Make your anchor fearlessness, she advises.
I am stringing blackberry bushes tighter to wobbling fence posts.
Every few moments I stop to say "thank you" or "yes."
She is kneeling a few feet away in tall grass, parting it here and there to peer into the shadows.
What is the world but fear and what is life in the world but fear?
She hums a little when she finds violets.
You cannot find fearlessness in the world, she says.
The end of fear is not here.
A hawk is visible in the distance, its broad arc somehow sad, as if testament to a hunger that can never be fully satisfied.
Last night I sat on the porch with tea watching clouds cover and uncover the moon.
How long until I remember that even stillness is in motion?
When I am finished with the blackberries, I gather dandelion greens.
She follows, singing songs from her country, in a voice that makes me think she is decades younger than she is.
If you consent to the existence of fear, then you will be afraid, she says.
It is a law.
If you would be delivered from fear, then you must make God - who is all Love - your only solace.
A butterfly I do not know the name of passes.
Last night the moon seemed blue at times, and at other times almost rose.
It is hard to give oneself only to the quest to remember God, and to trust solely in the beneficence thereof.
It is like stepping outside at night to study the moon, knowing in the morning you will need to tend the gardens and feed your family, and even though the last time you did it you learned nothing, you do it again, and again.
Got caught in a whirlwind and missed my daily routine of visiting here.ReplyDelete
I see the numbered posts are the extension of the 20 sentences ~ you have so many disciplines...I enjoy them all.
That deep calling-quest to remember God...to study the moon...
"even though the last time you did it you learned nothing, you do it again, and again."
Thank you as always for the kind words, Annie . . . I hope the whirlwind wasn't too much . . .ReplyDelete
Yeah, my many projects and sub-projects! I am lost in my wordiness . . . or would be, I guess, without so much lovely company . . .