One of the most pathetic things about us human beings is our
touching belief that there are times when the truth is not good
enough for us; that it can and must be improved upon. We have
to be utterly broken before we can realize that it is impossible
to better the truth. It is the truth that we deny which so tenderly
and forgivingly picks up the fragments and puts them together again.
Culture has a way of giving us ladders when we need trees, reason when we need myth, and separateness when we need unity. In the music of the universe, there is harmony. The discord, the non-harmonious, is slowly drifting back in to the misty domains of our lost games. Ritual is being restored to rite. With a higher sense of the rhythms of the planet, we can recognize the emerging vision of grace. A grace to honor, not befowl, our Mother. A grace to honor each other as end products of diverse cultural journeys. A grace to become the kind of human that can embody the spiritual. A grace to blend into all that is, was, and shall be.
