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so be it

like manna that falls daily, to be gathered daily, not stored, not hoarded. scoop and eat. eat it with your hands, mix it with cows milk for cereal, smash it into patties fried in oil, snort it smoke it devour it. it is a limited concept when you think about it. you can understand why the israelites got a little greedy, trying to plan ahead for your dinner guests. i mean and the kids, they need to be fed early and often. but no, if you store it it goes foul and maggoty.
and grumpy. who wants to eats toasted honey oats everyday, three times a day for eternity?
and then jesus taught his disciples to pray..."our father...give us this day our daily bread..."
i think of the monk's begging bowl filled, whether the tide comes or goes...and my friend gina who, also a freelancer, confessed to napping when she's under-employed, "some days longer than others." she naps because not only are the days long but the agony of 'defeat' is great and rather than flap and squawk she naps. when you know you've done all you can do to find work you rest. that's where i want to be everyday. i have a debt load that could crush a strong gal like me in a breath if i let it damocles dangle over my head...but i have to eat breathe walk smell talk live as if it's all paid.
in this economy we walk a whisper-thin-gasoline-line between frustration and desperation. and when you consider those already desperate and crouched, waiting for a careless match.... POOF!
how do we live?
moment by moment.
it's a hard ever-evolving lesson....

a friend shared this poem with me and i share it with you...

Wild Geese

you do not have to be good.
you do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
you only have to let the soft animal of your body
    love what it loves.
tell me about despair, yours, and i will tell you mine.
meanwhile the world goes on. 
meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain 
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees, 
the mountains and the rivers. 
meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 
the world offers itself to your imagination, 
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place 
in the family of things.-mary oliver


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