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Date Posted: Wed, December 22 2021, 22:33:09
Author: Betsy, who has escaped the rooms with window bars and drugs.
Subject: QOTD for Thursday, 12/23/21

It's been an odd day. I keep reflecting on emotional and spiritual ideas...one thought, mixed with ten others dancing in my brain; different songs and poems running through my head. Most of the thoughts and songs rattling around are things I cling to when life gets overwhelming. They give me focus and comfort. Lots of Rumi, lots of hymns from my youth, pieces of songs from later in my life. All pretty spiritual. Except for one piece of a poem that
keeps drowning all else out. Edna St. Vincent Millay, "We were jolly, We were merry, We were riding on the ferry." That's all I know of that heady poem. We were jolly, We were merry.... why does that one ridiculous line keep running through my brain when I am contemplating the comparison of Shaker principals to Buddism? Relating Pagan rituals and beliefs and how they were morphed into what we now call Christmas. Trying to research the Hitterites, which I never got to because I was on that darned ferry, being jolly and merry.

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The following post is from 'Dragonfly in Amber,' by Diana Gabaldon, Chapter 49, "Blessed Are Those." Copyright © 1992. All rights reserved.


The fire, the body, the night itself, disappeared abruptly in a shriek of blinding noise. Roger found himself face down in the grass, clutching at the earth in a frantic search of a familiar sensation to which to anchor his sanity. The search was vain; none of his senses seemed to function-- even the touch of the ground was insubstantial, amorphous as though he lay on quicksand, not granite.

Blinded by whiteness, deafened by the scream of rending stone, he groped, flailing wildly, out of touch with his own extremities, conscious only of an immense pull and the need to resist it.

There was no sense of time passing; it felt as though he had been struggling in emptiness forever, when he at last became aware of something outside himself. Hands that gripped his arms with desperate strength, and the smothering softness of breasts thrust against his face.

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[> I've had a couple of injuries that were so painful that the world went stark white if anything touched the wrong way. I think of that as a momentary glimpse of what the stones might be like. -- kgp, Thu, December 23 2021, 11:39:31

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[> [> Wow - that put a real feel to it. I get motion sick and always thought of that when they went through the stones. But I’ve also felt that white pain and I think you’re right. It was watt worse than nausea. -- Kathy in PA, Fri, December 24 2021, 7:02:41

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