

Sacred Activism
I’ve just returned from a long, snowy, winter’s retreat in Belgium. From minus 2 degrees to 38 degrees in a matter of 14 hours, it’s enough to fry a brain. The funny thing about this kind of circuitous work is all the stuff that happens that is unexpected. It sidles in as if on the icy breath of a winter king, only present in the deepest winter season. Does it all melt as I return to blazing summer? Or it spends a moment or two suspended in liminality, like the times between