Sometimes, it’s just a little rough around the edges, gravel on the margins. A bit dingy, a trifle moldy. Beauty is less obvious, but resides there nonetheless. It is slightly irreverent, a bit heretical, and altogether obtuse – just the way we like it; we’d have it no other way. Get into it, wear it like skin, drink it like bathtub gin. A little dab will do ya, and the patches that you sew and the ragged cloth and the scrabble will indelibly leave their mark, a scar, a scab, a badge of honor, and we are better for it. For the tatters of life we give thanks. Blesséd be, and Amen.
pmacott on Spiritual Navigation dan on The Ear of the Beholder pmacott on We are Enough pmacott on New Beginnings pmacott on Day 128