I am deep within the woods, encompassed by green and damp and shadow. The quiet hum of nature surrounds me and the path I walk opens up just a bit to a small clearing with a stump in the middle: a forest altar. I have not seen this particular one before, but know their holy purpose.
I bring myself – I bring my heart – into this place and try to let go of the rush of my day and the noise of my encapsulated life. I try to drop the urgency of the routine so that I can be here. Whatever else, a moment’s touch with truth is necessary for my day. There are many layers I have put up around my soul to keep it from this touch, yet the touch is life. Continue reading
As long as my breath is in me and the spirit of God is in my nostrils, my lips will not speak falsehood, and my tongue will not utter deceit. – Job 27: 3-4
I am in a cold wood. The wind is brutal, but I’ve found a small enclave where the rock and brush surround me close enough to form a shield. I hunker down and hold myself close, burying my head between my knees, leaning back against a large tree. I breathe. Once. Twice. Now a deeper breath. My heart slows a bit. I begin to relax. 
When tragedy occurs, it seems we must hurry to find someone or something to blame, removing our own guilt and complicity, our responsibility for response, by pointing outside ourselves. What else are we to do with our anger and fear, but place it at a safe distance?
My fingers are cold; my whole being is cold. The warmth of my own blood has retreated deep within me and I so I sit, cuddled up beneath the oak tree at the top of the meadow. My blood runs slowly through my veins, sluggish. It doesn’t want to venture out to bring life to my limbs. I huddle down, and try to draw warmth from myself, but there is none to draw. I feel tired. Sleep beacons me, calling to me to retreat from my day before it has even begun. 
Physics is right.
Quiet Hope 