Thank God for beautiful Bach on this day.  We all sing on, against so much uncertainty and so many harsh things.  This immigration law, that has our brothers and sisters in the streets.  A bomb in  Times Square.  The vicissitudes of private life and the body.  Sin.  Oil slicks.

We need to infuse each other with hope; when one person falters, the others must take her hand, his hand.

A few minutes ago, I sagged against myself from the weight of fears that reclaimed me these past few days== around needing to find someone to guide me who will factor in my disability.  Despair crested in me even as I sipped rich coffee with cream and sugar.

I put on the Robert Shaw recording of Bach’s Mass in B Minor.  If you haven’t heard this work, I recommend it. Then, I went to the group I started on She Writes and was so very heartened by the many comments and poems posted; I was fed.

In reading poetry and listening to music I  was lifted out of myself: I was part of more than myself and my difficulties, the same old same old.

I am going to play the Bach again, and keep printing out my memoir, and move through the day as if it will help. That is what we survivors of trauma and illness have always done and what we must continue to do.

May all passersby have, whatever sustains and nourishes your spirit, a blessed day.  May we each know and savor the richness of each moment and live in the moment, which is eternally luminous and  extraordinary.