#662 high tide
acceptance
#662 – o september
I had lunch today with old friends (they had the $23 lobster roll…I had a cheeseburger). We talked and laughed about our days – 40 years ago – as reporters for the Lewiston Daily Sun, the “morning” paper published in Lewiston, Maine. Back then, there was a morning paper and an (inferior) evening paper. I showed off photos of grandchildren; we talked about traveling; Taos, Santa Fe, St. Augustine, Savannah. I learned there is a band in Russia called Salem’s Lot. We finished lunch, walked a ways, sat on a bench, talked and watched waves breaking on the rocks of Perkins Cove. And there was a hint of a chill in the air.
On my drive home, I noticed some of the leaves have begun to change color.
O September.
I’m getting ready
fragmented, confused, and erratic
Henri Nouwen – The great danger of the turmoil of the end-time in which we live is losing our souls. Losing our souls means losing touch with our center, our true call in life, our mission, our spiritual task. Losing our soul means becoming so distracted by and preoccupied with all that is happening around us that we end up fragmented, confused, and erratic. Jesus is very aware of that danger. He says: “Take care not to be deceived, because many will come using my name and saying, ‘I am the one’ and ‘The time is near at hand’ Refuse to join them” (Luke 21:8).
three halves
Some days it isn’t pretty or inspirational. Some days it takes more than books, more than quotes, more than walks and fresh air. Some days take more than friends, phone calls, texts.
Some days you just want to make it to the end – to sleep. Some days, I don’t know why, you just show up with the whitest knuckles in the room. Some days it’s enough to breathe.
Listen to the words – be not afraid. And be.
day #660 alternate take – back cove
day #660 – back cove
peace
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. (John 14:27)
#656
Shifting the Sun – Diana Der-Hovanessian
When your father dies, say the Irish
you lose your umbrella against bad weather.
May his sun be your light, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Welsh
you sink a foot deeper into the earth.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians
When your father dies, say the Canadians
you run out of excuses.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Indians
he comes back as the thunder.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Russians,
he takes your childhood with him.
May you inherit his light say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the British,
you join his club you vowed you wouldn’t.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Armenians,
your sun shifts forever
and you walk in his light.
Edge of Atlantic 