The Alternative Orwellian Present

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2017

2017

“Threats to freedom of speech, writing and action, though often trivial in isolation, are cumulative in their effect and, unless checked, lead to a general disrespect for the rights of the citizen.” –George Orwell

 

Ample Make This Bed

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Ample Make This Bed

Ample Make This Bed

Ample make this bed.
Make this bed with awe;
In it wait till judgment break
Excellent and fair.

Be its mattress straight,
Be its pillow round;
Let no sunrise’ yellow noise
Interrupt this ground.

Emily Dickinson

Strong and Willing Hearts

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Fortune

Fortune

This is the first time a new year approaches where I’m feeling more trepidation than hope, but I will work hard to lean into hope. Not a believer in fortunes, particularly the random kind that come in cookies, I kept this one. There are things I need to accomplish this year, and things I know we will all face as individuals and as a nation. We will all need strong and willing hearts.

We all need to gather the fragments we will shore against our ruin, so at the end of it all we may chant, “shanti, shanti, shanti.” (from T.S. Elliot’s, “The Wasteland”)

Endings

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Endings

Endings

This year is closing on many somber notes, one note involving a trip to help with the aftermath of a death in the family. Old wounds open up. There are tears and some eyes that refuse tears. Healing laughter is shared while a cold rain is falling.

The Faces of Distant History

Cycladic Female Figure

Cycladic Female Figure

Cycladic Female Face

Cycladic Female Face

Joe and I spent some time this weekend at The Getty Villa in Pacific Palisades, CA. It’s a beautiful place containing a deep stillness felt only in the presence of distant history. In the wake of contemporary political tumult, it was a balm to the soul to wander among the antiquities, a reminder that this, too, shall pass. I don’t know why, but I am particularly drawn to these female figures from the Cycladic civilization from 6500-1650 BC. According to what is known about some of these figures, they were, at one point, covered in bright paint. Time has stripped them to their essence. Distant history has stilled them, offering a place to pause and find respite from the brightly painted present.