the scales

Libra (September 23 - October 23) is the seventh astrological sign of

the Zodiac, originating from the constellation of Libra. Okay, I am a

tad biased, since I was born under this sign, (October 20th) but, being

the scales that I am, I'll try to give you a fair and balanced description.

.

Libra is considered a masculine, positive sign. It is also considered

an air sign, indicating compromise and is one of four cardinal signs,

implying action. Libra is ruled by the planet Venus. Also known as

The Scales or Balance, Libra is the only symbol of the zodiac

represented by an inanimate object, rather than an animal or human.

.

The scales have a deeply symbolic meaning for Librans, since the

need for balance and harmony in our lives is paramount. We have a

strong sense of justice and principles, are sensitive to disharmony,

avoiding confrontation whenever possible. WT often describes me as

an iron fist in a velvet glove. I'll admit, I can be a tough cookie, but in

a harmonious, charming way, of course.

.

We tend to be gifted conversationalists, easy going, flirtatious,

intelligent and sometimes gullible. Since we can see both sides of a

problem, we can often be indecisive. Libra is a sign of partnership, so

we find it more difficult to cope with loneliness than any other sign of

the zodiac.

.

Librans need art, beauty, and symbolism in our surroundings.

We are pure romantics at heart and are drawn to attractive things,

lovely people, and have a strongly developed aesthetic sense.

Librans are very much interested in culture and the civilized side of

life.

.

Laziness and relaxation are often associated with this sign, but this is

not entirely fair. While Librans may not enjoy heavy, sweaty, dirty

jobs, (this is so true) we certainly don't lack physical energy,

especially if the work has a creative element. We may seem relaxed

because we often make time to listen and give others a sympathetic

ear.

.

Gemstones associated with this sign are sapphire and jade. Our

colors are shades of blue from pale to ultramarine, pink and pale

green. Our body part is the kidneys, which, amazingly enough,

resemble the scales. Flowers are large roses, hydrangea and blue

flowers in general. Countries associated with Librans are Austria,

Burma, Japan, Argentina, Egypt, Canada and Tibet.

.

So, there you have it. A very Happy Birthday to all my fellow

bloggy Librans!

.

photo from Google images

days of heaven

I noticed this past weekend, as we drove by fields of corn and
soybeans, most had not yet been harvested. There were a few
freshly cut alfalfa fields and the contrasting tall golden corn was so
lovely. Even though I am a city girl, my roots are firmly planted in
the farmlands of the Midwest, and I enjoy basking in their simple
beauty.

The Netflix film, waiting in my mailbox on our return, was Terrence
Malick's Days of Heaven. Synchronicity came into play with my
thoughts of farmland and harvest. I was previously unaware of this
film's theme and had ordered it by suggestion of Netflix; you know,
the "if you liked this movie, you'll will like this one" kind of thing.

As it turned out, this was one of the most stunningly beautiful films
I've ever seen. It's a story about a young man (Richard Geer) who
flees Chicago in the early 1900s after an accidental murder in a steel
mill. He takes his girlfriend (Brooke Adams) and his younger sister
(Linda Manz, pictured above) to work harvesting wheat in Texas.
The photographic genius of cinematographer, Néstor Almendros, who
won an Oscar for his work, and the endearing narration of the story,
by the raspy voiced young Manz, makes for an extraordinary
experience. Doesn't she look like she could be the girl on the left, in
thrashing photo below?

I descend from five generations of Indiana farmers and my DNA was
particularly tingling as I watched this movie. My grandfather
(pictured below, on a thrasher) told me stories of he and his brother
working with teams of thrashers, like this one pictured above, in
Ervin Township, Howard County, Indiana. It was very much a
community affair; the men and the traction engine were rotated
through the farms until all the harvest was in, and the woman would
get together and cook generous hot meals for the workers.

The scene from the movie below, of the dispensing of a blessing on
the field of wheat, before the harvest begins, is especially touching.
Now is the perfect season for watching this gorgeous movie, and
almost time to get out the woolly socks, too. So, do yourself a favor,
and add this film to your queue. It was so heavenly, I'm watching it
again tonight.
.

top photo: Flax worker near Yeovil, First World War, by Horace Nicholls

At a family gathering over the weekend, my dear youngest uncle
surprised me by pulling this string of seven metal fish charms from
his pocket. They were given as Sunday School rewards for
attendance and scripture memorization in our little Indiana church
back in the 1950's. I have such fond memories of catching these fish
on my trusty pencil and string pole in the pond behind the green
vinyl rocker. His sweet gesture brought tears to my eyes.

They immediately conjured thoughts of the biblical story of the loaves
and the fishes, and the creative power they represent. The parable
isn't just about the physicality of feeding the multitude with material
food, but about spiritual advancement, as well.

Through the centuries, the symbol of the fish has come to represent
Christianity, but for me, these charms bring thoughts of love,
creativity, new ideas and the exciting possibility of increase. I
couldn't think of a more appropriate gift, since autumn is my season
of renewal.

goodbye, summer

Fisherman's Cottage, Harald Sohlberg, 1907

.

Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out 'Olivia!' O, You should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me!

.

.

William Shakespeare
from Twelfth Night, Act I, Scene V

pear preserves

I've been getting a ton of hits on the pear preserves recipe I posted last September, so since it is that season once again, I'm posting an encore. They're super easy to make and absolutely heavenly.

Pear Preserves

12 c. sliced pears
9 c. sugar
1/2 fresh lemon, sliced thin

Stir to mix pears and sugar. Add lemon slices. Bring to a simmer and cook over low heat, stirring frequently, until pears are tender, clear, caramel colored and the liquid is consistency of honey. This will take 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Pour preserves into sterilized jars, leaving 1/2 inch headroom and seal with sterilized lids.

*** Note: you can make a small batch, skip the sealing in the jars part and just refrigerate.

wild

overheard at the manor...

*Note: no little people were harmed in the making of this film.

No matter how much space you have,

people always want to be in the kitchen.

.

Keith Johnson

Anthropologie buyer-at-large

.

.

When entertaining at the manor, I am always amazed how everyone

migrates to the kitchen. They never make themselves comfortable

with a drink in the numerous sofas and easy chairs, but instead

flock around the kitchen sink, standing like cattle at a watering hole

in the Old West.

.

I would love to think my cooking is so entertaining, they are

captivated by my vermouth pan sauce or the whipping of

hollandaise. Or they drift in, levitated on the heavenly scent from lids

sputtering on the stove and leg of lamb basting in the oven.

.

But it's something magical and nostalgic. Something warm and

compelling draws us to this savory spot. For me, it's the cozy warmth

from the open oven door, as my grandma checked her pies and that

mouth watering sizzle of fried chicken in iron skillets on the stove.

It's memories of my uncles mixing Kool-Aid in the big pitcher at the

sink, the metallic scent of the well water, the frosty condensation on

the glass and the green mustache I wore the rest of the day.

.

It may sound a bit trite, but the kitchen really is the heart of the

home. It's a place of comfort, where life is sustained. After all,

doesn't life revolve around the people we love and food?

love and belonging

I claimed myself and remade my life. Only when
I knew I belonged to myself completely, did I
become capable of giving myself to another, of
finding joy in desire, pleasure in our love, power
in this body no one else owns.

Dorothy Allison, from Two of Three Things I Know for Sure


My auntie, likes to call me "Swanie", from the Hans Christian
Andersen tale. There was a time when I tried to be someone I
wasn't, always trying to wear a costume that didn't fit. Now, older
and wiser, I've embraced my uniqueness. I realize it's okay to be
me, and have reclaimed myself. I can now truly appreciate
acceptance and harmony.

Auntie, who understood this long before I did, always signs her
correspondence, "with love and belonging". This dear salutation
soothes a certain craving for interconnectedness, a kind of
clannishness. It may be my Scottish DNA speaking, but I think
we all have an inner desire for kinship and society.

photo from google images

A sister hen,
I snatched you
from playground bullies
and hard rain.

We touched tongues,
told lies,
shared gum
and tackled pain.

Fear that flashed
in your eyes,
when you swam
in water over your head,

has passed
now that you are grown
and the cold years
between us have melted

down, like dilly bars
dripped from
your chin.

Willow, 2009

Happy Birthday, Sis.

I love you.

breakfast club

I have six friends who join me for breakfast on a regular basis during
the summer. In fact, if breakfast is not ready, they will make
themselves comfortable and keep me company until theirs is served.
They are greedy little guests and often fight amongst themselves
over the food. After they stuff themselves silly, they take doggy
bags of leftovers home in their fat little cheeks.

Someone came knocking
At my wee, small door,
Someone came knocking,
I'm sure -- sure -- sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked left and right,
But nothing was stirring
In the still dark night.
Only the busy chipmunk
Tap-tapping in the wall,

Only from the forest
The hoot owl's call,
Only the cricket chirping
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all -- at all -- at all!

Someone, by Walter de la Mare

from Collected Poems, 1901-1918

If you are an admirer of the dynamic Georgia O'Keeffe and her
fabulous artwork, you won't want to miss the TV movie Georgia
O'Keefe. The talented Joan Allen portrays the artist and Jeremy
Irons is photographer and art impresario Alfred Stieglitz, her
husband. From what I understand, the movie is not a historical
biography, but more a portrait of a complicated marriage. I'm sure
the chemistry between Allen and Irons will sizzle! Tune in tonight,
Saturday, September 19, at 9 pm et/pt, with encores September
20 at 7 pm et/pt and September 22 at 9 pm et/pt on Lifetime.

To create one's own world, in any of the arts,

takes courage.

.

Georgia O'Keeffe

over the hill

Years ago, when my youngest son was four years old, he was
enamoured by the Dickens classic, A Christmas Carol. It was
approaching the holiday season and he had watched the Muppet
film version umteen times. One afternoon, as a manor visitor was
leaving, he playfully called out, "Bye, old Scrooge!" This particular
visitor, being none too amused, gave him an icy scowl and hastily
stomped out of the manor. I was mortified.

"Punkin, why did you say that?"

"I thought it would make them laugh."

Well, sadly, this person certainly didn't laugh. But what a different
scenario it might have been, if they had. There is an innocent honesty
in the thoughts and actions of children. Many times they can assess a
certain situation to a tee. The funny thing is, this person was close to
the age I am now. Heavens to murgatroyd, I can't imagine a small
child sizing me up and comparing me, of all people, to Scrooge.

There is something absolute in the old adage, "you are as young as
you feel". Happiness is a choice. There is much to be said, in my little
book, for emotional riches. No matter how far on the other side of the
hill we might be, we can make a choice, like Scrooge finally did, to be
youthful in spirit, bringing warmth and generosity to those around
us.

May you be happy in the life you've chosen.

.

(Alice to Ebeneezer Scrooge)

A Christmas Carol

by

Charles Dickens

school days and cars

My sister and I were chatting last week about the start of the new
school year. With my last son starting his (hopefully) last year of
college, it was a relatively smooth process to get him off to school.
A far cry from the days of getting three on the bus for their first day
with new haircuts, shoes, lunch boxes and freshly sharpened pencils.

A twinge of nostalgia comes over me this time of year. I long for
the good old days, when the kids were mortified to be seen with us
in public. This conjures a memory, of just such an occasion, when
our youngest son was a freshman in high school. He hadn't yet
turned 16, and still rode the bus most mornings. One particularly
dark, frosty morning, he was running late, so WT agreed to give him
a lift in my car.

.

It was my second favorite car ever; a cute red Volvo 240, with the
recognizable square body they used make. (That's it in the above
photo, parked at Indiana University, one of the many times I drove
my daughter.) Sadly, my oldest son totalled Old Red and she went
to the great car lot in the sky with nearly 200,000 miles to her name.

My all time favorite was the little red VW convertible I owned in the
late 1970's. It looked just like this picture I found online. Oh, what I
would give to still have that sweet baby today. I have a funny story
about my sister and me in this car, but it will have to wait for another
post.

Anyway, I digress. So, being trash collection day, WT packed a
gigantuous load of trash barrels and junk, having cleaned out the
garage the day before, into the open trunk of Old Red. I am not
exaggerating, it rose 10 feet in the air; all he would have needed was
Granny Clampett in a rocking chair on top.

Son and WT hopped into the car, but being 6:45 a.m., a bleary eyed
WT forgot to stop at the end of the drive to deposit the junk yard
rising from the trunk, and continued out onto the road heading
toward school. As they approached the school drive, filled with sleek
Beemers and Jags depositing kids, Son says,

"Um, you can just pull over and I'll get out here."

"I don't mind driving you up to the door."

"Dad, take a look in the mirror."

put the chocolate in the bag and nobody gets hurt

It is like one of my dreams. I roll in chocolates. I imagine myself in

a field of chocolates, on a beach of chocolates, basking-rooting-

gorging. I have not time to read the labels; I cram chocolates into

my mouth at random. The pig loses his cleverness in the face of so

much delight, becomes a pig again, and though something at the top

of my mind screams at me to stop, I cannot help myself. Once begun

it cannot end.

from Chocolat by Joanne Harris

What is it about chocolate? I found this ethereal dark chocolate

Godiva goody stashed in the freezer for a must need moment.

And that moment is now.

overheard at the manor

WT: Honey, I want a divorce.

Willow: You do??

WT: Yeah, and then I want you to take custody of me.



...............................................................................................

The award thing became too
much, so I usually don't
participate, as far as passing
them along and posting them
on my blog. But, today I was
overwhelmed by the lovely
post and Mermaid award
bestowed on me by this wonderful blogger.
Hop on over and say hello. Tell her
Willow sent you.

after the party

In the late summer, our magnolia tree's seed pods turn a rich,
vibrant red in celebration of summer's end. As I swept up the dried
pods and leaves from the patio floor this morning, I couldn't help but
notice how beautiful they were. Don't you think the small dark green
leaf in the center looks like an ancient Trojan mask? Nature's confetti,
after the masquerade party of summer.

Here something stubborn comes,

Dislodging the earth crumbs

And making crusty rubble,

And looks like a green staple.

It could be seedling maple,

Or artichoke, or bean.

That remains to be seen.

from Seed Leaves by Richard Wilbur

mossy, late summer birdbath on the patio

Scots in Yellow?

Since I am all about tartans this week at the manor, this little bit
of tartan trivia caught my eye. Sorry, Mel. As much as I loved the
hunky kilt clad clansmen in the movie, (the mullet did drive me a
little nuts, though) it seems the medieval Bravehearts of Sturling
Bridge and Bannockburn did not actually wear tartan kilts in battle,
like the one pictured below, designed especially for the film.

Historian Fergus Cannan in his new book, Scottish Arms and Armor,
claims the clansmen actually wore bright yellow linen tunics into
battle. Apparently, the tunics were dyed with horse urine (sorry if
you're trying to enjoy your morning Cheerios) to achieve the rich color.
I'm sure this lovely aroma also helped to repel the English, who as we
know from Monty Python, smelled like elderberries.

publish and be damned

When a blackmailer tried to extort money from the first Duke of

Wellington to cover up a disreputable aspect of his past, the duke's

response was: "Publish, and be damned." He had enough confidence

in himself not to be swayed by this threat to his good name. Sure

enough, his reputation remained unsullied, and indeed he won

respect for allowing the story to be known. He knew the blackmailer

lives off fear, and if one shows no fear, a blackmailer is powerless.

.

The subjects of blackmail and hate mail have been bounced around

a lot at the manor lately. There is something to be said for standing

up for what you know is right, as in the wise words of Thoreau, "For

an impenetrable shield, stand inside yourself".

Rhythm

Since Monday's post, my DNA has been dancing a jig. I've been
pondering the rhythm of tartans, tweeds and all things autumn and
ancestral.


Tartan


I wear an atlas
of unions and creeds
that falls about me
in familiar folds.

Cloak of Irish peat
and Hoosier loam,
Celtic blue crossroads
meet golden corn.

White stone cottages
to American farms,
split rail fences
and rough hewn barns.

Kindred bands
weaved plat maps
and folk legends.
Junctions of wool

draw me
in from the cold.
Long after looms
and hands are gone,

the rhythm of warp and woof
still keeps me warm.



willow, 2009

back by popular demand

Several of you commented last week
about missing the old profile avatar.
Well, I thought the hand was
especially artsy, but I do aim to
please my gentle readers. So,
without further ado, my framed
portrait with the button eyes, not to
be confused with any clowns (please
refer to my footer for my feelings
on the subject) is once again my
avatar.

yumalicious

Willow's Sausage and Chicken Jambalaya

1 large sweet onion, diced
1 large green pepper, diced
1 pound fresh tomatoes, quartered
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 15 oz can tomato sauce
1 6 oz can tomato juice
1/4 cup white wine
1 cup water
2 cups uncooked rice
1/4 tsp thyme
1/2 tsp onion powder
1/4 tsp white pepper
1/4 tsp red pepper flakes
1 tsp salt
5 turkey sausages
3 boneless skinless chicken breasts

Grill sausages and chicken until tender and cooked through.

Meanwhile, saute garlic in olive oil in large skillet. Add onions,
and peppers and saute until tender. Add tomatoes, spices, rice
and stir to mix. Add tomato sauce, juice, wine and water, cover
and simmer on low until rice is cooked through, and liquid is
absorbed.
.
Cut sausage and chicken in diagonal slices. Mix into rice and serve.

This quick and easy little meal is one of my favorites. I made it Labor
Day afternoon and served it with frosty beer and sliced watermelon.
It can be made as spicy or as mild as you like. I like it extra tomatoey,
so I use canned sauce and juice, as well as fresh tomatoes. It's also
fabulous with some jumbo shrimp thrown in.

overheard at the manor

Willow: Honey, we really need to replace these light fixtures.

WT: Why? I like them.

I was mesmerized with this portrait of a tartan clad lady posted by
Pamela last week. We chatted a bit about her and I asked as to the
background on the painting. Although she didn't know the identity of
the woman or the artist, Pamela mentioned the fact that the portrait
reminded her of me. I'll have to admit there is a haunting similarity.

We are all about tartans here at the manor. And as the zesty fall
weather approaches, I am anxious to bring out the soft wool tartans
and tweeds. The autumn and winter wardrobe is always so much
more snuggly and interesting. Last year for Christmas, I gave hand
made family tartan wool hats as gifts; a cap for WT and a tam for
my daughter. WT is known to don his kilt on holidays and special
occasions and puff out a tune or two on his bagpipes. Two songs are
just about the limit inside the manor.

The notion of belonging to a tribe, for me conjures feelings of warm
pride and connectedness. The word "clan", in its original sense
referred to a kindred group. The origins of the distinctive tartan
patterns are shrouded in controversy. To the Gael it was breacan
feile, speckled cloth, but the word tartan appears to come from the
French word tirtaine, implying a European origin.

The earliest written references to tartan occur in the accounts of the
treasurer of James III in 1471 and descriptions of the multicolored
cloth appear in Lowland Scots, my ancestors, by the 1570s. The
"sett" or pattern varied from place to place, so a person might
identify the origins of the wearer from the colors of his cloth. It
appears the earliest tartans were territorial rather than clan-based,
although in many cases the two would have been synonymous. One
of the earliest examples of tartan is a Falkirk sett, a small piece of
cloth used as a stopper in an earthenware pot. The sett was in six
colors, with an intricate pattern and was dated as being made some
time between 250 and 325 AD.

A few years back, I met an elderly distant cousin online, while doing
some genealogical research. She was so kind as to mail me a piece of
my family tartan. It's such a treasure, since all the tartans around
the manor are those of WT's family. I've been pondering what
exactly to do with the fabric. I think I'll just finish the edges, and
with DNA tingling pride, wear it as a scarf. Now, I'll have to keep
my eyes peeled for the perfect vintage Celtic brooch.

Did you know, in order to prevent fictitious tartan patterns, family
tartans are now standardized and must be registered with the Court
of the Lord Lyon in Edinburgh? The Scottish Tartans Society,
established in 1963, is now the world authority on Highland dress.
There's also serious tartan protocol. The Lord Lyon states that a
clan tartan should only be worn by those who profess allegiance to
the clan's chief. (Heavens to murgatroyd!) I promise I'll wear my
tartan with all due proper respect and loyalty. Gee, wonder what
happens if you wear an erroneous tartan?

Mun-dane: Relating to, characteristic of,

or concerned with commonplaces; ordinary.

~

.

I've noticed lately, the older version of myself appreciates the odd
mundane rituals that comprise our daily lives. My younger version
would rush through a day's routine activities, regarding them as the
tedious crap, in order to get to the real stuff, the things I considered
worthy of my esteem. As children, we were forced to complete our
"chores" first, before moving on to other pursuits. Did we learn, at an
early age, to think of this integral part of life as purely menial?

The fact is, for most of us, a major portion of our lives is made up of
common routines. Why not embrace the beauty of the mundane?
Relish the velvety dish soap and renewing quality of water from the
kitchen tap; or the repetitive rhythm of the iron on a fresh cotton
shirt, savouring the warm scent rising from the steam.

Entering the early autumnal season of life, that "I'm invincible; I will

live forever" feeling is beginning to wane. As an artist, I'm one to

naturally drink in the simple details of life. But, these days, that

sweet smell of freshly folded white towels and the comforting hum of

the dryer are extra nice. So, savour the weekend, my bloggy friends,

and embrace some of those lovely ordinary tasks.

Creativity is piercing the mundane

to find the marvelous.

~

Bill Moyer

.

.

PS...Okay, I admit it. I'm experiencing some difficulty in discovering

the marvels of twirling the brush around the toilet bowl.

artwork: by David McCosh, 1930's

overheard at the manor

a phone conversation...

daughter: Mom where ARE you? It sounds like you're at the airport!

.........(((deafening high pitched whirling sound)))

willow: (shouting) The washing machine is starting to scare me! It's

spinning out of control, lifting off the floor and moving toward me!!

daughter: It's the full moon today. Must be some kinda lunar effect.

.

Theme Thursday - Beginning

The end of summer and the onset of autumn usually conjurs thoughts
of death and the closing of a seasonal chapter. But, I've always likened
heavy, ripe, late summer to a woman, ready to give birth. Autumn is
my genesis. Maybe it's because I was born in October, that I am
regenerated in the fall. I consider it to be the start of my year. Fresh,
arctic air breathes new life into my stagnate summer soul. I savor fall;
the cool foggy mornings, the vibrant tones, bursts of crisp, spicy air
through open windows. My zest returns. I can once again think clearly.
I am born again. Ah, soon now.

Genesis



Wrapped
in death clothes
of an August womb

amniotic perspiration
embalms
my ripe
summer corpse

annual gestation
in midwestern sun
cocooned

until autumn genesis
calls this
lazy Lazarus
to be born



willow, 2009

photo: red impatiens in my grandmother's iron pot, Sept 2009

Virgo, (August 24 - September 22) the sixth sign of the zodiac, is symbolized by a virgin or maiden who carries a stalk of corn. The maiden represents a self sufficient individual. Virgo people have a natural modesty and independence. They need to spend time on their own. Virgo is considered a feminine, mutable or introvert sign. It is also considered an earth sign and is one of four mutable signs. Virgo is traditionally ruled by the planet Mercury.

Virgos are in constant motion due to their abundant nervous energy. It is vital that this energy finds a positive outlet, otherwise it will be frittered away into restlessness. They should learn to center themselves and find inner calm, or tension can become a problem. Virgos are known for their ability to be helpful in many situations. Orderly individuals, they are a very analytical and discriminating sign. Virgos strive for perfection and can be critical of others. They may lack confidence and under value their own achievements.

Virgos like to keep fit and physical exercise is part of their daily routine. They prefer a healthy diet, as well as lifestyle. Virgo is the sign of the craftsman. Tasks requiring careful, detailed work appeal to their perfectionist side. In their concentration of fine craftsmanship, however, they can sometimes be so focused they lose sight of the big picture.

Caring professions are traditional occupations for Virgos. Serving others, quiet efficiency, attention to detail, organization, practicality and reliability are all typical traits.

The gemstone for Virgo is the sardonyx. The colors are green, dark brown and navy blue. Flowers are brightly colored small flowers such as buttercup and forget-me-nots. The body parts associated with Virgo are the intestines and nervous system. The countries are Greece, the West Indies, Turkey, United States, Brazil, Crete, and Yugoslavia. Domestic pets, especially cats and dogs, are associated with Virgo.

So there you have it. A Happy, Happy Birthday to all my dear Virgo bloggy friends!

artwork: La Scapigliata, 1508 by Leonardo da Vinci

desire and potential

Peace is never imposed; it cannot be.

It is a deliberate choice, an ordering of priorities.

~

Sister Wendy Beckett

.

I've been pondering the subject of peace lately. Sister Wendy

Beckett says true peace and inner tranquility do not depend on

anything external, but wholly come from an inner balance between

desire and potential. Hmm. But, isn't it a healthy thing to continue

to strive for personal growth and development?

.

Here's the amazing point she makes. "Our spirit is too great for

small and specific happinesses: our potential is infinite. The secret

of peace is determining where this infinitude is, and here is where

the need for balance becomes paramount."

.

Now, I need to find my particular little mysterious spot of balanced

infinitude. How do you harmonize desire and potential?

artwork: Vilhelm Hammershoi