To dream
Is to stand at the Gate of Creation,
arms akimbo, one foot planted firmly
at the Edge of Eternity.
The other foot solidly moored
In the Patterns of Reality.
Your body humming with the Eternal Dichotomy of advancement
and retreat as one’s life proceeds
to the warm, unknowable embrace of non-being.
Part faux Republican presidential campaign, part art project, with its candidate drawn from Greek mythology, Cassandra 2020 resists categorization. It has taken the form of community conversations, performance protest, video art, and guerilla sign-drops. It has been supported by a constant flux of contributors and co-creators, many of whom are also Quaker.
A couple years ago, I took my white family to see the Langston Hughes production Black Nativity in a small church in a historically Black neighborhood in Portland. The pews were packed, and the performance space overflowed into the audience. We were specifically invited to sing and stand and move as we felt led.
Who needs magic letter-counting
or a network of psychic friends
when the last poem I wrote
was about seeing the face of God
in the rind of an orange I had forgotten
I’d left in a desk drawer the day before?
Sliding forward, upward pucker
soft and fresh, pore
to first slick of spring dew.
An ancient etymology.
Syllables underfoot
unfolding across continents,
thousand-year scroll unscraped,
each overwritten character
layering through, spelling new words
with old ink,
Not long into the COVID-19 lockdown of April 2020, I attended a video-conference headlined by Dahni Jones, an entrepreneur and former NFL linebacker. Jones brought his trademark energy and smile to his presentation, and he left me with a singular thought: “Don’t count the days; make the days count.”
Friends follow rules both spoken and unspoken; these guide our practices and behaviors, and they change over time and distance. In some cases, rules may have been followed long ago for good reasons, but are no longer common practice now. Similarly, what is standard in one meeting might be unusual in another.
Whether they are cheerfully sort-of-deist or in-fact, stone-cold, out-and-out Jesus Freaks, Quakers of a certain generation, across the spectrum, agree that the movie Groundhog Day is scripture. Today, with all of us living Groundhog Day all the time during COVID, Friends are advised to share this scripture with newcomers.
The best college class I ever took was called “Design” and was offered by the Art Department at the University of Oregon during the summer of 1967. There were two sections. One section had a textbook, and studied things like color theory and perspective. By some lucky chance I ended up in the other section, taught by Dr. Stannard, a gifted artist and potter of worldwide renown.
Once there were three women, each in her own kitchen.
