Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

All for one, in spite of ourselves.

August 12, 2016


I love to be alone. I do my best work alone, I think, because I don't have to edit as I go (alway the death of creativity, btw). No one is here to 'catch' mistakes or to witness the silly clumsiness that claims quite a bit (okay, most) of my time. I love the pre-dawn--even before the birds join in (which, in my geography, is around 5am). I love the feeling of being the only one up, one of the few with access to all that potential energy floating around, falling out of the dreamscape the rest of the world (well, hemisphere) has been in for hours. 


But I never feel alone, you know what I mean? I'm not a lonely person--I have my people, my tribe, but that's not what I mean. What I mean is that I've never once had the sense, even at the depths of whatever well I happened to have stumbled into, that I was in this alone. 


I've never doubted that we are all in this life together, despite our fear, our anger, our lashing out, our terrible and deadly mistakes. I have to think that because otherwise, what's the point of climbing out of the well?


You and I both know that there is so much work to be done. Who better to do it than those of us whose eyes have adjusted to both darkness and light? 







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This Quiet Earth