Nurturing hope
Tunes for a Monday Morning

Walking. Dreaming. Breathing,

Tilly in the autumn woods

"What hope is there for individual reality or authenticity," asks novelist and essayist Ben Okri, "when the forces of violence and orthodoxy, the earthly powers of guns and bombs and manipulated public opinion make it impossible for us to be authentic and fulfilled human beings?

Light on the hill

"The only hope is in the creation of alternative values, alternative realities. The only hope is daring to redream one's place in the world -- a beautiful act of imagination, and a sustained act of self-becoming. Which is to say that in some way or another we breach and confound the accepted frontiers of things."

Autumn in the woods

"In a world like ours," he adds, "where death is increasingly drained of meaning, individual authenticity lies in what we can find that is worth living for. And the only thing worth living for is love.

"Love for one another. Love for ourselves. Love of our work. Love of our destiny, whatever it may be. Love for our difficulties. Love of life. The love that could free us from the mysterious cycles of suffering. The love that releases us from our self-imprisonment, from our bitterness, our greed, our madness-engendering competitiveness. The love that can make us breathe again."

Autumnal hound

The passage by Ben Okri above (and the quotes tucked into the picture captions) are from A Way of Being Free (Phoenix House, 1997); all rights reserved by the author.


The New Moon approaches, and the intent with which my dreams chum (like clouds and exhaling trees) the potency of my Ancestors' chanting. Cause me to open up that tentative heart of mine. That makes room for all the love waiting in the spaces between my lungs. Ah, ha, there, here. No greedy taking. Just exhalations making room for more magic. I have a grandson coming to chum with very soon. This New Moon is filled with hope, and love and the resiliency of all the Ancestors' remembering.
New Story. Old Story. More Story. Walk with me. Chum. Breath. Yes we can. Yes we do.

Beyond A Thing With Feathers

Hope is the magic of the people
invoked to rise and sprawl
like mushrooms after rain, like moss over rock
left moist from the melt of snow.

like song in the throats of women
working their loom or wheel
to revive an ancestral craft, a latent wisdom.

Like the tremble of leaves
when the white deer has leapt
out of the shadows and wonder vibrates
throughout the wood.

The beautiful pulse
of something known yet unknown,

the joy of moving those
who have witnessed the spell
of a scene opening, a story beginning to breathe.
Thank you Terri
for this wondrous essay/perspective by Ben Okri. It is indeed very moving and makes so much sense, both inspiring and intense!!

My best to you and your family,
Take care,

Take care

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