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Archive for June 7th, 2014

I really fell in love with the community at WordPress, well, the community that seemed to surround me as I started writing this blog.  And this week has been a great reminder of that kind of love.

There’s something special about connecting, sharing, expressing, questioning, and communing in a way that is heartfelt but free from some of the attachments and “stuff” that we find in relationships with family, friends, and those who are near and far.

The comments I have received this week have been deep, lovely, and so soulful.  I’m glad that people have been moved to share and have wanted to connect intimately.

Deep conversations, like the ones I used to have with friends in college (as we sat by the Hudson River), can be so healing and foster new levels of understanding and connection.

I am deeply honored that you have reached back and shared.

As Namaste would suggest, I honor the light, love, perfection, flaws, and all that is within you, that is within me, and that is all that there is.

Peace, Jennifer

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T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Section V.

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from. And every phrase
And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,
Taking its place to support the others,
The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,
An easy commerce of the old and the new,
The common word exact without vulgarity,
The formal word precise but not pedantic,
The complete consort dancing together)
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph. And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea’s throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter’s afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England.

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple­tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half­heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always-
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in­folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

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