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I've been surprising people lately by my acceptance of other faiths & beliefs. It seems expected that one who claims to be a Christian will - I don't quite know exactly, but freak out, shrivel into a nothingness, or explode all seem like possiblities - at the mention of Pagans. Or the Goddess. Or a spell. Strange.

Thumbing through Madeleine L'Engle's book Glimpses of Grace, I ran across the following:

Christ can speak to me through the white china Buddha who sits on my desk at Crosswicks and smiles at me toleranty when I fly into a torrent of outrage or self-pity. That forbearing smile helps restore my sense of proportion, and rids me of that self-will which keeps me caught up in myself so that I am isolating myself from Christ. Of course I am no more likely to become a Buddhist than my parents were likely to turn to Islam when they framed those lovely verses from the Koran.

And:

In one of his dialogues, Plato talks of all learning as remembering. The chief job of the teacher is to help us to remember all that we have forgotten. This fits in well with Jung's concept of racial memory, his belief that when we are enabled to dip into the intuitive, subconscious self, we remember more than we know.

My thought? There are many different roads in life, meandering through varying terrain. Yet we are all travelers, and we can often help each other. I'll take lessons & wisdom wherever I find them.

Speaking of poetry...

Inspired by jenkitty's posting a poem...

To a Long Loved Love:4

You are still new, my love. I do not know you,
Stranger beside me in the dark of bed,
Dreaming the dreams I cannot ever enter,
Eyes closed in that unknown, familiar head.
Who are you, who have thrust and entered
My very being, penetrated so that now
I can never again be wholly separate,
Bound by shared living to this unknown thou?
I do not know you, nor do you know me,
And yet we know each other in the way
Of our primordial forbears in the garden,
Adam knew Eve. As we do, so did they.
They, we, forever strangers: Austere but true.
And yet I would not change it. You are still new.

To a Long Loved Love:7

Because you're not what I would have you be
I blind myself to who, in truth, you are.
Seeking mirage where desert blooms, I mar
Your you. Aaah, I would like to see
Past all delusion to reality:
Then would I see God's image in your face,
His hand in yours, and in your eyes his grace.
Because I'm not what I would have me be,
I idolize Two who are not any place,
Not you, not me, and so we never touch.
Reality would burn. I do not like it much.
And yet in you, in me, I find a trace
Of love which struggles to break through
The hidden lovely truth of me, of you.

Both poems are from The Weather of the Heart, by Madeleine L'Engle.