The thing about love is that we come alive in bodies not our own.
Colum McCann
Category: almond
Back With Their Flocks
When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people, to make music in the heart.
—Howard Thurman
Merry Christmas!
Continue reading “Back With Their Flocks”
Big Time
There are so many kinds of time. The time by which we measure our lives. Months and years.
Or the big time, the time that raises mountains and makes stars.
Or all the things that happen between one heartbeat and the next. It’s hard to live in all those kinds of times.
Easy to forget that you live in all of them.
Robert Charles Wilson, Spin
Untold Mischief
“What a wonderful thing the skin is! It is the largest and most important integument of the whole human organism!
What millions of pores it contains! The minutest aperture might absorb the deadliest poison.
Once in contact with the surface of the body, whether the particle be held in a miasma, or dissolved in the water of ablution, the pore, like a fatal canal, conveys it into the system, whence its eradication may be impossible, and where it may generate untold mischief.”
— “Skin, Baths, Bathing, and Soap,” Francis Pears for Pears Soap, 1859
Might Laurel Grow
When we have run our passion’s heat,
Love hither makes his best retreat.
The gods, that mortal beauty chase,
Still in a tree did end their race:
Apollo hunted Daphne so,
Only that she might laurel grow.
—Andrew Marvell, The Garden, 1681
Edible, or Beautiful
If it is a human thing to do to put something you want, because it’s useful, edible, or beautiful, into a bag, or a basket, or a bit of rolled bark or leaf, or a net woven of your own hair, or what have you, and then take it home with you,
home being another, larger kind of pouch or bag, a container for people, and then later on you take it out and eat it or share it or store it up for winter in a solider container
or put it in the medicine bundle or the shrine or the museum, the holy place, the area that contains what is sacred, and then the next day you probably do much the same again—if to do that is human, if that’s what it takes, then
I am a human being after all. Fully, freely, gladly, for the first time.
—Ursula K. Le Guin, The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction
Entanglement
“A mycelial network is a map of a fungus’s recent history and is a helpful reminder that all life-forms are in fact processes not things.
The “you” of five years ago was made from different stuff than the “you” of today.
Nature is an event that never stops.
As William Bateson, who coined the word genetics, observed,
‘We commonly think of animals and plants as matter, but they are really systems through which matter is continually passing.’”
—Merlin Sheldrake
Summer, Alone, Ripe
If it could only be like this always – always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe.
Evelyn Waugh
Tesserae
Memories are dangerous things.
You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner, but still you’ll find an edge to cut you.
―Mark Lawrence, Prince of Thorns
