T minus 4 and counting

I read something the other day that severely disrupted my perspective on life and the world. At the moment I don’t recall where I read it so I can’t give credit, but the gist of the piece is that, if we lived in a perfect world, and we were perfect, there would be no room for growth, nothing would ever improve or change, because everything was perfect as it was. Since I acknowledge my mild tendency toward perfectionism (others who know me might  describe it differently) the reading left me quite taken aback. I had never thought  about a downside to “perfect,” although I have for some years admired Leonard Cohen’s lyrics in Anthem, especially:

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in. 

A somewhat different perspective on our imperfect but wonderful world can be found in Robin Wall Kimmerer’s essay, The Serviceberry     An Economy of Abundance:

As Robin Wall Kimmerer harvests serviceberries alongside the birds, she considers the ethic of reciprocity that lies at the heart of the gift economy. How, she asks, can we learn from Indigenous wisdom and ecological systems to reimagine currencies of exchange?

For most of my life, I have found fishing to be close to a perfect hobby and way to pass time and enjoy nature. This helps explain why:

“The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable,
a perpetual series of occasions for hope.” John Buchan

The examples above, and many others like them, make me grateful that there are those who are wiser and more creative than I, and are willing to share their thoughts and creations with us so we can improve our own imperfect lives. If you really want to feel humbled and put our troubles and imperfections in perspective, take a look at this recently made available interactive map of the universe. My limited and imperfect mind can’t even begin to grapple with the size and light of millions of galaxies.

Carrying Our Words

Ofelia Zepeda

We travel carrying our words.
We arrive at the ocean.
With our words we are able to speak
of the sounds of thunderous waves.
We speak of how majestic it is,
of the ocean power that gifts us songs.
We sing of our respect
and call it our relative.

 

Translated into English from O’odham by the poet.

 

’U’a g T-ñi’okı˘

T-ñi’okı˘ ’att ’an o ’u’akc o hihi
Am ka:ck wui dada.
S-ap ‘am o ’a: mo has ma:s g kiod.
mat ’am ’ed.a betank ’i-gei.
’Am o ’a: mo he’es ’i-ge’ej,
mo hascu wud.  i:da gewkdagaj
mac ’ab amjed.  behě g ñe’i.
Hemhoa s-ap ‘am o ’a: mac si has elid, mo d.  ’i:mig.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.