How is it women of the village know to come? But they do, one by one, to sit with Balboa, with our memories of her childhood, moments of laughter and tears. We breathe. We are present, witness to her grief, sharing her sorrow.
Sometimes Bonnie picked an older child, or one of the adults. She would have no one but the one she ambled to when she saw the milkers coming. She would step close to her mark and shove her nose into their armpit.
Want to read the story in chronological order, starting with the very first post? Begin with Wake. When you reach the bottom, and after you've left a comment, if you choose to do so, which I sincerely hope you will, follow the link to Sit, which is the second entry, and so on.
The Village of Ordinary is a work of fiction, a vision of what life could be like if we chose to live in a world without greed, without hatred and anger, a world of compassion, where every child born is wanted, deeply cherished and nourished to fulfill her or his dreams and potential.
The story is told through the journal of one ordinary woman who grew up in this world, raised children of her own, and lives with the love of her life, among family and friends.
Their village, Ordinary, is typical of, though not identical to, villages all over the world, villages where people choose every day to live in harmony with the Earth and each other. This is a vision of what our world might be like if we choose.
Goodness knows I fail to live up to my ideals far too often, but I strive each day to feed the body well, nourish the soul, heal the Earth, build community, make peace and, where possible, wreak a little joy.