Connected Passages

Continued from: Return To the Strange Strands

Scan 47

Her brown pumps pattered over the road of colored glass.  Dark warehouses.  Doors like gay coffins niched in walls.

On a whim, she pushed one open.  No palm trees.  No warm sea.

She’d turn around, that’s what she’d do.  Give the little man a piece of her mind, but she’d never find her way back.  “Never” made her unable to swallow.

She thought she might stand there forever; then something sparkled up ahead, a robe of liquid glass worn by another woman.  She looked down at her brown shoes now turning into sand.

The Right Amount of Passion

Scan 46

I never cared for handsome men.  I mean in the square-jawed good hair way.  Pretty boys do nothing for me.  When I met him in the city, I had a hunch it would be good to spend time together, me being a freak and all.  I think my strangeness attracted him, you know, in that kinky way of kindred spirits, sensing each other’s worth, digging our ugly selves, the parts still cute and unformed.  Anyway, friends say that he’s wooden and a bit of a beast, but I say when love’s there, it only needs the right amount of passion.

Return to the Strange Strands

Scan 46

“Just step through the door,” he said.  “Anyone can change.”

She might have heard the sounds of waves but wasn’t sure.

“Did I ask to?” she inquired.

The man was very polite, but what an odd duck he was.  That just didn’t seem like something she’d considered.  She looked behind.  She couldn’t remember what was there.

The man set down his cane.  “Take as long as you need. “

She guessed they might hold a conversation, but instead she said, “Well then,” and then repeated, “Well then.”

Crashing wave…a warm beach.   A change?   Why not?  She just might be due.

Continued at Connected Passages.

One Reason to Draw or Paint

Alethea Eason:

Simply lovely!

Originally posted on Rosemary's Blog:

Watercolor sketch of Iris from Kitty's garden Watercolor sketch of Iris from Kitty’s garden using Maryam’s paper from France (Moulin a Papier de Provence)

I was in a receptive frame of mind to hear the lessons Frederick Franck presents in his book, The Awakened Eye:  A Companion Volume to The Zen of Seeing (1979).  He advocates for a contemplative way of seeing and of practicing drawing as meditation.  He says:

“I have this life —
of which most is gone —
to spend . . .  or to waste . . . ”

Kitty's iris garden on Samish Island Kitty’s iris garden on Samish Island



“These drawings were done
for one reason only:
to SEE before I die . . .”  — Frederick Franck

“The meaning of life is to see.”  — Hui Neng

Oh, yes.

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The “Good News” of Decline

Alethea Eason:

Yes…smaller can be better. A truer church, perhaps?

Originally posted on The Rt. Rev. Greg Rickel, 8th Bishop of Olympia:

Somewhere along the way I heard it said that the Good News is often bad before its good.    I like that because in living life I have found it to be true more often than not.   Yesterday, some of the big news, even making it on network headlines, was the 2014 Religious Landscape Study, by the Pew Research Center, which revealed that fewer people in the US now claim Christianity, and even more are claiming no affiliation.  It was reported as if this was yet another sad day in the demise of Christianity in our country.  I am certain many of those who call themselves Christian will go right along with that sentiment.   But I would say, not so fast.   Surely this news should not have come as a big surprise.  We in the Pacific Northwest have been living in the reality for quite a while.   In reading…

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Who Am I Supposed to Hate?

Alethea Eason:

I am trying to find within myself a less judging place of myself and those who I see as fundamentalist. To find the place where God’s love transcends our different paradigms. I’m writing a sermon about the grain of mustard seed…which actually was an invasive plant in the time of Jesus. But the point being,that God’s love can be viral and all encompassing. God love us ALL.

Originally posted on Why I'm a progressive Christian:

Progressive 13“But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God— having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with such people.” 2 Timothy 3:1-5

Boy, I see a lot of finger-pointing. If you watch the news, you know there’s a fundamentalist watchlist: the people to avoid seem to be gays, Muslims, scientists, liberals, and poor people. (I’m sure I missed some. Gun haters? Tree huggers?) Liberals, on the other hand, mostly single out Fundamentalists and Creationists (as well as pro-birthers and climate deniers–notice how the language reflects an opinion). But neither of these exactly fit the list above. (And too few people examine their own…

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Fast Forward

Scan 45

My time traveling father left no map of emotion when he set the clock.  What do I say now that I am older?  Decades have passed since he kissed my mother goodbye.  Should we have martinis and watch our photos go viral?  Just before he fast forwarded he said, Space is bending, seconds ago, or a lifetime meandering from that moment to this.  He gave me this jeweled butterfly to wear for our meeting that I left in the tissue paper until today.  The world is waiting for my father to save it, waiting for my brilliant father to appear.

Charms of Eleanor

Scan 45

Dearest E~

You write of the sunflowers and the jeweled moth you found nesting within their leaves.  I opened your letter tonight, holding it for a long time before I broke the seal, whilst watching another moth, a humble gray fellow, dance around the porch light.  I have always felt like the shadow flittering around your incandescence, dear Eleanor;  your words have brought a sheen to this blue night.  I would carpet myself with gray wings and fly to the southern skies.  I would discover your golden body beneath the moth scented flowers, my insect love humble and free. 


Closer to the Spirit


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