Soulful Sojourning

The Lonely Act of Creation – A Poem by Sarah Kay Ndjerareou

No one told me it would require solitude to put pen to paper

And yet my loneliness provides a voice

In the space between wonder and wandering my soul speaks

The margin between exultation and despair is the place I reach out

The prayer to be heard becomes a longing to be understood

The desire flows into rhythm and story flows out into the world

 

When the Lord spoke the world into being he created from the void

From nothing he created life and beauty

And it was good.

The divine spark of creativity is a gift

Left over from the beginning of time

Yet the act demands that I enter into the void

 

The space between belonging and being lost

To listen to the wild call of the soul

To hear it echo in a silent space

The one that bubbles up with bravery

To think or dare to place your vision into the sea of life

A call to from nothing into something

It is the imprint of the creator

 

Like a prayer we pour our energies into the space of humanity

An offering to the divine

A reflection of something sacred in the broken reality of our world

May I never loose the hunger to enter the void

Grant me faithfulness to doggedly pursue the gift

To steward to act of creating something from nothing

Honor the creator

Build a bridge to my sister and brother

Speak truth in the darkness

Story on the soul

 

The Lonely Act of Creation A Poem by Sarah Kay Ndjerareou

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The child of missionary parents, writing became a natural was to process my adventures across the world.

Ndjerareou means 'he who builds the road in Ngambai, Nate's tribal language spoken in Chad, Africa.

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  • “Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn--that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness--that season which has drawn from every poet worthy of being read some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling.” -Jane Austen, Persuasion.
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#mainstayfarms #fall #takeawalkwithme #thoughtfulmoments #poetryinplay #wanderings #nofilterneeded #nothinglikefall #changeofseasons
  • “Being a daddy’s girl is like having permanent armor for the rest of your life.” – Marinela Reka
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This is the smile my father only shows a few people. It’s his silly, happy, smile, the one I see when he’s with his family (they make the same grin!) Honestly, my heart skipped a beat when I saw I’d caught it on camera. He’s a tender hearted man but making him laugh is like wings on my soul!  #daddiesgirl #loveyou #makingmemories #comeforawalk #letsgooutside #sunshineandlaughter #letsplay #grateful
  • Shenanigans with Nana & Papa! A little sunshine goes a long way. Our family was thankful for a way to play together while daddy was on a trip. We miss him terribly but the sheep races, zip line, swings, apple canon epic slides,  pedal go carts, hay rack rides and mazes helped. Thank you Nana & Papa for all the memories! .
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  • We voted! (Well one of us did!)The other learned a valuable lesson about civics and you’re never too old for a sticker. Last day for early voting!
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  • “Your fears are real. You will fail. The critics will continue to earn their employment. For me, the joy far outweighs the risk of failure." -
@jonforeman
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Night of inspiration, celebrating all the risks creatives take for the simple act of touching another’s heart in sound, sight and word. Thankful I’ve found my tribe, one that pours all it has into the world and each other. Thankful for a community that values the power of expression and it’s ability to lift us out of heavy times, give voice to causes worth fighting or the joyful songs we sing to celebrate all that is good, human and beautiful in this world. .
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  • “Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, 
With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, 
Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, 
And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain! 
Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, 
Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand 
Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, 
Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain! 
Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended 
So long beneath the heaven's o'er-hanging eaves; 
Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended; 
Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves; 
And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, 
Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!”
Autumn by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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There’s a chill in the air here, it’s made me nostalgic. Once a year a try I to recreate the taste of my first soup de l'oignon. A French onion soup served in a little Christmas market at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. It’s been nine years but this weekend @thepioneerwoman recipe delivered all the nuance and flavor of that first, delicate memory. Maybe I’ve finally gotten wise enough to appreciate the importance of technique and time. Caramelizing the onions on the stove for 20 minutes, then in the oven for an hour, the flavors melt in your mouth. Invest in the Guyere, she said, and she was right. We found Paris, in our kitchen and a little bit of the glow of wandering, floated into our everyday. Here’s to discovery around the world and here at home. .
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