RSS Feed

Author Archives: bringforth

Know Yourself

“The surface of the Earth is the shore of the cosmic ocean. On this shore, we’ve learned most of what we know. Recently, we’ve waded a little way out, maybe ankle-deep, and the water seems inviting.

Star Stuff

Some part of our being knows this is where we came from. We long to return, and we can, because the cosmos is also within us. We’re made of star stuff. We are a way for the cosmos to know itself.”

Carl Sagan



Real Love! Real Love! Read All About It!

Posted on

Amy Krouse Rosenthal leaves a legacy of love through her words and her deeds.



“One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.”

Paulo Coelho


We Need To Fight

We need to fight for more love.

We need to fight for less hate.

We need to fight for more compassion.

We need to fight for less division.

We need to fight for more inclusion.


And we need to remember that we rise and that love always, always, always, and against all odds, trumps hate.

What Love Looks Like

“What does love look like? It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men. That is what love looks like.”

St. Augustine


There Is Always a Sister Ship

But, we each have a responsibility to pick our ship and to sail forth on the winds of our fears, our uncertainties and our joys.

As Tomas Tranströmer beautifully expresses, there is always another way but we can’t know them all and so we must choose to love the ship we are on. The one we choose while sailing past whatever else might have been.

The Blue House:

It is night with glaring sunshine. I stand in the woods and look towards my house with its misty blue walls. As though I were recently dead and saw the house from a new angle.

It has stood for more than eighty summers. Its timber has been impregnated, four times with joy and three times with sorrow. When someone who has lived in the house dies it is repainted. The dead person paints it himself, without a brush,  from the inside.

On the other side is open terrain. Formerly a garden, now wilderness. A still surf of weed, pagodas of weed, an unfurling body of text, Upanishades of weed, a Viking fleet of weed, dragon heads, lances, an empire of weed.

The Blue House

Above the overgrown garden flutters the shadow of a boomerang, thrown again and again. It is related to someone who lived in the house long before my time. Almost a child. An impulse issues from him, a thought, a thought of will: “create. . .draw. ..”  In order to escape his destiny in time.

The house resembles a child’s drawing.  A deputizing childishness which grew forth because someone prematurely renounced the charge of being a child. Open the doors, enter! Inside unrest dwells in the ceiling and peace in the walls. Above the bed there hangs an amateur painting representing a ship with seventeen sails, rough sea and a wind which the gilded frame cannot subdue.

It is always so early in here, it is before the crossroads, before the irrevocable choices. I am grateful for this life!  And yet I miss the alternatives. All sketches wish to be real.

A motor far out on the water extends the horizon of the summer night. Both joy and sorrow swell in the magnifying glass of the dew. We do not actually know it, but we sense it: our life has a sister vessel which plies an entirely different route. While the sun burns behind the islands.

While We Are On The Subject Of Love

You may want to consider joining Glennon Doyle Melton and her fellow Love Warriors on their march toward, well, you know: love.