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Diana van Eyk's avatar

Thanks for this beautiful, thought provoking and very nourishing post, Gregory. I want to cry for all those things, but can't for some reason. There's a part of me that's frozen. Oddly enough, a couple of my women friends can't find it in us to cry right now either. Maybe these times are making us numb.

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Gregory Pettys's avatar

Stay human sister. We need you. Listen, I was going to keep it a secret for a little while longer, but I want to share with you... My family and I are opening a little unschool/farm here in Northern Thailand soon, a place for Re-Membering what modernity has stolen from us. I would love for you to come spend some time here when the stars align. Your friends are welcome too. All blessings.

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Diana van Eyk's avatar

What a lovely invitation, and I appreciate it, Gregory.

I just had a conversation yesterday about the need to stay human and compassionate as Israel is being bombed. Our humanity is essential in this moment.

I have a lot of responsibilities where I am, and am unable to take you up on your generous offer at this time. Best of luck with your school. I'd love to learn more about it online, since it sounds like something we all need to learn about.

Blessings back to you and yours.

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Cynthia Winton-Henry's avatar

Your words today are nexus. Thank you for your proximities to wisdom, land, teachers and life Gregory. My heart and soul are not frozen. I am remembering a dance I created in seminary on a poem from Jeremiah called Yoke of Rage who anguished at being despised and torn between heaven and earth. Living in California amidst Trumps escalations I have sanctuary in my home and community. But I’m crying as I write for loved ones in my family and for Earth and for so many dancers in fear. Only soul words seem to help. My daughter Katie who works in a men’s prison as an addiction counselor wrote this poem.

Where the Quiet Fights Back

It begins not with thunder, but with the flick of a light no one noticed was out.

A flame, dancing in the souls of the forgotten.

It grows in the hush between two slammed doors,

a rebellion breathed through cracked lips.

Whispers of uncertainty washed away by love’s triumphant song.

Not loud, but steady—like roots breaking through concrete.

Steady, like the heartbeat of those crying out for connection. For peace.

A rhythm rising in the quiet, daring to name the hurt and still believe.

Belief, a strange thing. Fickle yet stubborn.

It flinches, then plants its feet—too tender to conquer, too fierce to die.

Weaving quilts of silence and stillness. Of joy and jubilation.

Laid gently across the ache,

a patchwork promise: we go on.

Katie Winton-Henry

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Gregory Pettys's avatar

What a beautiful poem! I am inspired to share one now with you, entitled, "Most People"

:::MOST PEOPLE::::

once a month at least, most people hold a saucepan

in their hands, stir soup, make extra just in case

on mondays, most people wake up hoping children

will be safe, notice roses on a roadside and sigh

most people make love nervously, worry afterwards

whether their breath was fresh enough

get embarrassed buying underwear for others, apologise

when crying, blush when offering their seat to a stranger

on the hour every hour, most people are not newsworthy,

every day we are watching the extremes

most people do not make the headlines,

hands full of weapons. most people are searching

through the rubble, hoping loved ones may laugh

with loved ones once again. open curtains and hope

for just a little rain that roots may glug enough to blossom

into fruit again. there’s too much sorrow, this is certain

but most people bring a cup of tea to loved ones

in the morning, pray for peace when they are praying

-Hollie McNish

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Cynthia Winton-Henry's avatar

thank you

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