The greatest need of our time is to clean out the enormous mass of mental and emotional rubbish that clutters our minds. – Thomas Merton
My mind is a magpie collecting bits and pieces of shiny things from all corners of my world. They glitter and shine in the afternoon light, no matter that they are simply debris of broken glass or twisted metal from a car wreck. It twinkles and glows in my peripheral vision and I sweep it up and hold it dear. My mind is full of such flotsam and jetsam.
With my broken leg, I’ve had to slow down my movements even considering that I had long covid and was already slow. Now, I’m at a snail’s pace. Life is different when you move slowly. When you must plan outings including a simple trip upstairs to get a forgotten hairbrush. You learn to prioritize, to multitask, and to be patient.
Patience, indeed. This has been a humbling experience. I thought the indignities of long covid were awful. At least with long covid, I could do for myself, it just took me a long time. With the leg, the pain would stop me in my tracks. “I have to sit down now.” “Can you help me?” “I can’t.” all became part of my daily lexicon. The “I can’t.” was the hardest lesson of all.
Continue readingAnn Louise Edison was on the stage at the Whistlepunk Café with her hula hoop. Nobody had thought to limit open mic participants to those reading, reciting, singing, playing, or in some fashion making noise.
I suppose it could be argued that Ann Louise was making noise. The rhythm of the shoop shoop of the BBs inside the hoop creates a beat when she abruptly changes direction. Her hips circumnavigating the globe of her aura. Ann Louise was an ecstatic performer if mostly silent. If nothing else, it was a dance.
Ann Marie gyrated and tossed her hair, those hips going round and round, first in one direction and then the other. Periodically, she would shimmy the hoop from her hips to her ankles, stopping for a moment to concentrate on her knees. Round and round the hoop went. Halfway through her performance, someone offstage threw her another hula hoop. Soon it was circumnavigating the world of her arms, her neck. Ann Marie was blissed out, entranced, in union with the divine. The rhythm of the BBs, the beat of the directional changes, the journey from her waist to her feet, her wrists to her shoulders, her shoulder to her neck. Ann Marie was in motion while standing mostly still. She redoubled her effort and found strength in the kundalini of her spine.
Continue readingThe Right Reverend Edmund Williams Thorne had been banished from the pub for one year, three months, and six days. He had done the math. Sometimes he wondered if it had been long enough for him to set a tentative foot inside the Finch and Purple Iris which everyone just referred to as the pub. In fact, most people wouldn’t be able to dredge up its proper name if asked.
The request for him to leave came on a St. Stephen’s Day when he, the Right Reverend, had gotten deep into his cups and argued with the owner about a complicated and thorny Anglican church piece of doctrine. This isn’t as unlikely as it seems because the pub owner had taught theology at Oxford for 20 years before abandoning the ivory tower for a working-class pub.
Continue reading
W. Va. Fur and Root 