The embodiment of CONFIDENCE.
As human beings, not only do we seek resolution,
but we also feel that we deserve resolution.
However, not only do we not deserve resolution,
we suffer from resolution. We don’t deserve resolution;
we deserve something better than that.
We deserve our birthright, which is the middle way,
an open state of mind that can relax with paradox and ambiguity.
To the degree that we’ve been avoiding uncertainty,
we’re naturally going to have withdrawal symptoms
—withdrawal from always thinking that there’s a problem
and that someone, somewhere, needs to fix it.
~ Pema Chodron
Labels: PEMA CHODRON
On the third day of rain they had killed
so many crabs inside the house that Pelayo
had to cross his drenched courtyard and throw them into the sea,
because the newborn child had a temperature all night
and they thought it was due to the stench.
The world had been sad since Tuesday.
Sea and sky were a single ash-gray thing and the sands of the beach,
which on March nights glimmered like powdered light,
had become a stew of mud and rotten shellfish.
The light was so weak at noon that when Pelayo
was coming back to the house after throwing away the crabs,
it was hard for him to see what it was that was
moving and groaning in the rear of the courtyard.
He had to go very close to see that it was an old man,
a very old man, lying face down in the mud,
who, in spite of his tremendous efforts, couldn’t get up,
impeded by his enormous wings.
~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez
"A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings"
Labels: Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Surrounded by ragweed and burdock.
The silo, crumbling then, invisible now.
A nimbus of squirrel skulls glowing yellow in the dirt.
My memory as empty.
Did I climb to the barn’s lightning rod, or just threaten?
We weren’t farmers.
In summer, the dead man’s fields, ours via probate caprice,
sprouted gladiolus, blueberries, rhubarb.
We watched bewildered, filled vases and bowls,
but most of it rotted where it stood.
The daffodils still come up without me to cut, rubber-band,
and sell them by the roadside.
Four cars a day came by.
Here’s the rusty coffee can I dreamed full of dimes.
Childhood, by Joel Brouwer
drawing: KAREN BARBOUR