The Return

I was astonished to find that my blog(s) still exist in the ether. I'm resurrecting this one after twelve years. Twelve years ago, I learned that my emotional state was still vulnerable to outside influences, and rather than publicly wallow, I just shut everything down.

I've also rediscovered porch sitting. As an academic, I spent as much time here in my now-old rattan rocker as I possibly could. This is where I practiced the bulk of my "divine therapy," the act of sitting, just sitting, and being aware. Inside, I tend to find a Netflix or Hulu show to play in the background while my hands stay busy with yarn or memory games. It doesn't allow for the space necessary to stop listening and thinking long enough to just be.

So, I've started this book by Thomas Keating (and Tom S). Ace had a procedure at the hospital yesterday, and I took it along with me. It's one of a stack that I've purchased with the idea of creating workshops on the various approaches to the Twelve Steps. I read a bit about Father Keating -- enough to know he's a rebel, so, hey, that's my tribe. But, it had been sitting on the table in my office for a few weeks, alongside all the other books that I'll "get to" eventually. We got home from the hospital, and after having a very late brunch with Ace (breakfast sandwiches from Sheetz), he went for a nap, and I went for some porch sitting. Off & on, in between ball tosses for Maggie, I blew through nearly 100 pages. I could have read much faster, but I found myself annotating every page or two, taking photos of pages to share with others I thought might connect with the text, and just closing my eyes to allow Fr. Thomas's ideas to sink in.

I haven't figured out this monetization thing yet, but you can follow this link to Amazon to grab a copy -- or to your favorite used book outlet. I'll probably take a look around and allow some ads, clicks-through, etc. to see if I can make enough for a couple new rattan chairs. These are now nearly 20 years old, and last year, I had to re-cement the rockers. Eventually, I expect one of us (Ace or me) will have our asses go through the seats.