As I began my 56th trek around the sun, I was aware of a need to make a conscious shift in practice. Immersed in street prayer and up close with a bevy of evil, these past few years have left my soul tender. The soil is rich and the weeds are plentiful. Challenging is the work of both finding and then tending the seedlings that are worthy. Moving through this next year of life, I would like to daily reflect on where I see these seedlings, the sacred in action.
My writing habit has been to reflect on the news of the day and still I find this worthy. In the throes of a neo-facsist regime, however, the daily accounting is grim and my anxiety grows. Here in this space, one day at time, I want to discover ways to be honest about the world while looking for and lifting that which is worthy.
Yesterday I detoured and shared a rant about the Cardinals, Pride, and the duplicity of the church. I wrote it as a challenge, an invitation, a plea. But it is an example of a weed. Perhaps compelling in the moment but without the sustenance for the journey. Nothing wrong with it, but not what I’m seeking to share in this space.
Perhaps my intention is shown by the image chosen for this project, a bowl of Pysanky eggs showing the intricate designs and too the broken pieces. We who dare to live our humanity are both. This is, for me, the lure of the eggs, the simultaneity of their beauty and imperfection. Their fragility seems a natural extension.
The broken egg in the bottom left was my first brown egg of the season and one that felt right. The line flowed smoothly, the geometry worked, and I love the simplicity of black dye on brown eggs. When finished I was excited to see the beauty beneath the layers of wax. Carefully I placed it in the warm oven and waited for the magical reveal. A few minutes later I heard a “pop”. I looked into the oven and discovered broken pieces and revealed beauty, together.
The more willing I am to come face to face with the broken places and the fragility, the more richly I experience this thing called life. As I become more willing to offer a fledging attempt, the more my capacity grows. On this trek around the sun, I choose to embrace the broken whole, to see the ravages of evil alongside unparalleled beauty, to sit in the ashes bearing witness to the phoenix’ rise.
This is my intention. Imperfect, sincere.