Posted on 07/07/2005 8:57:37 AM PDT by sionnsar
Here's a couple of interesting activities taking place at Episcopal churches next Saturday, July 16th. From our "Closed Out of Town" file:
NEWBURGH, New York -- "Raise the Roof," a playful musical-comedy that looks at life in the Episcopal Church will be held at St. Mary’s College. The production will be the centerpiece of this summer’s EpiscoBuild fundraising efforts.
A musical comedy about life in the Episcopal Church? I really hope there's a back-up fundraising plan because I don't think this thing will be hitting Broadway any time soon. Then there's this:
NEW YORK, New York - Certified Poetry Therapist John Fox will led "Edges, Risks and Connections: How Poetry Can Help You Stay Balanced & Compassionate in a Crazy World," at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine.
Certified poetry therapist. Certified poetry therapist. Certified. Poetry. Therapist. I don't know what's more disturbing, the idea that there is actually such a job as "poetry therapist" or that there's a certification process for it. But I guess if "poetry can help you stay balanced and compassionate in a crazy world," then I'd want a certified therapist and not some charlatan who'll just shove a volume of Wordsworth at me every time I feel bad.
Traditional Anglican ping, continued in memory of its founder Arlin Adams.
--It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps
Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame--
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,--and, in truth,
More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks,
Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation; but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,
A virgin scene!--A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet;--or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
And--with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep--
I heard the murmur, and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage: and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past;
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.--
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch--for there is a spirit in the woods.
. . . . there. I feel better already. < g >
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