You can’t start
a new life but
daily
a new day.
Joan and the Sheilas + Cousin Julie have gone to Marrakech
I am delighted when they escape for a girlie time.
I delight in their richness
and lash myself in the poverty
that I have become
(they might bring me something nice-
bet it is a carpet for our new/possible home?)
Magic!!
Beneath the language of
a deep breath lies a secret and
silent area of a being
in relation with God.
She knows this can be very hard:
We long for more reassurance,
good marks, stars on the charts…
even for perseverance,
but no,
just a strange unworldly silence.
Still no home on the horizon
but hope resides.
Are we wise enough to know
that we can become
“pot-bound”?
Roots need airing,
and a good
movie,
read,
giving when we are in need,
conversation,
contact with the poorest in your community,
or a walk
can provide the root with air
just as personal experience
may be the soil fertilised.
I am beautiful imperfection
will you join me here?
We love to be needed
although we rarely need
to be loved.
Discuss.
