I’m thinking about Hope this Sunday morning. The cats’ kitty litter needs to be cleaned. I need to give Max his insulin shot and herbal pill for his diabetes. And I’m bouncing around the house contemplating the human need for Hope to survive, to lift our spirits, to get us out of bed on a very dreary morning especially when our tails are dragging.
What is this thing called Hope? Can we package it? Sell it? Commercialize it? Or is it rather one of those ephemeral aspects of our soul that flits in and out and sometimes even rests for a long time in the very core of our being – -that God Space, divine connection? If we’re lucky… Or work at it?
So I’m ruminating on Hope. And if I were a cow with four stomachs and the ability to chew the cud on Hope… I might be able to discern it , define it, grasp it – Hope – far better. But for now, with miles to go before I sleep (Sacred Gardening discussion in Silver Spring this evening) I’ll just ruminate with my one stomach and no cud. But thick brain clogged with musings on how to encapsulate Hope… well.