Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Love doesn’t have a swelled head,
Love doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of the truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.
Phil taking time out of his incompleteness to smell the roses. That’s all a good thing.
Wiley’s happy about that. He needs a few days off to heal his aching body. Watching him wrestle with construction in the winter brings back memories of years ago when I was there. It’s a young man’s game.
Sorry if my Thursday post yesterday was too pessimistic. I didn’t intend that, was just trying to report my impressions. Things aren’t always pretty.
Perhaps I will just let that rest for now. I would like to explain more fully what was going on but this is not the morning. Too many things happening today that need to be addressed and I can’t seem to focus. The thing to do for me is to simplify things and maybe jettison a few items. My first priority is to not get overwhelmed.
Did you check out the fireworks show from China? There is a live link, just tap on “Fireworks!!!” on yesterday’s second post. OK, have to go, sorry for the shorty.
Daffodils, new spring growth. Life always goes on.
My Rebecca exclaimed that last evening at dinner after we were talking about several friends who were deep in their cancer challenges. And I said, “Well, there must be some reason for it.” Like there is some reason for mosquitos, but who the heck knows on that one. A part of the web of life I guess, that you can’t separate out.
At the Cancer Treatment Center parking lot there are a few bumper stickers and window decals that express nasty things that people want to do to cancer. Yea, totally understand the sentiment. Throw one at it for me!
But I was up at zero dark thirty mediating and getting in touch and a few ideas came to me then that are definitely blog material. I wrote down a few notes to remind me of the thread. Sometimes I don’t write stuff down and lose it. I suppose not to worry as it goes into some brain bin somewhere for recovery later, maybe.
Yes, we can hate cancer, of course. Hate, hate, hate away, somebody has to do it I suppose. But suppose we were to take that energy and do something else with it. I guess I should speak for myself here. Personally, I realize that I have only so much energy. What to do with a finite amount becomes something to work out. Somehow I have chosen to try to observe it, cancer, to run reconnaissance on it. Somehow “battling cancer” is not my way or it is not what I am doing now, although we hear that phrase everywhere.
I was trying to explain this stance to Sister Joyce at our last meeting. She put the words “active resignation” on it. OK, that will do for now.
My present thought is that cancer is a expression of our own untidiness, our own chaos, our own craziness. It represents an incredible challenge to our sense of ourselves, personally and collectively. We/I have to admit a lot of stuff to get that.
To buoy me up I got a beautiful email form Gracie in Australia yesterday and another from another Camino buddy Mary Margaret this AM. Thanks guys, can’t do without you, love, Felipe.
Super Bowl coming up in two weeks and Pro Bowl this weekend. I’m thinking over stimulation maybe for old Felipe. Really what I need is some quiet time to “run silent, run deep” in submarine talk, do some mediation in other words.
I am letting myself do that more and more now, take the time, that is. Dr Z, my beloved rehab doc, would be in favor of that. I don’t see him for another two weeks, it’s been a while. He is prominent in the rough cut documentary by the way which we have been watching lately working on the credits.
Our Catherine is off on a vacation to some place warm. We were talking last walk about the idea of studying the Prophets, the ones in the Hebrew Bible. Catherine has been listening to an Old Testament scholar on podcasts and listening to me talk about my Bible Guys study group and put those ideas together I guess. She wants to start studying them as poetry, OK. I have read and studied the books of Daniel and Esther and could do more. So that is in the works.
I did some little artwork for the documentary yesterday and have to have it scanned and sent in this AM to the animator. We will see if they can use it, looks pretty rough to me. Then off to Our Jennifer’s to work on our remodel project. I haven’t had a chance to spend time with her lately so that will be good.
Well, it looks like one of those gray days with no shadows apparent around here as I look out the window. It’s not bright and perky but OK will see what I can do with it. Off to my day and thinking about you, love, Felipe.
by Ted Kooser, (Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004 to 2006, from his book of poems following cancer treatment, “Winter Morning Walks/One Hunder Post Cards to Jim Harrison”)
Walking in the darkness, in awe,
beneath a billion indifferent stars
at quarter to six in the morning,
the moon already down
and gone, but keeping a pale lamp burning
at the edge of the west,
my shoes too loud in the gravel
that, faintly lit, looks to be little more
than a contrail of vapor,
so thin, so insubstantial it could,
on a whim, let me drop through it
and out of the day,
but I have taught myself
to place one foot ahead of the other
in noisy confidence
as if each morning might be trusted,
as if the sounds I make might buoy me up.
Yup, it’s here somewhere. I have to make it out to the shop to make somethings happen there and the hardhat will turn up I’m sure. I just need to get started and things will happen and by evening sufficient progress will be there.
Well, Our Beloved Annie just emailed in asking if I could do some things for the movie. She needs last minute help and what is a guy to say? And what that means for us here at the blog is I have to run for now. Will be back tomorrow of course.
It is hard sometimes to drag ourselves
back to the love of morning
after we’ve lain in the dark crying out
O God, save us from the horror . . . .
God has saved the world one more day
even with its leaden burden of human evil;
we wake to birdsong.
And if sunlight’s gossamer lifts in its net
the weight of all that is solid,
our hearts, too, are lifted,
swung like laughing infants;
but on gray mornings,
all incident – our own hunger,
the dear tasks of continuance,
the footsteps before us in the earth’s
beloved dust, leading the way – all,
is hard to love again
for we resent a summons
that disregards our sloth, and this
calls us, calls us.
The islands where we live with a sunset, water and whales drawn within their outline.
Got Wiley fed and off to his job, worked with Rowan, washed up the dishes from last evenings tapas party, started a fire with damp wood and read Terry’s Monday “Sabbath Moment” post so far. But mostly what I’ve been thinking about is the performance that My Rebecca drug me to last evening.
Culture is something that guys have somewhere on their priority list but somewhere below changing oil in the truck. So, I rely on Rebecca to steer me into appropriate occasions to at least get a passing on my cultural literacy grade. So, last evening at the “Blue Heron” Art Center we saw “Heart of Vashon – telling our story”. It was about local culture, extremely local.
Maybe six months ago this thing was hatched and word was put out to hand in written material about feelings about our island home and our apparently quirky lifestyle. This is easy to do seeing as we have definite boundaries delineated by salt water, plenty of good writers and plenty of quirk apparently. This material was consolidated and hammered into a play of sorts, a performance. This is the kind of stuff we do around here to keep from strangling each other during the long winters.
Yea, so I really enjoyed it and am thinking about it the morning after, which is a good sign. It left an impression. It got me thinking about my forty five years of living here, about how much it has influenced me. There was a line in the play, “If you are here long enough you will be a character too”. OK.
Off to walk here momentarily. Catherine y Dana may show up to keep me company. Morning weekday walks are usually very local. Afternoon weekend walks are the best for visitors like yesterday’s where we had three pilgrims from Seattle. Yup.
Thinking of and praying for our brothers and sisters on the East Coast. Alright, see you tomorrow. St James is Afoot, love, Felipe.
So, last Sunday we made it to Santo Domingo and Friday we made it to Granon. and today, God willing, we will be through Redecilla del Camino and Castildelgado. We are making our way slowly toward the city of Burgos and the beautiful cathedral there.
