Lately I've been spending a great deal of time sitting (not in the sense of "meditating," though I'm doing some of that, too), teaching myself to crochet again (an idea that began with failure in being able to knit squares of any consistent size and then began to, ahem, hook me after seeing one of my favorite blogger's efforts at crocheting, along with wondering whether crocheting might be less painful to my arthritic hands), and bringing me in closer touch with my grandmother's spirit (she usually had a crochet project going and often had the television on, too) and my dear friend who crochets.
And so, I have watched what sometimes feels like too many Netflix movies (we no longer have TV) and documentaries, with my latest choice four DVDs (titled EARTH AT RISK, Building a Resistance Movement to Save the Planet) I purchased after we walked, with Kipper, to our tiny local bookstore downtown for a talk given by a friend and writer, Derrick Jensen.
So far, I almost always get very depressed after reading or seeing Derrick's work and usually feel overwhelmed and weighted down by the fast-talking layering upon layering of facts (the number of species continuing to die, women raped, in this deadly industrial civilization we live in) presented by him and writer-friend Lierre Keith.
But I will continue to watch these DVDs, which also include a talk by Arundhati Roy, among others, and to crochet (jury's still out on whether my hands are less-pained by crocheting than knitting).
This morning, though, in following what is often my routine of reading from blogs and munching on my breakfast, I came across a reference from another favorite blogger to Tara Branch's work (which I'm also still sampling from via my Kindle) and followed it to this lovely piece, which brought to mind another favorite song of mine that perfectly describes yet another paradox of life.
Are you out of breath? Please, read:
And so, I have watched what sometimes feels like too many Netflix movies (we no longer have TV) and documentaries, with my latest choice four DVDs (titled EARTH AT RISK, Building a Resistance Movement to Save the Planet) I purchased after we walked, with Kipper, to our tiny local bookstore downtown for a talk given by a friend and writer, Derrick Jensen.
So far, I almost always get very depressed after reading or seeing Derrick's work and usually feel overwhelmed and weighted down by the fast-talking layering upon layering of facts (the number of species continuing to die, women raped, in this deadly industrial civilization we live in) presented by him and writer-friend Lierre Keith.
But I will continue to watch these DVDs, which also include a talk by Arundhati Roy, among others, and to crochet (jury's still out on whether my hands are less-pained by crocheting than knitting).
This morning, though, in following what is often my routine of reading from blogs and munching on my breakfast, I came across a reference from another favorite blogger to Tara Branch's work (which I'm also still sampling from via my Kindle) and followed it to this lovely piece, which brought to mind another favorite song of mine that perfectly describes yet another paradox of life.
Are you out of breath? Please, read:
Alter Boy, by Rickie Lee Jones
A monk with a hard on in a lavender robe That scratches his thighs for the height that he strode As he follows a path filled with harried desire And mimics his footsteps and sets his prayers on fire Glad to have chosen that which left no choice To sing without loving in a solitary voice To observe with passion each careful denial The protrusions which give my life meaning for a while Sometimes I see you in embarrasing ways You're brushing your teeth with licorice seeds Standing too close, holding your clothes Smiling at God, the meaning of life grows No, no I'll never tell and I'll never know What candles you light after the show And I'll never tell and I'll never ask The meaning of life after mass
