Spicy Delight



“They’re still here,” said the evidently conservative (by other things he said and his dress) and cynical young man sitting on the seat in front of me on the bus, as we drove past the “Occupy DC” group. The bus moved forward, and the running commentary on what was outside the window moved to derogatory statements about the homeless. I thought about the discussion a group of us had after meeting for worship this morning about seeking to live witnessing and honoring the sacred in every being. This includes, of course, recognizing the universal spirit worthy of love in those who proudly do not do so nor feel the need to try. Easier said than done, but that is true of most of the profoundly deep practices.
Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
When a hurricane that is predicted to be perhaps the worst in 50 years for the East Coast shares the same name as one’s mother, news of the impending destruction is bound to bring up childhood memories.
I grew up with the song “Good Night Irene” as part of my childhood mythology. My parents met in Greenwich Village in the late 50s, which was a time when folk music was the thing. We all love songs about someone with our own name, so “Goodnight Irene” was one our mother taught us. If memory serves, we had recordings in the house by Leadbelly and the Weavers to which my older sister and I danced around the living room.
A search in You Tube reveals that it has been a popular song to cover for decades. Which is your favorite?