Over my outdated corded landline, my dear friend, Berta read me a poem she translated from German. We are keeping distant as she’s 96 and can suffer from weakness in her lungs. I can’t recall the exact words but it was a series of reminders repeated over and over. They were paradoxes. Never forget our uniqueness AND what we share; our isolation AND our connection.
Some shed surface, some knot that is untangled, some thought we can dismiss, a way of looking that distorts the world we can relinquish and let a liquid washing through of light leave us ready to turn the corner look at the unknown as though it were a friend of ours wearing a fresh hat, imperfect as yesterday, offering us tea and the wise choice we couldn’t make before.
At our house, we have a ritual that we practice almost every morning.
It started with a pack of ‘Inner Beauty’ cards, that a friend gave me many years ago. They are kept in a small wooden box. I used to select one or more every now and then, or use them with groups or friends, but then my partner and I began to create a ritual with them. We chose three.