I am sitting on a stunning wool carpet, and looking every so often out the window, at a woods with naked trees, and soft white snow. I am once again in Ontario. Ottawa. The part of the country where justice is talked about, negotiated, laws written, winced at, winked at, believed. Broken. Birthed. And where I yearn to engage ever-further in how justice as a lived and living experience is a twinned-sibling of literature, art, pain/t, poetry, passion, love, loss, and life's ever-present call out to us to thrive. My time in theology school was as if a tsunami of talk to and from my soul about the fact that to survive is but a pale relation of thriving. Seeking Circle Reconciliation for Conflict was too new, for now. "God/de works in Mysterious ways." Respect; Responsibility; Relationship: Restorative Justice's framing mantras within the Crucible of Sawbonna, means to trust all that happens, even when it draws from us vs. them. Trust is surrender. Trust does not mean acceptance of incongruities or dismissal or being expelled. Trust means that Life speaks Her voicing, in Co-Creative clarity, and we are allowed to be the very change we wish to see. Delighting in our voices, choices, shared in kinship. With Love. Via Grace. In Communitas.
I am reading, Still Alice. Alzheimer's is Alice's engagement
with life, at the age of fifty. In moments I am terrified about "my"
life. I can barely breathe as I read of her decline. No longer able to
use words. No longer able to know. But what is it that we know? We know
systems, rules, regulations, ways to eat, and where to live, clothing,
for warmth and coolness. I yearn for creative fire and desire and a
passion that means I must fly. And in I fling myself. My very flight into and because of
the one and only wound we all share: that we will die. That knowing this, is the
healing. The healing that tells us that to be hale is not to step away
from or be afraid of our fears. Is not to step only into and because of
safety. No. To be hale, whole, holy-crucibles of life's calling out, is
to reach out, reach in. In and with community. To love. To be loved. And
to be in the only walk that beckons. That walk is the now. The now
contoured in creativity's song, sigh, and raw-fierce screaming. I howl
now. Howl. Ravenous RavenSpeaking. Seeking. Being sought. What will I
find in London? What will I eat? And I am starved. Again. The Trees
know. A Sawbonna film. A new script. An old story. Ancient rubble of bones. And life wills only
Life. I unearth. Am unearthed. Resurrected. Again. Sawbonna: I see you. And your story matters. Our stories matter.