1. Love wins.
2. Fried tomatoes for breakfast
3. Such a birdy day: titmouse fledglings, nuthatch, crows, cardinals, goldfinch, swallows. . .
4. Dream visitors: turkey, this time
5. Tomato sandwiches for supper
May we walk in Love!
How would things change if, every time we approached the word God in our speech, we would instead use the word Love? Parker Palmer does this sometimes, and it is powerful: We are made, each one of us in the image of Love.
Would we be less judgmental, more likely to be little versions of Love ourselves?
Last night in the Dreamings, I was in a green field of clover and vetch at the edge of a wood. I was out in the field and standing just outside the trees and looking at me very intently, watching and observing me, was Turkey. I was gathering blue feathers in the field, and a teen-aged boy was walking up the path toward me. Turkey watched. I wanted to be friendly to the boy, but I didn’t want to encourage conversation because gathering the feathers was a private and personal thing for me and I wanted to be alone to contemplate.
I have been reading Jamie Sams’ words about Turkey, a symbol of the Give-Away, the “deep and abiding recognition of the sacrifices of both self and others.” She seems to be a symbol of reaching a new and deeper place. Feathers are gifts to me, symbols of my communication with Spirit, and blue feathers are about finding my voice. I feel like Turkey was watching me, like the “woman of that place” in the Denise Levertov poem, to be sure that I was noticing and appreciating the gifts, both the social and the contemplative moments (especially the contemplative rhythm of summer), the voice, being in the presence of Spirit.
by Denise Levertov
Don’t say, don’t say there is no water
to solace the dryness at our hearts.
I have seen
the fountain springing out of the rock wall
and you drinking there. And I too
before your eyes
found footholds and climbed
to drink the cool water.
The woman of that place, shading her eyes,
frowned as she watched — but not because
she grudged the water,
only because she was waiting
to see we drank our fill and were
Don’t say, don’t say there is no water.
That fountain is there among its scalloped
green and gray stones,
it is still there and always there
with its quiet song and strange power
to spring in us,
up and out through the rock.