This has been an excruciating week.
As we move through these final Days of Awe between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, may we embrace Quiet and pause often. Inside the loud and raging modern world, may we hold that rage but balance it with the noticing of simple joys, embracing natural beauty and the micro generosities gifted to us. May we look for opportunities for kindness and connection.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
And, where there is pain; where there is death and anguish and injustice and rage—let us be courageous in humbling ourselves. Be brave in asking for forgiveness, and gracious and expansive in our willingness *to* forgive. Forgiveness sets the forgivER, free.
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our
children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we
put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the
shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
— from ‘Perhaps the World Ends Here’ by Joy Harjo
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