Beautiful…. And we are often afraid to voice our own primal cries, as people tend to run away from them – and us. How i love our Shepherd of the Hill community.!
Many years ago now, the last thing my nephew saw before feeding the suicide gas into his car was something beautiful, as he reported on the tape he recorded, “And the mama loons are teaching their babies to swim.”
The sound of the loons strikes me a forelorness, a sense we seldom want to feel. It’s too deep. Too frightening perhaps, although we cannot help but listen to their calls. Our voices and calls are “more civilized” we think. Our speech superior to theirs, we think. But ours is a search for meaning; theirs is an embrace of the darkness and the light, the warmth and the cold. They know nothing of the gas feeding tubes to which folks repair. That you nephew recorded the beauty of the loons speaks pehaps as loudly as his suicide – perhaps louder , a loud crying out for primal depths beneath the vain cries of a wacko civilization in denial of its limits.
Beautiful…. And we are often afraid to voice our own primal cries, as people tend to run away from them – and us. How i love our Shepherd of the Hill community.!
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Many years ago now, the last thing my nephew saw before feeding the suicide gas into his car was something beautiful, as he reported on the tape he recorded, “And the mama loons are teaching their babies to swim.”
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The sound of the loons strikes me a forelorness, a sense we seldom want to feel. It’s too deep. Too frightening perhaps, although we cannot help but listen to their calls. Our voices and calls are “more civilized” we think. Our speech superior to theirs, we think. But ours is a search for meaning; theirs is an embrace of the darkness and the light, the warmth and the cold. They know nothing of the gas feeding tubes to which folks repair. That you nephew recorded the beauty of the loons speaks pehaps as loudly as his suicide – perhaps louder , a loud crying out for primal depths beneath the vain cries of a wacko civilization in denial of its limits.
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I feel this as a lovely tribute to Carl …
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