Wassail, traveler, and welcome to The Gable Grey -- a place of retreat, of renewal, and of resistance: a tree-shaded refuge in Dark Times. Now pass the threshold, and rest from journeys! For a cold wind is blowing; and here, if you wish, you may hear tidings of the world without...

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Figuratively speaking, some days are so dark that it's difficult to see my hand in front of my face.  I'm sailing blind through a foggy night on rough waters.  One thing I do know on those days:  all that is important is to keep moving.  Whether through habit, or defiance, or just some remnant of momentum... keep moving.  Otherwise, one will never get anywhere.  At the very least, the rocks will decide things for you, if such is your fate. 

Best to meet Fate head-on.

 
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2 comments:

  1. originJune 23, 2013 at 7:19 AM

    Chris, I know only part of what you've experienced over the last year or so, but of what you've shared, I can't imagine how difficult must be your pain. I wish I could give you some great advice or wise words - but I've never been good at that sort of thing. Instead I'll just send my virtual smile and hugs to let you know that you aren't alone and hope that gives you some comfort.
    Take care my friend,
    John

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    Replies
    1. Christopher CarlisleJune 27, 2013 at 7:07 AM

      Hey Doc, so good to hear from you! Thanks for the well-wishes. I'm hanging in there. Haven't had a lot to say lately re: the usual NTE, Peak Oil, etc. Frankly, I've been rather shy of Guy's site lately. I'm not convinced about NTE, certainly not with the certainty of Guy; there are too many variables to consider, IMO, but I'm no scientist so I cannot speak with any real authority. I hope you are good, and I have been revisiting your site with great interest. Peace to you and yours and be well.

      Chris

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Whiles carried o'er the iron road,
We hurry by some fair abode;
The garden bright amidst the hay,
The yellow wain upon the way,
The dining men, the wind that sweeps
Light locks from off the sun-sweet heaps --
The gable grey, the hoary roof,
Here now -- and now so far aloof.
How sorely then we long to stay
And midst its sweetness wear the day,
And 'neath its changing shadows sit,
And feel ourselves a part of it.
Such rest, such stay, I strove to win
With these same leaves that lie herein.

-- William Morris, from
"The Roots of the Mountains"