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<channel><title><![CDATA[Bear Run Antics - Blog]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog]]></link><description><![CDATA[Blog]]></description><pubDate>Tue, 15 Apr 2025 03:57:41 -0700</pubDate><generator>EditMySite</generator><item><title><![CDATA[George Washington]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/george-washington]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/george-washington#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Mon, 17 Feb 2020 08:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Uncategorized]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/george-washington</guid><description><![CDATA[&ldquo;Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire, called conscience.&rdquo;  This man has a lot to teach those currently in power in this country. George Washington said 'no' to power, refusing to become "king," and went back to farming.  [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="paragraph">&ldquo;Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire, called conscience.&rdquo;</div>  <div class="paragraph">This man has a lot to teach those currently in power in this country. George Washington said 'no' to power, refusing to become "king," and went back to farming. <br /></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Franz Kafka]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/franz-kafka]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/franz-kafka#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Sun, 16 Feb 2020 08:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Uncategorized]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/franz-kafka</guid><description><![CDATA[ &nbsp; "A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us." This man knew what he was talking about. These days that ice grows thick.   [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<span class='imgPusher' style='float:right;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:auto;position:relative;float:right;max-width:100%;;clear:right;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.bearrunantics.com/uploads/1/2/3/3/123360382/editor/franz-kafka-1917.jpg?1581899635" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; border-width:0; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption"></span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="display:block;">&nbsp; "A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us." This man knew what he was talking about. These days that ice grows thick. <br /></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[MLK Day]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/mlk-day]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/mlk-day#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Sun, 20 Jan 2019 03:34:59 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Uncategorized]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/mlk-day</guid><description><![CDATA[       Let us join arms and sing for peace and justice for ALL, not just some!  [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div><div class="wsite-image wsite-image-border-none " style="padding-top:10px;padding-bottom:10px;margin-left:0px;margin-right:0px;text-align:left"> <a> <img src="https://www.bearrunantics.com/uploads/1/2/3/3/123360382/editor/658893289.jpg?1547955541" alt="Picture" style="width:auto;max-width:100%" /> </a> <div style="display:block;font-size:90%"></div> </div></div>  <div class="paragraph">Let us join arms and sing for peace and justice for ALL, not just some! <br /></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Undersong]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/undersong]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/undersong#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Fri, 12 Feb 2016 08:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Wanderings]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/undersong</guid><description><![CDATA[This I believe, that prayer means presence, a simple presence beyond words; we need only to tap into what Emerson calls &ldquo;undersong,&rdquo; the music flowing beneath all of us, always. No words, just a flow of melody and harmony braiding itself into our souls that gives us a spaciousness and quiet that we then can share with others. Hold a hand and breathe together, that is all. No words. Just presence. [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="paragraph" style="text-align:left;">This I believe, that prayer means presence, a simple presence beyond words; we need only to tap into what Emerson calls &ldquo;undersong,&rdquo; the music flowing beneath all of us, always. No words, just a flow of melody and harmony braiding itself into our souls that gives us a spaciousness and quiet that we then can share with others. Hold a hand and breathe together, that is all. No words. Just presence.<br /><br /><span></span></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Abe's Birthday]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/abes-birthday]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/abes-birthday#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Fri, 12 Feb 2016 08:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Wanderings]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/abes-birthday</guid><description><![CDATA[Abraham Lincoln I asked my class today if they knew why Monday was a holiday, and not one of them could tell me. There is something deeply amiss. This man changed the history of our nation in a profound way &ndash; freedom for all &ndash; ideologically, if not in practice. Let&rsquo;s honor him today, born February 12, 1809 in a one-room log cabin in Kentucky.  [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:auto;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.bearrunantics.com/uploads/1/2/3/3/123360382/published/lincolnsum-1811021c.jpg?1546976208" style="margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:1px;padding:3px; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption">Abraham Lincoln</span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="text-align:left;display:block;">I asked my class today if they knew why Monday was a holiday, and not one of them could tell me. There is something deeply amiss. This man changed the history of our nation in a profound way &ndash; freedom for all &ndash; ideologically, if not in practice. Let&rsquo;s honor him today, born February 12, 1809 in a one-room log cabin in Kentucky.<br /><br /></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Chaos and Old Night]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/chaos-and-old-night]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/chaos-and-old-night#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Wed, 21 Jan 2015 08:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Wanderings]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/chaos-and-old-night</guid><description><![CDATA[Ralph Waldo Emerson Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, &ldquo;The maker of a sentence&hellip;launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him (or her) with something of wild, creative delight.&rdquo; As we flip into the new year, 2015, the world rocks with Chaos and old Night; into this&nbsp; Night words flare into fireworks of&nbsp; light, sizzling into the blackest of black, bringing hope. &ldquo;I have a dream&hellip;&rdquo;  [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:auto;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.bearrunantics.com/uploads/1/2/3/3/123360382/published/ralph-waldo-emerson1.jpg?1546975971" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:0; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption">Ralph Waldo Emerson</span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="text-align:left;display:block;">Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, &ldquo;The maker of a sentence&hellip;launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him (or her) with something of wild, creative delight.&rdquo; As we flip into the new year, 2015, the world rocks with Chaos and old Night; into this&nbsp; Night words flare into fireworks of&nbsp; light, sizzling into the blackest of black, bringing hope. &ldquo;I have a dream&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br /></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Northwest Folklife and 13 Storytellers]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/northwest-folklife-and-13-storytellers]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/northwest-folklife-and-13-storytellers#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Wed, 29 Jun 2011 07:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Creative Projects]]></category><category><![CDATA[Kids' Storytelling]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/northwest-folklife-and-13-storytellers</guid><description><![CDATA[ Well, at long last I am sitting down to write a blurb on our time in Seattle at the Northwest Folklife Festival on Memorial Day Weekend, 2011. 13 storytellers from Leavenworth descended upon the Seattle Center and wowed an audience with the wisdom of Aesop&rsquo;s Fables. Despite the roar of airplanes over head, the din of nearby steel drums, and a constant throng strolling by, the kids concentrated with the greatest ease, practicing their art, otherwise known as &lsquo;theater of the face.&rsq [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:153px;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.bearrunantics.com/uploads/1/2/3/3/123360382/published/img-1256.jpg?1546977203" style="margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:1px;padding:3px; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption"></span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="text-align:left;display:block;">Well, at long last I am sitting down to write a blurb on our time in Seattle at the Northwest Folklife Festival on Memorial Day Weekend, 2011. 13 storytellers from Leavenworth descended upon the Seattle Center and wowed an audience with the wisdom of Aesop&rsquo;s Fables. Despite the roar of airplanes over head, the din of nearby steel drums, and a constant throng strolling by, the kids concentrated with the greatest ease, practicing their art, otherwise known as &lsquo;theater of the face.&rsquo; And we certainly ended up with a face, a Luke face of a tailor in love with his new coat. &nbsp;Thank you to all the parents for supporting this crazy venture. We may just do this again!<br /></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>  <div>  <!--BLOG_SUMMARY_END--></div>  <div><div class="wsite-image wsite-image-border-none " style="padding-top:10px;padding-bottom:10px;margin-left:0;margin-right:0;text-align:center"> <a> <img src="https://www.bearrunantics.com/uploads/1/2/3/3/123360382/img-1250_orig.jpg" alt="Picture" style="width:auto;max-width:100%" /> </a> <div style="display:block;font-size:90%"></div> </div></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Naked Vision]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/naked-vision]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/naked-vision#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Mon, 20 Jun 2011 07:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Wanderings]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/naked-vision</guid><description><![CDATA[ Dylan Thomas writes that poetry is , &ldquo;&hellip; the rhythmic, inevitably narrative, movement from an over-clothed blindness to a naked vision.&rdquo; &nbsp;Good poetry tells a story, leading us out of the the many weeds of distraction into meadows of space in which we can finally see. It crystallizes the unspoken, the undefinable, the mystery, so that we can stand in awe of aliveness. We can deeply appreciate just being here, now as we walk through eternity. Writing this clearly is rare. W [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:auto;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.bearrunantics.com/uploads/1/2/3/3/123360382/dylan-thomas_orig.jpg" style="margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:1px;padding:3px; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption"></span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="text-align:left;display:block;">Dylan Thomas writes that poetry is , &ldquo;&hellip; the rhythmic, inevitably narrative, movement from an over-clothed blindness to a naked vision.&rdquo; &nbsp;Good poetry tells a story, leading us out of the the many weeds of distraction into meadows of space in which we can finally see. It crystallizes the unspoken, the undefinable, the mystery, so that we can stand in awe of aliveness. We can deeply appreciate just being here, now as we walk through eternity. Writing this clearly is rare. Writing into these thin places is elusive. But, we must try.<br /><br /></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Wind]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/wind]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/wind#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Thu, 09 Jun 2011 07:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Wanderings]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/wind</guid><description><![CDATA[John Muir John Muir writes, &ldquo;I kept my lofty perch for hours, frequently closing my eyes to enjoy the music by itself, or to feast quietly on the delicious fragrance that was streaming past.&rdquo; As he rode out a storm high up in a fir tree, he waxed poetic about the wind that roared around him. Wind, the unseen bringer of scent, the invisible energy that powers swaying tree branches. &ldquo;Smooth, deep currents, cascades, falls, and swirling eddies, sing around every tree and leaf &hel [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:auto;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.bearrunantics.com/uploads/1/2/3/3/123360382/john-muir-3_orig.jpg" style="margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:1px;padding:3px; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption">John Muir</span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="text-align:left;display:block;">John Muir writes, &ldquo;I kept my lofty perch for hours, frequently closing my eyes to enjoy the music by itself, or to feast quietly on the delicious fragrance that was streaming past.&rdquo; As he rode out a storm high up in a fir tree, he waxed poetic about the wind that roared around him. Wind, the unseen bringer of scent, the invisible energy that powers swaying tree branches. &ldquo;Smooth, deep currents, cascades, falls, and swirling eddies, sing around every tree and leaf &hellip;.&rdquo;<br /><br />So, too, Wind as Spirit swirls around every person and soul.<span>&nbsp;</span><em>Ruach</em>. The breath of God blows through, in, and around us all the time. We sway with the Spirit&rsquo;s movement. Like Muir, we are up in that tree during storms experiencing the fullness, the magic of the Wind. When we then climb down, we are changed. &nbsp;&ldquo;We travel the milky way together, trees and men; but it never occurred to me until this storm-day, while swinging in the wind, that trees are travelers, in the ordinary sense. &hellip; our own little journeys, away and back again, are only little more than tree-wavings.&rdquo;<br /><br />Wave on and love those trees!<br /><br /></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Dragons]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/dragons]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/dragons#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Mon, 09 May 2011 07:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Wanderings]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.bearrunantics.com/blog/dragons</guid><description><![CDATA[J.R.R. Tolkien &ldquo;It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations if you live near him.&rdquo; &ndash; J.R.R. TolkienAnd who doesn&rsquo;t have a dragon living within, coiled up snoring, just waiting for an opportunity to awaken and breathe fire, singeing life and torching hopes? The age-old question &ndash; how do we tame him (mines male) without destroying his ability to grant energy? So, acknowledge your dragon and do not leave him out of your calculations for he DOES live  [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:auto;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.bearrunantics.com/uploads/1/2/3/3/123360382/published/tolkien.jpg?1546975604" style="margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:1px;padding:3px; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption">J.R.R. Tolkien</span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="text-align:left;display:block;">&ldquo;It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations if you live near him.&rdquo; &ndash; J.R.R. Tolkien<br /><br />And who doesn&rsquo;t have a dragon living within, coiled up snoring, just waiting for an opportunity to awaken and breathe fire, singeing life and torching hopes? The age-old question &ndash; how do we tame him (mines male) without destroying his ability to grant energy? So, acknowledge your dragon and do not leave him out of your calculations for he DOES live nearby!<br /><br /></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item></channel></rss>