Matins to Evensong

When the world is showing its extra cruel side, it’s time to find the peaceful center of my personal universe. I will keep mourning the lives and loves lost, the battles still raging, the injustices not yet righted, and the imperfection of a reality where children still starve, books are still burned, and toxic waste is still piling up around our midriffs.

Solace isn’t a solution, but it’s a balm that eases the troubled spirit. And what is my solace? A quiet moment calming my thoughts. The love of my nearest and dearest ones drawing me close, or building a safe perimeter around me when I need one. Music, music of almost any kind, has enormous palliative power. Writing a little something or a little nothing. Making a photograph, a drawing or a painting or a mixed media concoction of some sort: while the end product may have some measure of use in righting my inverted innermost, it’s the process that matters. The practice. The act of making–creating, bringing newness into being, starting afresh. That’s what carries the healing and renewing power. What carries me through the cold hard world when it’s not catering to my taste.

For such resources I’m endlessly grateful.