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Salvaging The Future

Michael Helm On The Virtues Of Junk

When we talk of diversity as an important aspect of the natural world, we often leave ourselves out. Yet our personalities are psychic ecosystems, and there is very little in our culture that encourages us to maintain diversity in our personalities. We are pressured toward standardization and specialization. So, it’s a constant struggle to maintain the awareness that we are really complex.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Blind As A Fish

When you’re raised Quaker, you’re supposed to see the face of God in everyone. Which is not always easy to do. When Phil Rowlett invited my daughter Calina to the senior prom, I was kind of proud of it — she was just a sophomore, after all. Later I learned that they slept together that night. Then I hated him and practically broke his arm shoving him into his pickup. Maybe I am a little backward, but she’s my daughter and too damn young!

The Unhealed Life

Sunlight slanting through my window touches the leaves of my plants. The light is luminous and magical, filling the room with warmth and promise. But notwithstanding the beauty of the moment, I am filled with longing — a longing to dance and run, to raise my arms in salutation to the sun, to wade breathlessly in ice-cold mountain streams, to feel the earth beneath me.

Fiction

The Confession Of Jezrine Beauvais

Why you askin me did anyting unusual hoppen that day? I told five people already, an’ I know they told you beka I saw you talkin to em. An’ people say I slow. They all detectives. They tell me you a lady pros-e-cu-tor. That some kinda police lawyer lady, they tell me. So I know you know. But I tell you what you wahn tu know. Yeah, someting unusual hoppened. I had a baby. My first born. An’ I killed it. Now you say you gonna charge me wid a crime. But you see, that baby wasna good ting. It was evil. So you see, I had no choice. It was just the next ting tu do.

Poetry
Readers Write

Peak Experiences

It’s noontime on a February weekday in New York, and I’m on the fourth floor of an old loft building in Soho, with twenty other people in an Intuitive Training class. One of the reasons I took this class was that the wholistic learning center catalog said that there’d be some guided meditation. Until now, “sitting” has been hard for me. Five minutes of meditation and I’m squirming out of control, the noise in my head louder than when I started. Maybe, I thought, with the help of a teacher and in a room full of other people, I could find the quiet in me. Isn’t that where the Self is? And isn’t finding that quiet center vital to the spiritual work I want to do?

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸
Quotations

Sunbeams

This “being oneself” is of course impossible. All the talk about it is the expression of collective lostness, confusion and depression. To say, “I want to be only myself” makes about as much sense as saying, “I want to speak my own language.” One has to express himself in the language he has grown up with from childhood or has learned since then. One cannot speak his “own” language, and moreover, even if one did, no one else could understand it. Similarly, we cannot find ourselves but only express ourselves through archetypal role enactments, and in this way we may also — perhaps — find ourselves.

Adolf Guggenbuhl-Craig
Marriage: Dead Or Alive?

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