![]() In a World Where Everything is Sacred “There are no sacred and unsacred places; there are only sacred and desecrated places. My belief is that the world and our life in it are conditional gifts.” ~ Wendell Berry Why do we continue to imagine we can mess with nature? Somehow out-think her millennial depths of flat out oceanic smarts?* You know the list already: plastic filled oceans petrol poisoned air chemically poisoned soil commercially poisoned dwellings corporately poisoned hearts. We can only start from where we are and that list is where we are. So from the stillness of contemplation and the urgency of converging crises we can start to notice the street lamp in front of our home we can sit with it honour the light is shines on our darkness feel the pain it feels from its journey from mineral in stone, from oils in holes to a static end-game of majesty standing temporarily before its demise in a dump when we can grieve its passing honour it for its loveliness and utility. Then we can call into our sacred circle the asphalt, the mailboxes, the fences, the sidewalks, lonely street trees and the cars. Imagine when we honour each bus shelter and storefront and help them re-establish their holy places in the midst of the mystery and the earth. Notice what happens to the hearts of parking meters and bridges when they learn to love again. Pretty soon all the spaces between things and the walls at the edges are no longer distances and barriers that separate us they’re what we have in common what connects us what we all honour and we notice that we are starting to think like nature acting from our stillness and holding it all reverently. * with inspiration from Wax Leader by Hannah Berry
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Community Circle
Feb 21, 2017 How do you create a magic circle into which the world could turn? An open space held down by its cryptic centre. A cha-ordic vortex of transformation. A place of inner pilgrimage fueled by an inner economy that pulls black cats into the light. Land that dances its stories into the brains of the broken colonial map. A nursery of plants and children that feed each other. Adults that grieve and play their way into elderhood creating circles into which the world could turn. |
Nicole Marie MoenPoems, stories, quotes and musings about beauty, mystery, humans and all life on earth. Archives
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