where the feet land & the heart soars..
Place is sacred to us; but our real place is community. Wherever community appears, spirit descends. We may have to make our own communities, wherever we can find them; we cannot always choose our place. But we can from time to time return to our roots, the sacred things in our lives- and ‘know the place for the first time.’ This is the overt mark of what we might call the sacred; the conviction that some places are intimately bound up with divine presences……Louise Cowan
our homes are not always refuge….neither are our families….it seems to vascillate, like an untethered boat….happy to be free, but always searching for home…maybe home really is about our soul-spirit…….about looking out & then looking back in…..
Only in America do the towers rise with no one in the streets. The cars circle endlessly on the freeways around the blank and glittering slabs. The suburbs stretch out without end; new battalions of towers suddenly shoot up among them. The energy is enormous, the power overwhelming; everything of any age that stands in its way is swallowed up by it. The old, along with the poor, are helpless before it. There is no center. With the landscape, there seems to be no relationship at all….Vincent Scully
we search for home again & again & again…..
There is ground for taking the house as a tool for analysis of the human soul. With the help of this tool, can we not find within ourselves, while dreaming in our own modest homes, the consolations of the cave? Are the towers of our souls razed for all time? Are we to remain, to quote Gerard de Nerval’s famous line, being whose ‘towers have been destroyed?’ Not only our memories, but the things we have forgotten are ‘housed.’ Our soul is an abode. And by remembering ‘houses’ and ‘rooms,’ we learn to ‘abide’ within ourselves. Now everything becomes clear, the house images move in both directions: they are in us as much as we are in them…..Gaston Bachelard
Make Believe Boutique 
Sonnet LXIV
When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed,
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose
Poignant. We do not have the soil beneath us. The ultimate rumination on our transparency & impermanence. Love the line ‘increasing store with loss, and loss with store.’ Thanks for keeping the poet-soul light burning g.f.s….