Might the old stories be remnants of the Old Gods speaking? Might we be living off the bones of visions of some living story from ages gone by? Through the generations, stories are told, over and over, refined by the hearts and souls of those who have carried them forward from one telling to the next. Stories are passed on, alive, taking on scars, growing “rings” like trees, gaining and giving a little with each telling, and then branching off into other stories. It might be said that the old stories live as long as we tell them. Yet, in this age, we codify, make discrete, enforce and impose academic rigor, enslave and encircle these old Story-Gods until it seems they must languish. However, we keep telling, showing, performing, and sharing the stories as if they were alive. It may be that our time is like any other–a time where the stories take on scars, grow “rings,” gain a little and give a little, and branch off into the mosaic of other stories. So yes, they do find a kind of resurrection in the archetypal expressions of modernity, but something seems to be lost. Is this bad or wrong? I don’t know. It may be that there is a longing for some stories and the sense of loss will help them survive. For it must be that stories need lips, hearts, and imagination to enliven them. This may be why we tell stories.

Be beauty . The tree that is bent is not less of a tree, it is its own beauty. One wouldn’t say to the tree, “you need to heal from your bent-ness” No, we would acknowledge its beauty, admire its resilience, and honor its unique ‘tree-ness.’

“There is no absolute beauty that hath not some strangeness to the proportion…” (Francis Bacon)

I wrote this a few days ago as I was thinking on the notion of healing. Being a First Responder (a career fire fighter) I am in an interesting place. I tend to the sick and injured as a part of my work, I am part of a Peer Support Team for other First Responders, and I must also tend to my own mental, spiritual, and physical health. The reason I wrote the previous paragraph is this. I am who I am, warts and wounds and awarenesses and cussedness. I was born with a plan, “shaped for the best,” as Daniel Deardorff says. I started with all the possibilities this world had to offer—and more! That plan didn’t happen. My promised form was altered, shaped if you will, by the storms of my life and experiences. The result? Well, that is who I am now. Do I need to work on my health and wellbeing? Certainly! There are many things about my life that require attention and tending. However, the core of who I am is simply that…who I am!

So, what about this notion of beauty? My thought is we all worry about our place in society, our community, with our friends, and ultimately whether or not we are valuable. Our culture inundates us with images designed to make us uncomfortable, or feel inadequate and wanting. It does this so the economic juggernaut of our consumer society will keep moving. It demands that we ask ourselves, over and over again, “am I beautiful?” And, it gives us the answer, over and over, “No!”

So, my proposition is this, rather than get caught up in this doomed dilemma of asking over and over again, only to receive the same answer, why not simply “be beauty?

For me? This means planting flowers, having soulful conversations with others, taking photos of stunning sunsets, holding my kitties in the evening, loving with deep and often painful abandon. And, as the poet Rainer Maria Rilke implicates, “Living the question.”