Labor Day

Work to me is a sacred thing.

    Margaret Bourke-White, Portrait of Myself 

 

 

 

 

 

Who shall I send? Who will go for us?

Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord?
Or who shall stand in his holy place?
There is no one but us.
There is no one to send, nor a clean hand,
nor a pure heart on the face of the earth,
nor in the earth, but only us,
a generation comforting ourselves with the notion
that we have come at an awkward time,
that our innocent fathers are all dead --
as if innocence had ever been --
and our children busy and troubled,
and we ourselves unfit, not yet ready,
having each of us chosen wrongly,
made a false start, failed,
yielded to impulse and the tangled comfort of pleasures,
and grown exhausted,
unable to seek the thread, weak, and involved.
But there is no one but us.
There never has been.

                    Annie Dillard, Holy the Firm 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem: Remember

Remember the sky you were born under,
know each of the star's stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun's birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother's, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

                            Joy Harjo

The story ends

There is no real ending.
    It’s just the place where you stop the story.

         Frank Herbert, 1969 interview, California State College, Fullerton

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contemplation on No Coming, No Going

This body is not me.
I am not limited by this body.
I am life without boundaries.
I have never been born,
and I have never died.

Look at the ocean and the sky filled with stars,
manifestations from my wondrous True Mind.

Since before time, I have been free.
Birth and death are only doors through which we pass,
sacred thresholds on our journey.
Birth and death are a game of hide-and-seek.

So laugh with me,
hold my hand,
let us say good-bye,
say good-bye, to meet again soon.

We meet today.
We will meet again tomorrow.
We will meet at the source every moment.
We meet each other in all forms of life.

                     Thich Nhat Hanh

 

 

 

 

 

 

Storytellers

I was raised by and have raised people
    who regard telling one story when two would do
        as a sign someone is not really trying.

                    Linda Ellerbee, And So It Goes

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gravity

Love is metaphysical gravity. 

         Buckminster Fuller, Critical Path