09/11/2011 {ephemera}

Ballet at World Trade Center, 1982

(From the New York Times)

* * *

‘Try to praise the mutilated world.’

Remember June’s long days,

and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.

The nettles that methodically overgrow

the abandoned homesteads of exiles.

You must praise the mutilated world.

You watched the stylish yachts and ships;

one of them had a long trip ahead of it,

while salty oblivion awaited others.

You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,

you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.

You should praise the mutilated world.

Remember the moments when we were together

in a white room and the curtain fluttered.

Return in thought to the concert where music flared.

You gathered acorns in the park in autumn

and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.

Praise the mutilated world

and the gray feather a thrush lost,

and the gentle light that strays and vanishes

and returns.

 

—Adam Zagajewski
(Translated, from the Polish, by Clare Cavanagh; from The New Yorker, 9/24/2001)

* * *

 

Gospel of Matthew

 

Peter approached Jesus and asked him,

“Lord, if my brother sins against me,

how often must I forgive?

As many as seven times?”

Jesus answered, “I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times…”

* * *

Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

 

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

* * *

{Travel light, live light, spread the light, be the light}

Advertisement

168

Fire tree

167

Sunday nap

(The dog wasn’t the only one.)

166

Late nights

In which our heroine attends a bachelorette party, has two drinks and dances until 2 a.m., and spends the next day recovering. #old

164

Breaking down

These feel like they’ve almost lost their “cush.” A good feeling, because it means I’ve been hitting the road a lot.

162

Gone bananas

A coworker told me you can gently write on a banana with a toothpick and the message will appear the next day. Oh Internet, is there nothing you cannot teach us? (Of course, I had to try it.)

159

Grocery run

157

Found wisdom

142

Hazy Shade of Summer

I woke up early this morning and wrote for an hour, the very early stages of a project I hope will become important. That might not seem like a major accomplishment for a “professional” writer, but trust me — fear and procrastination are my two biggest hurdles when it comes to personal writing projects. Took the dog for a walk in the soggy heat to celebrate. Even that felt great.

141

Letters & Cents

Confession: I’ll never get tired of them. Or stop being fascinated by the magic that is the postal system. Bytes have nothing on stamps.