American Novelist and Non-Fiction Writer
American Novelist and Non-Fiction Writer
It really IS easier to experience spiritual connection when your life is in the process of coming apart.
I've gotten endless signs of the greatness of God's love and hilarious care, but I always end up needing a newer sign, maybe one that is cuter and more spangly.
Let's not get bogged down on whom or what we pray to. let's just say prayer is a communication from our hearts to the great mystery, or Goodness, or Howard; to the animating energy of love we are sometimes bold enough to believe in; to something unimaginably big, and not us. we could call this force Not Me, and Not Preachers Onstage with a Choir of 800. or for convenience we could just say God.
Love falls to earth, rises from the ground, pools around the afflicted. Love pulls people back to their feet. Bodies and souls are fed. Bones and lives heal. New blades of grass grow from charred soil. The sun rises.
Most of us don?t notice how great we look until years, even decades later. Not long ago, I was looking at photos of myself at various ages and weights?way before the neckular deterioration began, way before the fanny pack of menopause?and I could see how gorgeous I must have looked to everyone else.
My theory is that, as with our children, as with every surface of that geodesic dome inside the 8-Ball, every age we've ever been is who we are.
Now, Muriel Spark is said to have felt that she was taking dictation from God every morning-- sitting there, one supposes, plugged into a Dictaphone, typing away, humming. But this is a very hostile and aggressive position. One might hope for bad things to rain down on a person like this.
Only God can put Scripture inside. But reading sacred text can put it on your hearts, and then when your hearts break, the holy words will fall inside.
Perfectionism means that you try not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived.
Rest and laughter are the most spiritual and subversive acts of all. Laugh, rest, slow down.
She lived in fear of ifonic endings.
Some aching beauty comes with huge loss, although maybe not right away, when it would be helpful. Life is a very powerful force, despite the constant discouragement. So if you are a person with connections to life, a few tendrils eventually break through the sidewalk of loss, and you notice them, maybe space out studying them for a few moments, or maybe they tickle you into movement and response, if only because you have to scratch your nose.
Talking to the parents of older kids was helpful for me, since the parents of kids the same age as yours won't admit how horrible their children are... you can either practice being right or practice being kind. Screaming in the car helped.
The good news is that if you don?t seal up your heart with caulking compound, and instead stay permeable, people stay alive inside you, and maybe outside you, too, forever. This
The speaker at the meeting, a blonde woman in a fine tailored suit, shared how alcoholism had stolen her own childhood, and had now come back for her child.
There are few experiences as depressing as that anxious barren state known as writer's block, where you sit staring at your blank page like a cadaver, feeling your mind congeal, feeling you talent run down your leg and into your sock.
These are pictures of the people in my family where we look like the most awkward and desperate folk you ever saw, poster children for the human condition.
This is all that restoration requires most of the time, that one person not give up.
To be engrossed by something outside the rational mind, the mind that so frequently has its head up its own ass--seeing things in such a narrow and darkly narcissistic way that it presents a colo-rectal theology, offering hope to no one.
Very few writers really know what they are doing until they?ve done it.
We stitch together quilts of meaning to keep us warm and safe, with whatever patches of beauty and utility we have on hand.
What finally helped was an image from a medieval monk, Brother Lawrence, who saw all of us as trees in winter, with little to give, stripped of leaves and color and growth, whom God loves unconditionally anyway. My priest friend Margaret, who works with the aged and who shared this image with me, wanted me to see that even though these old people are no longer useful in any traditional meaning of the word, they are there to be loved unconditionally, like trees in the winter. When
When I asked Father Tom where we find God in this present darkness, he said that God is in creation, and to get outdoors as much as you can.
When you are on the knife?s edge?when nobody knows exactly what is going to happen next, only that it will be worse?you take in today.
Wish there?d been a shortcut, but the wound.