life itself, I guess

Sometimes I wish it were, but I just can't do it, and so +Time is not a spiritual blog as some I read and have read and enjoyed over the years. Of them, Fr Richard Rohr's Daily Meditations, especially when I'm down and needing it, and also because his no nonsense Franciscan theology fits my own. And, again as I've said recently, "The Daily Sip" by a backed-away Episcopal priest and seeming mystic, though he may not see himself that way, Charles LaFond, and potter, how closer to the Bible, spiritual and meditative life could one be than potter, and his works of art are unimaginably lovely.

http://thedailysip.org/2019/08/10/tenacity-and-gratitude/

I like that he doesn't seem to force himself to write and post daily, but apparently at whim; and I've enjoyed following his pilgrimage, he lives alone with Kai-the-dog and they live and move around over various years and live wherever. 

Most appealing to me so far is Whidbey Island at Puget Sound, Washington, which I love and from time to time have wanted to live there. In Navy days and after, I loved visiting the Seattle area, walking the waterfront, buying and sipping steaming hot "clam nectar" and eating salmon prepared every conceivable way; buying a portion of smoked sliced salmon lox and loaf of bread and a bottle of beer for the ferry ride across Puget Sound, sitting high in the lounge and enjoying them and the matchless scenery. Though Ray Wishart told me that bringing beer aboard is no longer allowed. I've not been there in so many years, 1983, I reckon. Now I'm missing Ray, which from time to time is so painful that I don't let my mind go there.

No ethereal BS, Charles is more a pragmatic mystic, and the "tenacity and gratitude" post (above) hit me just right, reading it again this morning as we continue to unpack boxes and resettle into 7H, which truly is becoming better than ever. The process is interesting because we've said that we got along without all this stuff for the ten months' HMichael Exile, clearly we don't need it, to the dumpster with it; only to open box after box and be delighted over and over again to see old things and friends and memories without which we could not possibly live, and the place grows and fills with our years.

T