gorgeous autumn wind stirring vibrant leaves to fall, preparing for the coming blessed hibernation


      Denise Levertov

Dedicated to the memory of Karen Silkwood and Eliot Gralla

“From too much love of living,
Hope and desire set free,
Even the weariest river
Winds somewhere to the sea--“

But we have only begun
To love the earth.

We have only begun
To imagine the fullness of life.

How could we tire of hope?
-- so much is in bud.

How can desire fail?
-- we have only begun

to imagine justice and mercy,
only begun to envision

how it might be
to live as siblings with beast and flower,
not as oppressors.

Surely our river
cannot already be hastening
into the sea of nonbeing?

Surely it cannot
drag, in the silt,
all that is innocent?

Not yet, not yet--
there is too much broken
that must be mended,

too much hurt we have done to each other
that cannot yet be forgiven.

We have only begun to know
the power that is in us if we would join
our solitudes in the communion of struggle.

So much is unfolding that must
complete its gesture,

so much is in bud.


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through the gate
through the gate

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 Our friend, Marshall Lyles, has muscular dystrophy. He suffers, he cares for others, and experiences what it is to walk in this world in this condition. He's doing something about it, about the language of it. I am so grateful. (You can scroll through slowly with the help of the arrows.)

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Bless the Torn


        Eileen D. Moeller


Bless the torn

part of each day,

the ruptures in us

that caused it

to tear where it did.


Bless the green

heart of each rupture,

the small green

kernel of hope

saved for replanting.

About Healing

     Rebecca Pancoast

What can I teach you

that isn’t better said

by the still knowing of your body?


Here, I’ll hush

and we can wait together.


In the silence

it can seem as if

the truth is running late.


Trust her anyway.


She’s taking the shortest path

she knows


Winding her way

through the ropes in your belly and

navigating the lightning storms

of your heart

takes care

and it takes time.


Tell me about

the first tree you ever loved –

the one who

when you smiled




When the truth arrives,

she’ll meet you

where your roots

are strongest –


she knows you’ll need them

to anchor you to

your grief.