As I prayed today, I felt moved by the god El to take time to remember and appreciate how my beloved dead have enriched my life and how their existence has enriched the world..
My beloved dead are not perfect, nor am I. Being a human being in many relationships and taking part in the history which is the ever-present, ever-blooming gift of now, is complicated, nuanced. As we're healing the world, we're not yet living in the healed world that we're co-creating, thus we are acted upon and acting in the temporal cultures that we are surrounded by. As limited beings, we can learn but cannot access knowledge we do not yet have, and thus cannot answer a question with tomorrow's understanding.
It is to them, my beloved dead, that I listen. They are good people. They are ethical and kind. They know different things and have different perspectives. It is because of their work, their play, that I grow. It is because they have lived and they had learned, loved, and gained in wisdom that I can be here today. It would be a splendid thing to name names but knowing the current general weather of the internet, a-bluster and a-fluster, and the particular eccentric jet stream which affects my spaces, I think it may not be as wise now as it could be in the grace of possibilities and unfolding futures. With no "hashtags," no gimmicks, no clickbait or gotcha-lines, no fanfare, I write. In secret I keep their names, and in secret I count them like prayer beads strung on threads of linage. May they be healed and comforted; may they be wrapped in love. Like tiny candles of memory, I cause to light up a few pixels. Stardust on the web.
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