July/August 2025 (Vol. XXXVIII, No. 7)
Dear friends ~ “This isn't the world I want to live in." The thought echoes in my mind as I close the news app, the messaging app, the email app. My lungs wrestle down a gasp of humid Appalachia air in response to the endless feed of Apocalypse I just conjured with thumb swipes across a screen.
No, not Apocalypse. They are, in fact, creation stories. What else to call it when a group of people assesses the world and says, “We want it to look different than this," and then imagines a new paradigm into existence? From idea...to fruition. Creation.
The world existed.
Before anything else, it was all fire: Golden, molten, radiating, relentlessly bright flame.
Nothing was hidden. But nothing could be seen either, because it would melt the eyes. Even God was nervous to approach the world.
God longed for the dark things. Ash meant everything had burned, but it also meant substance had cooled. God could gaze upon charcoal and see all the folds and tunnels that ran through it, marking a flame's path. God could hold it in the hand, stick it in the pocket, carry it elsewhere.
God said, “Let there be shadows, where I can hide from the light, rest from the day, and cool my sweat." A shadow descended over the place God now sat resting.
God imagined the heat itself could rest. God laughed and clapped. “Yes! I do not want to kill the heat forever, just offer it relief from its relentless work. Let it take on another personality from time to time." God filled a tub with silver movement, with blue sploshing. God called the magic “water," and it was good.
Gently, curiously, slowly, God upturned the tub over the flames whose pulsing screams snuffed into a hissing whimper, a relief, another way to exist.
God stopped and looked around the world as it stood. True, many corners still pulsed with energy and heat, but the harshness of it dimmed because there were ashes to replenish the ground. And there was water to offer to the ashes (imagine what magic might now sprout there!). And there were cool, shadowy corners to nap in. Or, God now considered, where one could invite someone else to sit, too.
Now God longed for “Someone Else." It was a desire even stronger than when God had wanted ashes, or shadows, or water. Out of this great desire — this love — God conjured all the bacteria, the fungi, the plants, the animals, the humans. And the world now hummed: with the pulses, the hisses, the sploshes, the snores, the chatter of it all.
in the gift of the present moment,
in the gift of time and eternity intertwined,
let us be grateful,
let us be attentive,
let us be open to what has never happened before,
in the gift of this new day,
in the gift of the present moment,
in the gift of time and eternity intertwined.
How shall the mind keep warm
save at spectral fires—how thrive
but by the light of paradox?
Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.
...But we do have to figure out how to create narratives — amongst people who hold very similar beliefs, but also with those who do not... All of those ideologies are, at heart, antidotes to the deep sadness at the heart of everyday life. We need better ones.
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you"
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don't die," we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don't want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat," “Go ahead — you first," “I like your hat."
We must lay one brick at a time, take one step at a time; we can be responsible only for the one action of the present moment. But we can beg for an increase of love in our hearts that will vitalize and transform all our individual actions, and know that God will take them and multiply them, as Jesus multiplied the loaves and fishes.
If the phone rings, think of it as carrying a message
Larger than anything you've ever heard,
Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.
...When someone knocks on the door, think that he's about
To give you something large: tell you you're forgiven,
Or that it's not necessary to work all the time, or that it's
Been decided that if you lie down no one will die.