Yesterday was my sixtieth birthday. Today we finally got enough warm sun for me to get into the raised bed and pull out all the little trash tree sprouts the leaf mulch left behind. Calming. Centering. The next time the sun reaches one of its heavenly markers — on the Solstice — I’ll be heading into church to marry my sweetie. After a lifetime of journeying, hiding, running, hiding, questing, craving, my heart has found a home. It had other chances, but now it hears the call, feels the embrace, rests on the smallness of it.
Fewer and fewer are the occasions, the durations in which denominational efforts inspire equivalent energy. Love, yes, for religion is key to our life. But not so much with the cultivation and care of institutional religion.
So Politywonk is leaving. My mind returns to that last chapter of The House at Pooh Corner, when everyone knows that Christopher Robin is leaving. Hopefully my changes will not result in the decades of detached neglect that Christopher Robin inflicted on his stuffed menagerie. That always used to be my fear — that if I didn’t do this stuff, no one else would. Nowadays, it’s the opposite: I do it less because so many others do it so much better.
(There might still be posts using this title until after the wedding. And I’ll probably continue some commenting. But fading… fading…)