What more, you may ask, do we want? Ah, but we want so much more—something the books on aesthetics take little notice of. But the poets and the mythologies know all about it. We do not want merely to see beauty though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.
C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory
I came to understand that pursuing your heart's desire is a devotional path that requires all of one's effort, and every facet of who you know yourself to be.
By Sofie, from her Journal post titled, The Liturgy of My Hours.
"Gradually my perspective on time had changed. In our culture, time can seem like an enemy: it chews us up and spits us out with appalling ease. But the monastic perspective welcomes time as a gift from God, and seeks to put it to good use rather than allowing us to be used up by it.
A friend who was educated by the Benedictines has told me that she owes to them her sanity with regard to time. "You'll never really finish anything in life," she says, "and while that's humbling, and frustrating, it's all right. The Benedictines, more than any other people I know, insist that there is time in each day for prayer, for work, for study, and for play.
" Liturgical time is essentially poetic time, oriented toward process rather than productivity, willing to wait attentively in stillness rather than always pushing to "get the job done."
Kathleen Norris, extract from The Cloister Walk.
The truly lovely Diana, introduced me to the blog of Sofie and I believe I may have found a delicious new blog to add to my google reader. I particularly enjoyed Sofie's post titled The Liturgy of My Hours ... oh yes.
When the woman you live with is an artist, every day is a surprise.
Audrey Niffenegger.
and sometimes we would dance in the stone street
sometimes I would put my head on his shoulder
and wonder what sadness there was in the world
when the sun could be so warm
when the island flowers could smell so summer strong
when people could dance with such grace
when my heart had a thousand chances left
Amy Turn Sharp, extract from #82 her series, a poem a day for a year.
I love this woman's poetry. There have been so many treasures so far. I'm looking forward to spending a year reading her.
“Because of the routines we follow, we often forget that life is an ongoing adventure....Life is pure adventure, and the sooner we realize that, the quicker we will be able to treat life as art: to bring all our energies to each encounter, to remain flexible enough to notice and admit when what we expected to happen did not happen. We need to remember that we are created creative, and can invent new scenarios as frequently as they are needed.”
Maya Angelou