“Far, far away, in a land called “Killington” there was a ski slope. It can still be seen from isolated hilltops on certain days, given the right light conditions and a squint. But the earth has grown dark. Dark with the fears of the people. They can only believe what they’ve been told. And what they’ve been told, is dark indeed. So I could not decide whether to wear snow shoes, or go in boots. Or throttle my neck with a scarf, or gird my loins with long underwear. In the end, I stayed home. I made trouble in various ways, then sat late into the night by the wood stove on a wooden desk chair, just staring into the flames, a quiet settling into my rattled bones. What I’d heard in ceremony shook down each of my damaged chakras, in repetitions of seven. And I was able at last to reflect on the difficult week we’d all just been through. Compassion is an unfortunate wound, but for healers the pain must be endured. What does it mean to love too much? To be a mother, protecting her flock, while the flock is still carefree and even resentful of that protection? The prayer is basic enough to have been instilled in children without their knowledge, this: that the world become a place where all beings are cared for and respected. Thank goodness, it works under the radar. That’s the beauty of simple solutions. Be what you are, human, and fully capable of love. No more is required. But pay attention.”
