I think I found where the mennonite hippies gather.
I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. I’ve always been intrigued by hippies and by how they hold their beliefs steongly.
“If I wasn’t a mennonite,” I told my friend recently, “I think I’d be a hippie.”
But maybe mennonite hippies are a thing.
I spent a weekend with barefoot, bearded poets and philosophers.
We read and studied poetry and thought thoughtful thoughts.
It was beautiful.
I loved finding others who shared the lonely poet life.
I loved that it wasn’t me saying “It almost puts words to the ache.”
I loved hearing the snippets of literature that became part of other families’ lore.
I loved staying up late into the night because the conversation was too good to end.
I even loved that everyone there knew so much more than I do.
I think it was Einstein who said, “If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room”.
This weekend, I was in the right room.
If you love poetry, check out The Curator. A blog full of beautifully fresh poetry written by anabaptist people.
Literature Camp 2019 was the first of it’s kind. It will not be the last.