Change: the ground quaking
As my known world falls away
And you hold me close
Change: the ground quaking
Change: the ground quaking
As my known world falls away
And you hold me close
The day somberly takes shape beneath
Comings and goings of many errands,
While I sift through shadows
It’s got to be here somewhere.
Where did I leave it last?
Did I put it down, distracted,
Now failing to recall it’s location?
I am not unhappy,
Just strangely subdued,
Humbled by a shifting,
A prism of full spectrum feeling:
Beautiful and bold,
Soulful, sharp and fleeting,
Soft joy changing gently.
I interact with others,
speechless somewhere inside.
So moved I am paralyzed,
Returning to the present one breath at a time.
It feels, sometimes,
As if I might dissolve entirely
Eclipsed by a greater, more vivid,
More elusive star than the sun.
Standing on the edge, frontier of my self,
I marvel at its intricacy,
How it completes the puzzle of being
Love, fragile and hesitant.
That line drawn in the sand
I’ve been staring at for hours?
I know I will cross it,
But for what reasons and what time and in what way,
Enfolds itself in mystery,
A crane born from a paper sky,
A question mark with the power
To permanently alter who I think I am.
Transparent as cascading water,
All I sought to hold onto
I am struggling with nothing.
The stars reflected
In the pools of possibility,
Collected in the land’s lost hollows,
Shine almost forgotten.
I gather them in cupped hands,
Hand them out where they’re needed.
This light I share with everyone,
It isn’t mine.
All I’ve held certain
Gets turned on its head
In the blink of an eye,
And I am fumbling in a once familiar landscape.
How am I? Indeed.
And yet, almost inconceivably,
Regarding myself like a child
Has never been easier.
So much room to grow and stumble and wonder,
A space so heart-breakingly forgiving,
It is impossible to fill it
With tears or awe or terror.
Only trust lives here,
The kind that leaves you shaking,
But somehow still safe.
A kind of ground zero:
Where we try ourselves at being,
Over and over and over,
Without attempting anything.
The ones who continually catch us,
Whether we plummet or fall flying,
Rock us to our foundations
With the caring attention given to newborns.
So that in the moments we let go,
Suddenly we wake
And briefly remember our origins,
Imprinted as they are the heart of us.
Dublin, Ireland (CNN)—Same-sex couples will soon be able to walk down the aisle in the Emerald Isle.
By Laura Smith-Spark, Kevin Conlon and Phil Black
Voters in Ireland overwhelmingly chose to change their nation’s constitution Friday, becoming the first country in the world to legalize same-sex marriage through popular vote.
The official results were announced Saturday at a Dublin Castle press conference: 1,201,607 voted in favor of the landmark referendum, while 734,300 voted
against it, said Ríona Ní Fhlanghaile, an elections official.
Voter turnout in the majority Catholic nation was more than 60%, according to Fhlanghaile.
Despite speculation in the run-up that opposition to the measure might have been understated because people were too shy to tell pollsters that they planned to vote “no” — the outcome was lopsided, with the measure passing by just over 61% of the total vote cast.
Once the votes began to be tallied, the result was never in doubt.
Only one of the country’s 43 parliamentary constituencies failed to pass it.
Support from Ireland’s political leaders
As is the case in many other countries around the world, the issue is a polarizing one in Ireland, a country that didn’t decriminalize homosexuality until the 1990s.
This referendum was seen as a test of whether more liberal thinking can trump Ireland’s traditionally conservative, Catholic leanings.
The “yes” campaign enjoyed considerable support from the country’s political establishment.
Prime Minister Enda Kenny said prior to the vote that the country could “create history” and that a “yes” vote would “obliterate” prejudice along with irrational fears of difference. On Saturday, Kenny said the outcome “disclosed who we are — a generous, compassionate, bold and joyful people.”
“In Ireland, we’re known as a nation of storytellers,” added Deputy Prime Minister Joan Burton. “And today, the people have told quite some story. This is a magical, moving moment.”
Gerry Adams, leader of the Sinn Fein political party, called it “a huge day for equality,” and over the border in Northern Ireland — the only part of the United Kingdom where same-sex marriage is still prohibited — Deputy First Minister Martin McGuinness hoped they’ll take notice.
“The world is moving on and Ireland is taking the lead,” said McGuinness. “Politicians, particularly in the north need to reflect on this progress.”
About civil marriage equality
While same-sex “civil partnerships” were introduced in Ireland in 2010, advocates for marriage equality said those fell short of the recognition and protections afforded by marriage.
Gay and lesbian couples will now be able to enter into civil marriage, which “is different and distinct from religious marriage,” according to Yes Equality, the umbrella group that spearheaded the campaign. “No religious institution can be forced to marry a lesbian or gay couple against their beliefs,” the group’s website says. “Churches will be able to continue with religious ceremonies and will not be required to conduct wedding ceremonies for same-sex couples.”
Opposition was largely organized by Catholic groups that focused on a message of protecting the traditional family.
Yes Equality says however that the outcome will have no bearing on surrogacy or adoption rights.
Despite the pounding they took at the polls, opposition groups struck a conciliatory tone after it was over.
“Congratulations to the Yes side. Well done. #MarRef,” tweeted a conservative Catholic think tank that advocated against legalizing same-sex marriage.
This is their day, and they should enjoy it,” said another group opposing same-sex marriage, Mothers and Fathers Matter.
“Though at times this campaign was unpleasant for people on all sides, nobody who involves themselves in a campaign does so with anything but the good of their country at heart,” read a group statement. “There is no better way to resolve difference than the way we are using today.”
Six months old she is
When I begin gathering her in my arms,
To gently rock her
Within the flames.
I stand by her fiercely
Every night, with love,
Sweep away the ashes
Of the no longer needed.
With ardent joy I watch her change
As the outer shell dissolves,
Her eyes take on a charcoal grey
And raw and radiant, she burns to live.
Stop, stop! her mother cries
Tearing tears from raging eyes,
Her fervent passion rivals mine,
Equal, by the love with which we’re both defined
What are you doing to my child?
I am seeing to her being wild.
Bone deep the memories I set alight,
To the song of the soul I sing each night.
I do not deliver death on one so small,
The smallness itself is all that dies.
Who questions me, when there’s only love behind
what to you appears, at once, harsh and strange?
I, born of eternal light divine,
I lit the wisdom in the child’s eyes,
Set smoldering, her limits, to shine her light free,
Turned resilient and bright all she can be.
Do not tear her from my arms
As with Demeter of old,
Do not misunderstand
Healing in unfamiliar guise.
Do not be mistaken
By what you’ve been told.
Though tried, she will rise
Brilliant and bold.
I know, for I too am self-made
And could not help but recognize
My kindred, spark which can’t be tamed
Which as well within myself resides.
Let me hold her,
Until she knows her name,
Until trembling, leaping
Through a waking world, she flies,
And with our ones
Who stir the sleeping,
Though she’ll not see
Her world the same,
She’ll be as the sun
Is to the dreaming
Rekindling the hearths
No one thought would blaze again.
Then through this life, let me carry her,
These trials, triumphs to the wise.
There is no loss here undertaken,
She is opening her eyes.
Wonderful post from Ali on the lore of trees and the myths sprung up around them.
I love trees. I have always loved them. Not in the tree-hugging sense, but as in respect, awe, admiration. Seeing trees being cut almost hurts, and certainly makes me feel incredibly sad. In Irish mythology, tree lore features in many of the old stories and legends. Not only that, but the secret ancient code of Ogham is based on trees and alternatively called the Tree Alphabet.
It is said that out of Ireland’s 16,000 townlands, 13,000 of them are named after trees. I don’t know how true this is, but certainly the town near where I live, Virginia, is known as Achadh an Iúir in Irish, which means ‘field/ meadow of the yew’; Kildare comes from the Irish Cill Dara, meaning ‘church of the oak’, whereas Billis, the townland where I actually live, na Bilí in Irish, refers to a large, isolated sacred tree.
The ancient Irish held trees in…
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I’ve been tagged by Jane to participate in a free style writing challenge. Being a crazy overachiever, I tried to freestyle write for more than ten minutes and so consequently found myself desperately wishing for the time to be up, and struggling because it was not up yet. I should know better. 🙂
These are the rules
1. Open an MS Word Document
2. Set a stop watch or your mobile phone timer to 5 or 10 minutes, whichever challenge you think you can beat
3. Your topic is at the foot of this post BUT DO NOT SCROLL DOWN TO SEE IT UNTIL YOU ARE READY WITH YOUR TIMER!!!
4. Fill the word doc with as much words as you want. Once you start writing do not stop.
5. Do not cheat by going back and correcting spelling and grammar using spell check (its only meant for you to reflect on your own control of sensible thought flow and for you to reflect on your ability to write the right spelling and stick to grammar rules)
6. You may or may not pay attention to punctuation or capitals. However, if you do, it would be best
7. At the end of your post write down ‘No. of words = ____” so that we would have an idea of how much you can write within the time frame.
8. Do not forget to copy paste the entire passage on your blog post with a new topic for your nominees and copy paste these rules with your nomination (at least five (5) bloggers)
**Just adding, in case anyone is like me and genuinely fails to understand rules when there are any: I thought the idea was to try to write beyond five or respectively ten minutes as in beating your own set time, but now that I am thinking about it, I think you’re supposed to write within the limits of five or ten minutes and stop when you feel like throwing something. For me, that would have occured around minute 8, if truth be told. I was not actually trying to see if I could freestyle write for fifteen minutes. Oh well, I am much better at improvising than following set directions. As usual.
My topic was: You’ve inherited a small fortune. You can move to any part of the world you like. Where would you go?
And my answer which makes me sound like a third grader (maybe from all my analytic dissertation writing?) rather boringly follows.
If I inherited a small fortune I would definitely move to Ireland to live. The landscape is incredibly beautiful, I can speak Irish with people in Galway for instance which would be awesome as I learned for fun, started learning for fun in Grad school, because I really didn’t want to be doing what I was supposed to be doing in grad school anyway and I also very much would like to teach my children Irish. It’s important to me that they grow up knowing much about where they came from, at least half their family. So what better than to let them grow up in Ireland? I could have time to visit all the sites from the Iron age I’ve been longing to visit, spend lots of time exploring bogs and forests and climbing mountains and maybe even have enough land to get an Irish wolf hound (they need quite a lot of space to run around,) and I would feel like I had come home, I am sure. I’d be so excited to move there. In fact I always had a dream to spend three months there, and sometimes even pictured myself living there on my own which is definitely why this is just a dream which will not have any basis in reality. But with asmall fortune I could find a lovely house in the country in which to live with Allegro and a friend or two and be able to pay someone to drive me around and take me places, as I’m not sure about the public transit situation in most counties and I’d want to be able to be as independent as possible. I’d make sure to make friends, and go everywhere I have always wanted to go. I would also hang out with my ancient family over there all the time and it would be awesome to learn about what the land looked like in their time and what it meant to them to live off the land and have a natural relationship with it that we don’t have in this time. Having a sense of place as they did and reverence for life, and developing that sense within the very landscape they shared would I think be a phenomenal experience. I’d really enjoy the opportunity. And finally I think I’d have tons of fun, and write this book called Braillic, which my mom and I thought about writing last year, about raising a child who is visually impaired who is also a druid which we would somehow link to our Irish ancestry and various locations we’d venture into. Perhaps I’d modify that idea a bit if I had enough money to live in Ireland in the first place, rather than attempt authoring a book with some obviously minimal excuse for doing “research” in the country.
472 words in 14 minutes and 15.7 seconds.
Seriously, I should have made up something as well such as living on the moon or in a deep sea vent with giant squid and heat resistant microorganisms. The truth is I’d rather not live in either location, unless also postulating I would not be human.
And I’m asking them to write about…Don’t scroll down to find out until you’re ready to go
If you could have the experience of living as a nonhuman animal for one day, what would you be? What would you do? Why?
Poetry of the worlds from Sue Vincent, co-director of The Silent Eye School of Consciousness.
Whence did they come?
Through deepest earth, to starlit skies, they came.
Where did they go?
From one world to another, outer to inner, treading the Path of Light.
What did they find, the walkers between the worlds?
Nought but mirrored mirrors, reflecting each other. Gold and silver, into Infinity.
What were they told?
All they had ears to hear.
What did they see?
All they had eyes to see.
What were they given?
Blessings and riddles that are their own answers.
What did they take?
The shadow of a doorway.
What did they make?
A portal to the stars.
Who crossed the threshold?
All who were graced.
Will they return?
To absolve your past
Gently with brave honesty
Forgive who you were
How often must you fail before it stops hurting? That was the question in my mind this morning. It’s not that I am exactly failing. I’m just not succeeding, at all.
I’ve heard a lot of interesting and many helpful bits of advice about becoming conscious, and the flow of this year in particular. What has stayed with me is an idea that seems to describe life, whatever your belief system.
We’ start out in life floating down a river in boats of different shapes and sizes. At some point however we lose the boat, or it breaks apart on rocks, or it gets hijacked or stolen or reappropriated. After this, we make the rest of our way submerged in the river itself, which means everything is harsher, brighter, colder, more immediate, more beautiful, more wild, more painful, more harrowing, more directly interactive. (To be fair, if this were not a metaphor, we’d probably also die from hypothermia at this point, but I digress.)
For all its simplicity, I feel this metaphor is quite apt. For instance, I know many people including myself who are going along in living, and then something happens to terrify us out of our skin and we’re flailing in the water. If you think holding onto the shore gives you safety, think twice. Without a boat, it’s your hands grasping at the rocks along the bank for dear life. Meanwhile the churning water surges past you, dragging you away, leaving your hands wounded and bloody stains on the rock where they were a moment before. Trust me, this only needs to happen once before you realize it’s a terrible strategy.
So we try letting go and floating. And this is by far the more sensible thing to do … until we hear that we’re approaching a waterfall, and begin questioning our sanity. (I’m going to do what?) It’s not as though we aren’t used to white water rapids and waterfalls. It’s just that with them, there are only two outcomes: somewhat miraculous gliding through unscathed, or disaster.
Finishing a dissertation is like hearing that roar of waterfall up ahead. I am questioning my sanity—well to be honest I’ve been questioning that for a while. I have also heard lately the saying that if we just let the water carry us over the edge and not struggle with it, in other words pay attention to the way things in life are going and adjust ourselves accordingly, this will prevent tumbling headlong into raging currents from getting disastrous. I, for one, am not convinced.
I am paying attention to what’s going on with the people in my life who have some control over when I graduate. If I took their actions as a sign and went with the flow, so to speak, I’d slow down. In the past week, three people, an auspicious number, have told me in different ways that my plan for defending this summer is unrealistic. If I believe them, I will give up before even starting. If I don’t believe them, I’ll just be bulldozing ahead in a way that frankly feels a bit obtuse. Sure, I’m good at being recalcitrant, but that hasn’t ever won me a popularity contest in social graces. So I usually refrain.
So this morning I woke up thinking about entrepreneurs who say they are successful because they failed first, more times than they can count. It baffles me. How on earth do they do this without feeling terrible about themselves, being ashamed, giving up and attempting an easier venture instead, shedding tears, grieving, or making fools of themselves? (Actually, crying is probably acceptable. Literally or figuratively falling flat on your face? Probably not.)
I think about social movements, people who lose their lives to take a cause forward and never live to see its conclusion. Have they failed retrospectively if the movement disintegrates? Or the people who have always wanted children and try, but can’t: have they failed? I mean, they did try and did not succeed, and that’s one definition of failure. Does a person fail when their body has genuine physical limits they can’t transcend? Is it just their body that has failed them?
When is failure not personal? When is it both a genuine falling short and yet not a loss? When does it defeat a person? When is it transformative? How many attempts at trying are needed before it’s all right to walk away? How many failures does a person have to endure before it’s okay to stop beating herself up about it? Would failure be impossible in a world where judgment does not exist, and if so, are there good reasons for us in this judgmental world to abandon the concept in favor of another one? Is it ever possible to fail, spectacularly, and still be worth something, and still be whole, and still be enough?
These are my questions, and I struggle with the answers. Right now, I have little wisdom to impart. I am only beginning to experience what will hopefully, if I don’t fail, turn out to be the sequence of things which will give me the answers to those questions. And in doing so, I am reminded of the very sensible saying which I have never heeded, “Don’t try this at home, kids.”
What I do know is that sometimes failure isn’t a result of not working hard at something. There have been times when I’ve worked so hard on my dissertation that I’ve driven myself into incoherence and exhaustion. These efforts however have no impact on how fast or slowly my committee gives me comments, if they give them at all. On top of this, life seems to be getting in the way of progress for everyone involved, so that regardless of how much I personally do, there’s a sense in which progress isn’t really made. I am reminded of Diana Gabaldon’s book title, “Dragonfly in Amber.” If I’m the dragonfly, grad school is the amber. I beat and beat my wings, but hover still. Is that failure? Or has there happened to be an eddy right before the waterfall so that I can look ahead to the treacherous journey but am forever swirled in place? I suppose if life is a river, you’re bound to get caught in its eddies sometime or other. Is that failure, or just terrible timing and bad luck?
For all sorts of good and ridiculous reasons, I am here, working on a PH.D., which maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll finish. There are people who get several PH.D.s. They have got to be masochistic. I’ve already reached the point where I am tired of such a painful experience, but the experience isn’t willing to give me up yet. I wish I had made other life choices. There are no answers, but I keep wondering when I’ll no longer feel like a failure, or like I am trying to climb Mt. Everest in flip-flops and a bathing suit. When does the light break through the clouds? When it does, I will not look back.
Amidst the clouds,
Shaking the Rattle of doubt.
What to do?
The storm uncontrolled,
You can only account for you,
Listen, hope, tempt an unfolding.
Sometimes dreams smolder,
Sap hardened in the tree
Goes nowhere, can only be.
To chain me in place.
What is my place?
Adrift, takes sudden shapes
Earthquakes and avalanches of old beliefs,
I’m left largely undefined.
Paper-thin objects of nameless cries,
Respect, status, authority,
Conference granted on advanced degree,
All sparkling social little lies.
What’s the reason and the why?
Why spill your thoughts,
In ink red like blood,
Until the mind, exhausted, freezes dry?
Does it make us more sacred,
More worthy, more loved?
Does it finally prove to others
We can teach some to fly?
Is it common sense
To not move for days,
Nor sleep well nor eat right
To stay on top of a page?
Push through despite
The fearful thought,
It all just might
Come to naught
And if, having done what I can,
I don’t succeed?
I have no time to heed.
I will finish what I’ve started,
Though it’s largely not up to me,
And hope that when I’m finally parted
From these ragged years, I will break free.