Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Friday, August 29, 2014

On funerals and other things

“I liked those ladies! They were helpers, and they danced.' These are the words I want on my gravestone: that I was a helper, and that I danced.”
― Anne Lamott, Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith

I love funerals
because they are usually hopeful (all about God’s love)
and kind
(he was a great father, when he really wasn’t all that great)

But they are appropriate
these words of faith and compassion

I hate funerals
because they reveal my own struggles with faith
(does God really love me, really?)
and my own tendency not to be kind to my self
(if they have a funeral for me, probably no one will come)

funny how sometimes
as the evening stretches on
such thought wander into one’s mind

it wasn’t a bad day
I taught a course (it was not excellent, but adequate)
saw some clients (does anyone ever get better from working with me?)
had the annual board meeting for my agency (I still have a job)

and now, as I think about bed
I can feel the fatigue
my neck hurts
and my mind is sore

part of me is just tired and a little down

but part of me grabs hold of the thought
that there were moments when I did help
and did dance

and made someone smile

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