Real apologies require real change by the offending party. And they don't include disclaimers. We haven’t changed the way we treat the Native People of this continent, and so we have nullified the apology. I’m sure the Standing Rock Sioux and all the other Native People were not surprised, considering how long they've known us. It’s who we are, we who apologize through the clenched teeth of war-making.
Seven years ago, she was homeless, addicted and lost. But she found one of those programs that is so out of fashion these days, and they helped her get sober and get a job. It’s not a great job: she starts her workday at 5:00 AM, makes the minimum wage, and she works really hard. There’s no extra money, and her idea of a great day is sitting at home, curled up on the couch, reading.
The convenient thing about religious afterlives is that no one can prove whether or not they exist, since you have to die to find out. So, in spite of the weird little cults like the one I grew up in, or the Transhumanist Church of Eternal Life (which is of course, in Florida, the universal epicenter of old, dying people and weirdness itself), eternal life is entirely subjective. Unless you’re a jellyfish.
Without apostasy, Christianity would never have had a St. Paul, who was an apostate Jew. Without heresy, Christianity never would have had a Martin Luther, a John Calvin or a Michael Servetus.
We think dirt is something to get rid of, to wash off, and to be honest, to be a little ashamed of having on our hands. We call this place we live “Earth,” with not a trace of irony. But we forget what earth is. It’s just dirt. God’s own dirt. And we don’t work it at all.
Mothers kiss their sons goodbye, knowing from the moment they first hold them to their breast that one day they will be gone. A father, on the other hand, believes that his daughter will always love him first, no matter whom else she loves. He is certain that his little girl, who long ago grew to be a woman, and whom he loves more deeply than any creature he has ever beheld, will always, always, love him the way he loves her. There could be no more perfect love than the love of a father for this woman who is bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh.
Hello darkness, my old friend I've come to talk with you again.—Paul Simon, The Sound of Silence We eat light. No, really we do. A seedling strains against the ground, pushing, pushing, until its little head pokes through. At that moment, a remarkable thing happens: the tiny plant takes its first breath. It starts with … Continue reading Darkness-A Meditation for Lent, Day 24
She is often blindfolded, holding a sword with her right hand and a set of scales with her left. She is an ancient, from worlds long ago, when Gods came down to live among humans. She is Lady Justice, and her images adorn courthouses and legislative buildings across the world. The blindfolds mean that she … Continue reading Justice-A Meditation for Lent, Day 23
You know I'm yours for just the taking I would gladly surrender myself to you, body and soul.—Body and Soul, lyrics by Edward Heyman, Robert Sour and Frank Eyton, music by Johnny Green It was her last record before she joined the 27 Club: that impossibly tragic group of talented young musicians who managed to … Continue reading Body and Soul-A Meditation for Lent, Day 22
I took the dogs out for a walk below silver clouds swirling, wind lifting the skirts of the trees. Thunder. We turned the corner. The first drop hit my the tip of my nose, my glasses suddenly more blurry than they usually are on cataract softened eyes. I walked with my tongue out, hoping to … Continue reading Chance of Rain Tonight-A Meditation for Lent, Day 21