Vale, Annus Mirabilis et Horribilis

With this last post for the year, I farewell what has been both a fantastically wonderful year, laden with lovely surprises, adventures both asked, and unasked. But yet, a tough year, with blisters, waiting, and patience tested. 

Faithful friends fresh and old, new joys and old sores. Great celebrations, and yet also, despondent sorrow. A new journey to be embarked, and yet the past haunts one down the hallways of time. More farewells than helloes. A new community, yet old and familiar. While there is nothing new under the sun, lo, the Lord makes all things new. 

Redeem the days and our dreams, O Lord, and help us to number our days, ere the sun darkens in our eyes.

"LORD, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, LORD. Repeat them in our day, in our time make them known; in wrath remember mercy." Hab 3:2 

Adrift on a great glassy sea...

Do Fish Know They Are Wet?

No. But you are not a fish.

(And happy 10th birthday, long suffering blog, and patient readers!)

Heyr, himnasmiður (Hear, Heaven-smith)

12th Century Icelandic Hymn by Kolbeinn Tumason (1173–1208)
Set by Þorkel Sigurbjörnsson (16 July 1938 - 30 January 2013)
 
Heyr, himna smiður, (Hear, Heaven-smith)
hvers skáldið biður. (what [this] poet bids.)
Komi mjúk til mín miskunnin þín. (Come gently [to] me, mercy Thine.)
Því heit eg á þig, (Thus call I of Thee,)
þú hefur skaptan mig. ([for] Thou hast created me.)
Eg er þrællinn þinn, (I am [the] thrall [of] Thine)
þú ert drottinn minn. (Thou art Lord-mine.)
 
Guð, heit eg á þig, (God, call I on Thee)
að þú græðir mig. (that Thou heal me.)
Minnst þú, mildingur, mín, (Mind Thou, mild-One*, me)
mest þurfum þín. (most need [I] Thee.)
Ryð þú, röðla gramur, (Rid Thou [the] roots [of] wrath)
ríklyndur og framur, (generous and great)
hölds hverri sorg (hold every sorrow)
úr hjartaborg. (from [my] heart-fortress.)
 
Gæt þú, mildingur, mín, (Guard Thou, mild-One*, me)
mest þurfum þín, (most need [we] Thee)
helzt hverja stundá hölda grund. ([while] goes every hour [in this] world.)
Send þú, meyjar mögur, (Send Thou, virgin's Son)
málsefnin fögur, (creation's beauty [and])
öll er hjálp af þér, (all the help from Thee)
í hjarta mér. (into [this] heart [of] me.) 

* i.e. Prince of Peace

On the Road - the year to date

Happy Sukkot, beloved - חג שמח! 

To follow from the metaphors of the last post back in January, it is yet another year of wanderings, trailing through the thicket of things we have become: lost in lengthy escapades, scrummaging through swamps and crag, sometimes silent labyrinthine contemplation, othertimes exuberant celebration. Dusty deserts, majestic mountains, green grassy meadows, soft waters, but always trudging, always travailing, tracking through the wilderness of the years. And the months, they tick by. 

Here we are, at the twinkling of an eye - the sum of all our histories - resting on a "mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam".


What, then, is the sum of all things?

[pix to be filled in]
- womadelaide
- quiet april
- dallas, birmingham, montreal, albany, boston
- weedings: Anna+Nate, Henri+Charlote, Mandy+Henry
- wine education: langtons tastings + burgundy
- trains!
- burgundy, grenoble, lausanne, zurich, basel, copenhagen, stockholm
- inklings of 2015?

Still Alive!

Whoot, I'm back. First post in yonks - the longest hiatus in this blog's decade.

It's been a terribly busy 2012, and goodly thoughts are hard to come by when one's brains are soaked in formaldehyde, and squeezed out like a rag sponge, though lemony as things might be. Not that it was a bad year; by all accounts, it was an excellent one, truly adventuresome and fruitful, but toooooo many things to talk about, and by the time I get my head around it, it's much too detailed to share openly on the blogosphere. Ask me in person, instead!

A restful breather in good-ol Bruny Island and Christmas + New Year break back in the ol-sunnypore helped clear the head some, nibbled to resolve forgotten dreams, renewed misplaced friendships, and tested some notions. 

But rest and a breather I did not get [enough of] ...

So here I am again, two weeks into 2013, standing on the threshold of yet another formidable mountain of a year ahead - exciting, exhausting, exhilarating, existential, exacting, and yet extraordinary. A veritable Kunlun or Nangar Parbat, rising straight, raw and sheer out of the wild crumble of schist and glacier from the last decade's landscape. Yes - niches of respite there will be, to be sure, and rocky outposts and markers with which to track progress - this will be a long winding year, indeed, which much afear'dly will whizz past uncomfortably quickly.

Standing tall, surveying the travail ahead with binoculars: day, weeks, months - aye - years, into the future. Amazed at all laying up ahead: rivers, bridges, great oaks, quiet meadows, scree-laden lonely paths, yet friends and flowers too for company. Sweet juicy fruits from wild trees, baubles from treasure chests stumbled upon, and colourful balloons plucked out of thin air and dispensed with pleasure. A cloud by day and a fire by night.

"Further up and further in!" calls faithful Reepicheep.

Well, here's to rushing headlong into the year, open to possibilities, fueled with Faith, informed by Hope, led with Love, surprised by Joy, guarded with Peace!

O, excoriate my heart of crusty bits. 

Socarrat on paella is fine, 

but Batter my heart, 

O Surgeon of the soul.