poetryrepairs #202 v14.07:075
JUDY HOGAN : This Sacred Way [September 28, 2008]
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This Sacred Way [September 28, 2008]  
The most important thing for maintaining the human life force [is] connection to the land... the world [has] become divided between people whose lives [are] severed from that life force and people who [live] close to the land...Those who [live] close to the land [have] a sacred duty to protect the life force. The whole function of the healers [is] to translate the power of the earth into the life force of the human. We [learn] about ourselves by digging into the soil... We should dig inside the earth to find the earth inside us. ---Tibetan wisdom, Eliot Pattison, Bone Mountain Fruit accrues. So does wisdom. We begin so small and ignorant. Suffering enlarges our souls, attunes us to the needs of others and their plaints. The earth and sky, those first Greek gods, give all we need, then take away their gifts when we grow careless and greedy. "In harsher times those who grow food survive better," he said, "but people will steal from us." I said, "I'd rather give food away." I did yesterday when two women brought me wood they'd prepared and didn't need. I gave them figs, pears, peppers, bread, preserves. My food nourishes them as the earth nourishes me. A hundred pears from a tree I fed and watered seven years affirms the planet's vitality and my own. The earth inside me also bears its fruits. When I work harder, I live better. So many peaches to preserve, then figs and pears. Next year apples, too. Even in their molting the chickens lay, fed on weeds and rotten fruit, garden snails and pear peelings. A man knocks at my door. Am I a doctor? No. He wants medicine for his high cholesterol; the usual medicine makes him sick. He saw my flyer on the self-heal workshop. I give him a way he can find alternative healers and suggest eating oat bran cereal, which I eat all winter. This quieter, earth-connected life invigorates me. I don't plan to heal, but they seek me out, tell me their agony. Two houses away, masked men kicked in my neighbors' door, shot father and son, although this is a peaceful place. I do the most urgent work first. Yet I have time to reflect on my close ties to people and to this earth where I have planted myself and settled my roots. Fruiting has begun.

poetryrepairs #202 v14.07:075

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poetryrepairs #202 v14.07:075

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A quick-frozen day, neon through the skylight, peroxide green. A Swiftair letter from London. Everyone's pink. Betty's wage-slavin' an hour-count to wipe out so Gerad spits the coffee grits and the ring tones rev at the Samaritans...   Ruth met death this Passover the itty-bitty Susan grasped that her mom was lame we do not even get her to bawl about it she makes rubble bounce around her dad they toyed with food here at supper he's swimming two jobs too   and after that another call, then another. Do I have the right to smile?

poetryrepairs #202 v14.07:075

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resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition.
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JUDY HOGAN : This Sacred Way [September 28, 2008]

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