I’m reading a book about the first years of a child’s life called The Wonder Weeks.  It speaks of how the nervous system grows and expands in leaps.  Before a leap, the baby may be more clingy than usual, crying and fussing, and then there’s a leap.

I didn’t post the last two days, unable to formulate cohesion in words, and chose to consider it the gathering pause before a leap.  As I’ve said, I feel in sync with my new grandchild, 13 days old today. I look at him and wonder how we ever go to war, how people come to lie and deceive.  He is perfect bliss right now, and I think of how water, a fluid we are, 60% on average, and on which we and the earth depend, is made up of two gases, hydrogen and oxygen. I wonder what’s coming together in me to form what’s new and currently unseen.  How do I become more fluid, and in that fluidity, more intimate in my flow?

Yesterday I was in Point Reyes Station for the launch of the 9th West Marin Review of prose, poetry and art.  I listened to poetry and prose, and wisdom on why it’s important to bring forth the visual arts. One woman spoke of how creating art forms the mind, and again I thought of how water is formed, two gases coming together to support our living and growth.  In listening and viewing, I felt my head expand out from the news of the day. I could breathe in the air of sensitivity and creativity, exploration of laughter and integration of horror.

Barbara Heenan read from her piece, “Grabbed by the Pussy”. She began, “I owe it all to Donald. Without him it would have been erased forever.” His words brought back an assault fifty years before when she was twenty.

The air cleared with reflection, with gathering and connection as words and images were shared. My aliveness returned; my synapses connected, rejoiced. I’m here, alive, and I believe the world will return to balance, to love and respect for all as we embrace, embraced knowing there’s more than enough for all when we inwardly and outwardly share.

I love the explanation for how this art piece was created

A tree from life

The years held together, folded with ribboned remembrance, gathered and tied with bliss

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