from BARDO

The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.

Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made

is star-stuff too?

– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –

dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.

Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.

Roselle Angwin

Sunday, 5 August 2012


Times when the dance can last all night
and times when the only answer is silence...

Over the last six years life for me has been very challenging, with a lot of family losses and traumas. I've continued working on very little sleep and extreme levels of stress. Of course, being human, this is not possible long term and somewhere in me the well I draw on for everything, including my work, is under threat of drying up.

And yet life renews itself whether or not we will it, and cycles continue. This week, suddenly, there are changes afoot that will make a difference. And too I've noticed lately again that the right people, at the right time, in various areas of my life have offered generous sustenance to me; and despite my often bloodyminded independence I have said yes, with thanks, and accepted help.The timing has been crucial, and I'm full of gratitude for the way this universe comes up trumps; and for the people in my life who have the generosity of heart to see what needs doing and who simply do it.

The latest of these gifts is a small secluded place to retreat to for a week where I shall have solitude and silence and rest in the company of my dog and of wildlife. As a communication-addict I'm aware that not to access the internet or my mobile, and not to make arrangements to speak to or meet up with friends, will bring demons as well as blessings my way. So, my friends, more in a week.

And again in a timely way this arrived in my inbox this morning from Tricycle (Daily Dharma): 

The Refuge of Silence
'Silence arrests flight, so that in its refuge, the need to flee the chaos of noise diminishes. We let the world creep closer, we drop to our knees, as if to let the heart, like a small animal, get its legs on the ground.' (Barbara Hurd, 'On Silence')

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