my fingers wrinkle and they lose all meaningful sensation.
But lately — in the chaotic aftermath of the Trump inauguration — I’m noticing that my tears are different, that they are no longer just about me, or even about me at all. …