It is a breezy evening. I sit in my car with the window rolled down, waiting for a friend to leave on an excursion to Hamilton. I'm reading I Touch the Earth, the Earth Touches Me, by Hugh Prather. He talks about "a spiritual way of seeing." Spirituality has been a sensitive topic lately. I doubt there's a spirit, or that it's distinct from the
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And speaking of metaphors, I remember one from the Sermon the Mount that tore my heart open when I was 19. "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin."
As a sufferer of clinical anxiety, I notice that passage's message is still profoundly relevant to me: instead of worrying, take a lesson from the patience of nature, and learn to live in the present.
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I love your writing. Really moves me, makes me feel, has me grasping for beauty and meaning, and for now that is enough.
love
c
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I spent a good chunk of the afternoon crafting an email, but I'm overwhelmed by it and won't send it all, not right now. It's all good thoughts, anyway.
Love,
Van
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hugs, Shimmer
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