Funny. Things you think will be hard have turned out with a modicum of effort to be easy, while the stuff I thought was going to be easy is turning into road blocks. Still, 10 chapters down. I may be hitting one of those bumps this afternoon.
Blueberry View is awesome. My view is literally row upon row of rust-colored blueberry bushes. Not so blue in the spring. I feel like I’m at a bed and breakfast—sweating words.
Something I wrote this a.m. after spending time with a bit of reading:
Until I entered a cathedralI did not understand space.
Until I sang an 18th century hymnI did not feel the notes in my mouth soar.
Until I had walked in cloister gardensI was not healed of all my unrest.
Until I visited the stations of the crossThe path to death was to be feared.
Until I heard chanting in LatinLanguage was just a tool and words were arrows, Stone Age, useful for the hunt.
Until I lit candles
I sat in darkness; the warmth entered inside of me and shone forth in a place called the heart, but we were really pointing to our stomachs.
When I read the old prayersI cried: to think I am this person.