An old friend, now sadly departed, but formative in my younger days, used to say that there were two ways to deal with ‘seeds’: one was to bury them so that they could be forgotten; the other was to plant them so that they would catch the ‘tide of happenings’.

He often spoke of the ‘seeds of intent’ and how powerful a small beginning could be, if sown in the right way. Two questions spring to mind: the first is to decide on the precise nature of the seed, itself; the other is to decide where to plant it, and in what season.

Seasons are important. Nature’s outer cycle of seed, apparent dormancy, emergence, and fruition has much to teach us about how this circle of four provides an envelope within which all types of seeds become, in turn: planted, born into a world they hope to inhabit, become children…

I have awoken with a fire in my belly, a good fire, one that speaks of life, a beacon in the dark, and if I place it on a high enough peak perhaps you can see it, perhaps it can light a flame in your heart, and when you feel its warmth, then you may be able to light one too, to pass it on, for each of us can be a light in the dark for someone else, and someone else, and someone else, until there is a chain of golden light shining far and wide connecting us one to another. © Leah Bracknell.

Today will see the winter solstice in the northern hemisphere, the shortest day and the longest night, when shadows close around us. The cold moon is little more than a silver sliver in the sky, struggling to pierce the heavy pall of clouds, and…

It’s beating on my eyes again

It’s blowing up my nose

It’s howling round my lips and mouth

And stealing my repose

➰

He dares not let it in, again

The chaos is too strong

It throws around the furniture

And wrecks the right and wrong

➰

I’d like to give a voice to it

But how to drink the wind?

I’ll have to keep him well subdued

Then see what else it brings

➰

A finer wine would be uncased

A deeper taste, an ‘I’ concealed

And leaden fear would drop away

To leave the laughing storm revealed

➰

©Stephen Tanham

Regular Wednesday Writing Prompts will resume on January 3, 2018. This thoughtful piece is shared here with Michael’s permission. It was originally published on his blog, Dreaming the World.

Well, the weather turned warm again, with a bit of rain; now the temperature is dropping slowly and there are hints of blue through the overcast. There are rumors of a snowstorm next week and more before Christmas. We shall see.

Here in North America we tend to forget how pervasive sexual violence is, and how retraumatizing public conversations about sexual abuse and harassment can be for victims of sexual crimes.

This was brought home to me again yesterday while speaking with a colleague in Boston. She works with severely traumatized individuals and spoke about her clients’ experiences of retraumatization due to the recent flood of sexual assault accusations against prominent men. We agreed the resulting, much-needed, public discussion about…

When Kimberly Jones picked up her 11-year-old son, Keaton, from his school in Knoxville, Tennessee one day last week, he had an unusual request. He asked her to record a video of him in the car.

You see, Keaton was leaving school early, and not for the first time. He was afraid to have lunch at school because classmates had poured milk on him and stuffed food in his clothes.

“They make fun of my nose,” he tearfully says in the video. “They call me ugly. They say I have no friends. Why do they bully? Why do you find joy in taking innocent people and finding a way to be mean to them?” at this point he’s sobbing. He adds: “People that are different don’t need to be criticized about it. It’s not their fault.”

Keaton’s mom posted the video on Facebook last Friday, pleading with parents to talk…