“We tell ourselves stories in order to live, to justify taking lives, even our own, by violence or by numbness and the failure to live; tell ourselves stories that save us and stories that are quicksand in which we thrash and the well in which we drown, stories of justification, of accursedness, of luck and star-crossed love, or version clad in the cynicism that is at times a very elegant garment.” The Faraway Nearby by...
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Fear has kept you. It has been days, weeks, a year, even years that your courage has been beat down as if you were good-for-nothing. Failure has scared you, but success, even more so. You have been transfixed and immobile by the magnitude of either direction, the possibilities and pressures of traveling on either path. But. This year will be different. Not that fear will cease all together, for it will still try...
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We have been helplessly watching green blades race for the sky. And sitting on the patio above the lawn, is like having an audience of mystery. What is really lurking to the roots of this mess? There is much not seen, hidden away, like dark grassy knolls in my heart. But then, we also have babies. There are chicks and ducks, chirping with their feathers coming in. Then there are kittens so small, they think we are Momma....
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