“She had laid her head upon my shoulder, that night when I was summoned out–she had a fear of my going, though I had none–and when I was brought to the North Tower they found these upon my sleeve. ‘You will leave me them? They can never help me to escape in the body, though they may in the spirit.’ Those words I said. I remember them very well.'” – Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities,
just emerging from a 4 day wrestle with a sinus infection and it does not escape me how spiritual illness really is. it is humbling. it is direct. it is right-sizing. it is a part of the process. it is a levelling.
funny- how different a person is when they feel well in contrast with how they are when illness pervades. two separate people- the healthy and the sick. tow people in one. or at least two sissies.
one wants to dance and explore, while the other reas quietly during hibernation. they inhabit the same frame but conduct life’s music with different orchestras. uptempo and still in unison.
I hear her voice in the morning hour she calls me, the radio reminds me of my home far away. And driving down the road I get a feeling that I should have been home yesterday, yesterday. Country roads, take me home to the place I belong. West Virginia, mountain momma, take me home, country roads. Country roads, take me home to the place I belong. West Virginia, mountain momma, take me home, country roads