The question we need to ask ourselves is whether there is any place we can stand in ourselves where we can look at all that’s happening around us without freaking out, where we can be quiet enough to hear our predicament, and where we can begin to find ways of acting that are at least not contributing to further destabilization
The paleontologist Teilhard de Chardin carried a notebook in which he had written, among other things, a morning prayer:
“Be pleased yet once again to come down
and breathe a soul into the newly formed, fragile film of matter
with which this day the world is to be freshly clothed.”
“It is believed that the onion originally came from India.
In Egypt it was an object of worship — why I haven’t been able to find out. From Egypt the onion entered Greece and on to Italy, thence into all of Europe.”
Better Living Cookbook
When I think how far the onion has traveled
just to enter my stew today, I could kneel and praise
all small forgotten miracles,
crackly paper peeling on the drainboard,
pearly layers in smooth agreement,
the way the knife enters onion
and onion falls apart on the chopping block,
a history revealed.
And I would never scold the onion
for causing tears.
It is right that tears fall
for something small and forgotten.
How at meal, we sit to eat,
commenting on texture of meat or herbal aroma
but never on the translucence of onion,
now limp, now divided,
or its traditionally honorable career:
For the sake of others,
Naomi Shihab Nye
When we wake up in bed on Monday morning and think of the various hurdles we’ve got to jump that day, immediately we feel sad. Bored and bothered.
Whereas actually we’re just lying in bed.
There are years that ask questions and years that answer
Zora Neale Hurston, 1891 – 1960 African American author and anthropologist
Through the most simple things which we do all the time,
we can feel out to which degree we honor everything with our inner attention.