What a heart-heavy week. Among people for whom I care deeply,
someone is sitting beside her tiny son in an NICU, struggling to infuse him with life.
someone is having a long, difficult labor, for days and days and days, and is suffering.
someone's daughter, a little younger than I am, died of breast cancer this morning.
someone is sick.
someone is tired.
Sometimes it truly feels that there is so very little that we can do for each other. So terribly, terribly little.
- amy frances
- Art is how I make love to the earth. Wine is how the earth makes love to me. I practice yoga because, as Ani DiFranco has said, all that steel and stone are no match for the air, my friend; what doesn't bend breaks. Everything I do I do fiercely. I think in pictures, see in layers, hear in whispers, and feel in torrents. My mind never halts. My heart never yields. My soul is never sated. Beauty and love are my food and drink. God inhabits my inner, silent sanctum. I place my faith in paradox. I carry my friends with me, ever and always. There is no better partner than my husband.
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2 comments:
I'm with you, A, I'm with you.
For hardship does not spring from the soil, nor does trouble sprout from the ground. Yet man is born to trouble as surely as sparks fly upward. "But if it were I, I would appeal to God; I would lay my cause before him. He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted. He bestows rain on the earth; he sends water upon the countryside. The lowly he sets on high, and those who mourn are lifted to safety." (Job 5:6-11)
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