Welcome

New Yorkers are born all over the country,
and then they come to New York City and it hits them:
Oh, that's who I am.

        Delia Ephron, Sister Mother Husband Dog (Etc.)

 

 

 

 

Raw material

And so I learned what solitude really was.
It was raw material - awesome, malleable,
older than men or worlds or water.
And it was merciless -
for it let a man become precisely
what he alone made of himself.

            David James Duncan, The River Why

 

 

 

 

Fallible, unpredictable, improbable

The future is too interesting and dangerous
to be entrusted to any predictable, reliable agency.
We need all the fallibility we can get.
Most of all, we need to preserve the absolute unpredictability
and total improbability of our connected minds.

        Lewis Thomas, The Lives of a Cell: Notes of a Biology Watcher

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why?

Why blame the dark for being dark?
It is far more helpful to ask
why the light isn’t as bright as it could be.

        Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith

 

 

 

 

Things hold

Things don't fall apart. Things hold.
Lines connect in thin ways that last and last
and lives become generations made out of pictures and words just kept.

            Lucille Clifton, Generations: a memoir

 

 

 

 

 

 

Living faith

The Allah of Islam is the same as the God of Christians and the Ishwara of Hindus. Even as there are numerous names of God in Hinduism, there are as many names of God in Islam. The names do not indicate individuality but attributes, and little man had tried in his humble way to describe mighty God by giving Him attributes, though He is above all attributes, Indescribable, Inconceivable, Immeasurable. Living faith in this God means acceptance of the brotherhood of mankind. It also means equal respect for all religions.

                        Mahatma Gandhi, My God 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem: More Than Enough

The first lily of June opens its red mouth.
All over the sand road where we walk
multiflora rose climbs trees cascading
white or pink blossoms, simple, intense
the scene drifting like colored mist.

The arrowhead is spreading its creamy
clumps of flower and the blackberries
are blooming in the thickets. Season of
joy for the bee. The green will never
again be so green, so purely and lushly

new, grass lifting its wheaty seedheads
into the wind. Rich fresh wine
of June, we stagger into you smeared
with pollen, overcome as the turtle
laying her eggs in roadside sand.

                        Marge Piercy