A Christian druid, in fog
Asking questions is my superpower. Arriving at firm answers is my kryptonite. And thus, here we are.
I walk a druid path through the fir and fern forests of the Oregon coast. It has been a meandering path, and it has taken me to places surprising both to me and most druids: back to Christianity.
This blog is my attempt to weave the threads of my life into a beautiful tapestry. It’s my retreat from the constant drizzle and occasional giant crashing waves that make up the world around me. And it’s my plea to awen or to the Holy Spirit (or maybe those are two names for the same thing) to flow through me and help me to write something that will be of help to someone, somewhere, sometime.
- The God of the gospels and the awen of the bards are not at war in me.
- To name a thing — sitka spruce, mandorla, triskele — is an act of attention, and attention is a kind of prayer.
- The wind comes when the wind comes. The work, in the meantime, is to remain a worthy instrument.
- I am seeking. I am not yet finished.
Where the writing happens
A small house among hemlocks, a half-mile from the headland. A wood stove, a kettle, a candle, a notebook. Sometimes a thermos and a bench on the bluff. The Pacific does most of the editing.