Gift from My CHS Class

I'm taking a course at Cherry Hill Seminary called "A Saunter with John Muir and Walt Whitman--The Poetry and Politics of Nature." The instructor, Chris Highland, asked us to choose a poem from Whitman's Leaves of Grass to reflect upon. I happened upon this one, written in 1856, and it blew my mind, so I want to share it here.

Unfolded Out of the Folds

Unfolded out of the folds of the woman man comes unfolded,

and is always to come unfolded,

Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the earth is to

come the superbest man of the earth,

Unfolded out of the friendliest woman is to come the

friendliest man,

Unfolded only out of the perfect body of a woman can a man

be form'd of perfect body,

Unfolded only out of the inimitable poems of woman can

comes the poems of man, (only thence have my poems come;)

Unfolded out of the strong and arrogant woman I love, only

thence can appear the strong and arrogant man I love,

Unfolded by brawny embraces from the well-muscled woman

I love, only thence come the brawny embraces of the

man,

Unfolded out of the folds of the woman's brain come all the

folds of the man's brain, duly obedient,

Unfolded out of the justice of the woman all justice is

unfolded,

Unfolded out of the sympathy of the woman is all sympathy;

A man is a great thing upon the earth and through eternity,

but every jot of the greatness of man is unfolded out of

woman;

First the man is shaped in the woman, he can then be shaped

in himself.

Finding Spiritual Kin

I want to mention Chris Highland, the fiancé of Carol Hovis, Director of Marin Interfaith Council. I like him a lot. We’ve chatted, and I told both him and Corby that I’d like them to meet, I think they have a lot in common. He was at the Visionary Marin event honoring Isabel Allende I attended.

I recently discovered that he was once chaplain of the Marin Interfaith Street Chaplaincy here in San Rafael. This group co-sponsors, with MIC, "Shelter from the Storm," an interfaith service for the homeless in San Rafael on the eve of Thanksgiving. That’s the event in preparation for which I’ve been bugging some of you about singing “Demeter’s Song.” Corby and I have readied ourselves to sing it tonight at this service. We’ll also offer is as a grace at tomorrow’s Thanksgiving dinner at my sister Catherine’s house -- the first since our mother's death this past May.

Evidently, Chris also has experience as a prison chaplain, and since I'm prepared to accept a long-standing invitation -- nay, plea -- to visit some inmates at nearby San Quentin the minute I learn that pending litigation has been settled, this is another area I'd enjoy discussing with him.

Chris sent this. I think you'll resonate with his sentiments, as do I.

I am ever so thankful that we have a new administration going into The White House.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!