credo

I believe in the cry of the kestrel over the crowns of oaktrees.
I believe in the holy necessity of coffee in the morning, and in taking the time to be with it properly.
I believe in kindness and in opportunity in adversity.
I believe in the revelatory beauty of chaos from time to time.
I believe I will get the kinks worked out of my new computer system.
I believe in giving and receiving with freedom and joy.
I believe in the sweet dense earthy smell of my father’s greenhouse, loaded with the 38 orchid plants his gardening mentor just gave him.
I believe in the memory and spirit of my mother and the ballasting grace and benediction of having been born her daughter this time around.
I believe in new catnip toys for Scout and Tut every so often.
I believe in the sound of the wind as it teases my wooden windchimes at night.
I believe my brother will finish his dissertation on a universal typology of human rights and that it will be brilliant and that he will find his dream job teaching ethics.
I believe in the restorative power of hot Tazo passion tea on a cool spring night when the world is too much with me, late and soon.
I believe in the healing strength of AA’s Twelve Steps and the principles behind them.
I believe that some poetry looks better using the & symbol instead of the word, but not mine.
I believe in knowing the names of clouds. Not just cumulus and cumulonimbus, but their Zen cloudnames that they had before their cloudparents were born. Roughface, supertiger, blisstunnel, rainwalk, silverpore.
I believe in the taste of extra virgin olive oil as it permeates thick crusty bread.
I believe in stretching and breathing.
I believe in swinging as high as possible on playground swingsets on some Saturday afternoons.
I believe in Bob Dylan.
I believe in forgiveness whenever remotely possible.
I believe in weather, all kinds, and noticing it.
I believe in what a brisk walk or working out at the gym does for my spirit.
I believe in teaching from my heart and my mind and in listening to my student’s honest questions with openness and love.
I believe in letting go of trying to control other people.
I believe in the unstoppable, ineffable glory of now.
I believe I am blessed beyond measure to be in this skin, this body, this lifetime.
I believe in letting the mystery be and in the beauty of powerlessness.
I believe in a creator spirit that inhabits us all, that shows children faces in trees, brings synchronicity to friends who live across the country from each other, and seeds us with love constantly if we are willing to be the seedbeds.


Where do these beliefs come from?
From the great mystery itself, from my parents, from the work I do and the path I tread and the people I meet. From the books I read and the films I see and the food I eat and the music I hear and feel in my bones. From animals, from trees, from history, from loss, from addiction, from stories, from prayer.
I used to think that, as Stephen Batchelor writes, living without beliefs was the way to go. And I know what he means, I think. There is an almost unlimited body of, well, stuff that I can’t know for sure.
But that’s all right. For me belief is not about pure knowledge but about a hopeful leaning and a release of a need to have that empirical proof, that hands on this is it.
There is such peace in that, such freedom, such grace.
Let the mystery be, as Iris Dement sang.

Namaste,
laura