Archive for March, 2013
Spring is officially here. On the island where I live in Puget Sound, you can smell the blossoms, the fresh-cut grass. You can eat organic food. Sip tea in a cafe. Play with your dog. Feel safe. That’s good. Nothing to feel guilty about.
Along with the Spring Equinox, this past week also saw the 10th anniversary of the US invasion of Iran. We are still seeing the fall-out from that war, and will be for generations. When I pray this week, I pray for all those who suffer from the murders involved.
I was at a gathering the other night, and when I used the word “murder” to refer to the taking of life during wars, a friend questioned my use of the verb “murdered.” He reminded me that “murder” is used to describe an act that involves the taking of life in a manner that is not sanctioned by society. “Kill” is the term used for the taking of life in war.
I don’t split those hairs.
It’s Holy Week in the Christian tradition. A time when we pray and meditate about death and re-birth.
I can’t do that without acknowledging the unnecessary suffering that so many of our brothers and sisters endure. You know, sometimes you want to think pretty pink and blue thoughts. You put on a hat, a pretty white dress. You dance around. But there’s no getting around it–at least not for me–there’s a black ooze of sadness, born out of greed, that needs attention.
So, when I walk my dog Mercy, and we pass that huge willow that’s coming on green, I murmur prayers for the soldiers. I think about forgiveness. I wonder if I should be marching in the street in addition to strolling in the park.
Ever have those kinds of thoughts?
The bud, the sky, the good supper, greed, heroes, death, life, all of it wraps around and lands right inside this very moment. The only moment we have.
This is worth watching. It’s real. Maybe too real. But, for me, there’s an unreality in this Holy Week if we don’t include Tomas Young.
Let me know what you’re thinking and feeling. But, please remember that this Fan Page is a place for respectful conversation. I don’t want to add any more war to the world. There’s already enough.
Bless your hearts,
I’m six years old in this photo. How hard I tried to please an old white God. Never could. Every Friday, I’d end up in the confessional, making up sins.
I still believe in God. Her face is that of Our Lady or Guadelupe. She is the one who holds me. She is the one whose sweetness helps me breathe through the fear.
The new pope steps out. He chose the name of St. Francis. My prayer for you, new Pope, is that you’ll grow a heart big enough to embrace the power of the feminine, one open enough to respect the wide world of different expressions of love. That you’ll spread your arms wide, in an embrace of inclusion.
We’re all pilgrims here. Each of us, walking. Left, right, breathe. One foot in front of the other.
I pray roses will spill forth again. Listen to Tom Russell’s extraordinary song, with Gretchen interpreting it.
Your sister pilgrim,
Rebecca Claire (Teresa) Wells
(That’s Teresa the Little Flower. Confirmation name. Carried small bouquet of flowers.)
Hints of spring here in the Pacific Northwest. Daffodils peaking out in the back-yard. Clean-up from windy, windy, long winter.
I’m working on two new books. Never been a fast writer, but I try to be true!
All of life beckons. Face the fear, and miracles happen.
Take care, and keep thinking…
Pink and blue thoughts,