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Peter’s playful, profound love of life ranged from the earth to the skies, and from the oceans to the great mysteries of the universe. It was a love that was grounded in family and community rituals.
Days shorten, time contracts, as school agendas / rise in gathering waves, break, surge, and cram / into the mind, intruding on the leisure / of swims, beach strolls, and jetty fishing, / and my marvelling at the blithe ease / of the local seabirds at their play / with wind drifts in a cloudless azure sky.
The ‘no religion’ question is complicated and interesting and connected with social change. We live in a much more complex world than previously. Even in my own childhood, it was accepted as a fact that most people were believers of varying degrees of conviction and form. Agnosticism and atheism were not matters for discussion.
It’s no secret that highly politicised issues seem to elicit strong emotional reactions, particularly feelings of intense anger. But not only are these feelings common, individuals seem actively motivated to seek out stories of tragedy, scandal, and injustice on a seemingly unending quest to feel moral outrage.
When we reflect on how best to live with the consequences of our shared, bloodied history, The Australian Wars calls for a counter-narrative; a re-positioning and re-phrasing of what has brought us to this point in our oft-stalled journey towards reconciliation.
There's something to it, the Advent adventure. Its allure transcends and moves us beyond the corny. The sentimental. When we wade our way through the tinsel, the lights and jolly holly, we find there's a deep, sweet magic to the season.
Especially around Christmas, we Hugheses tend to get weird about playlists. What music do you want streaming through the house anyway? You can get anything at all on YouTube and Spotify these days. My family members, like me, have always been a tad defensive about playlists although there are a few items we all like. But these are over far too soon, and then the arguments begin about whose taste is more execrable.
In all the rush, the crib’s still housed / from last year in the cupboard . . . I wonder / if in all our frantic preparations – beneath the toys, the tinsel, fairy lights / and all the other trinkets, decorations – there’s still within our hearts / and in our whole wide world, in all we plan and do, / even just a minute’s time for you?
This year I discovered Yellowstone, and my all-too-easy-breezy dismissal of the series has changed to respect and continuing interest because it has made me think about humanity and the world. It made me reflect on being human, and what (despite and often because of our best aims and intentions) we might have to do in the world to survive.
so across this bridge of days / lurks a hollowed-out light / picking over the shattered glass of streets / a day when sun / apportions out / this impartial / where the cut & paste / the haste / of swallows is knitting up / all the available light.
The child, Wordsworth thought, is able to witness the divine in nature, but gradually this ability fades. Whereas once everything seemed apparelled in celestial light/ the glory and the freshness of a dream, four stanzas end with the questions Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? We know this development happens to us all.
Wendy Beckett and Orbis Books publisher Robert Ellsberg exchanged letters on a near daily basis during the last three years of Sister Wendy’s life. What began as a correspondence on saints evolved into a joyful and intimate exchange about the nature of love, suffering and the need for daily grace.
181-192 out of 200 results.