We are but a vessel. Following a thread of an idea, a myriad of red strings, hopes and dreams, veins and muscles that connect us to the thought of who we are, and then to the concrete ground and back again. On and on. When a glimpse of an image catches on, it travels that path – inward and outward, manifests itself into a line, into a life unfolding in space. This tree was torn apart, but I believe that it is whole nonetheless. Connected from stem to broken trunk by invisible lines of life and death.
We headed south to Boston for a breakfast rendezvous with the (wondrous) sister of a dear (and wondrous) friend from back home and ended up staying a couple of nights at her place. Her hospitality facilitated numerous chance encounters and leads for our journey – from a radiant English Literature Professor to an awe-inspiring Palestinian peace activist to a very elderly but extremely sharp art critique to a Buddhist temple and eventually to the Mayor/Supervisor’s office in Woodstock NY, where that particular thread tapered off. Some of these people and stories you can already see on other posts on this blog or on the ever-growing Community Hearts page. The others will probably join in the future. But back to the Boston sister. Behind the house there is small garden, a serene and simple place where some plants are grown intentionally and others burst from the compost infused ground. As we prepared to get back on the road, our host and the garden gifted us with an offering of mint, basil and grapevine leaves that have vastly improved our culinary experiences in the days since.
We are grateful to both.