I’ve been immersed in a four-day meditation retreat. It’s such a positive, supportive experience that I’m finding it challenging to return to and handle the “news” and integrate openness, clarity, mindfulness, and emptiness with anger, war, and observing the effects of climate change. As I struggle with this for myself, I wonder what I might post, say, or offer.
We have a huge redwood rising up and spreading in our yard. It was about twelve feet tall when we moved in 47 years ago. Now, it towers, and a young redwood has appeared next to the house. I know we should remove it, and yet, I resonate to the words of Jane Hirshfield who understands.
It is foolish to let a young redwood grow next to a house. Even in this one lifetime, you will have to choose. That great calm being, this clutter of soup pots and books. Already, the first branch tips brush at the window. Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.
Yesterday we went to an apple orchard to pick apples. The trees beckoned, and branched and bent beautifully to offer their fruit. At first, it seemed like an Easter egg hunt, a search for the “best” apple, and then, I slowed, overwhelmed with the abundance and an environment that was more than I thought I’d come for. I was surrounded with hills, as I stood on soil that though still was tangled and ribboned with active, nourishing roots.
After picking, we ate apple turnovers scented with the cinnamon scent of fall. It felt too sacred for photos, and enough to be part of the landscape of an orchard for a time.
We returned to Jeff and Jan’s for a feast they created for us and friends. We celebrate Thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday in November, and yet I feel how the gratitude of Thanksgiving begins with the return of autumn and its offerings and gatherings of all that is produced.
If you’ve been reading this blog for years, you know my love of Great Blue Herons, so when I read about Jarod K. Anderson’s book, Something in the Woods Loves You, I knew it was for me.
The book opens with this:
“There’s an old story about Great Blue Herons. It says that while hunting the twilight shallows, herons can produce a strange, luminescent powder, pluck it from between their feathers with their spear-like beaks, and sprinkle it on the dark water to attract fish.”
He says yes, it’s a myth, and yet, picture how this is to the fish. “The fish are not curious in an intellectual way. It’s a physical thing, their bodies called forward to witness the inexplicable. There, in the shallow winter waters, they are ready to believe in miracles.”
The heron allows Anderson to build the meaning he needs for the moment. “Making meaning in this way is like creating harmony with two voices. I sing my portion. The heron sings hers. The harmony is woven and meaning exists in the world.”
I’m feeling the joy of exploration these days, an inner walk to explore what connects, how evolving connects and expands.
I’m with these words of H. Richard Niebuhr:
“Pilgrims are persons in motion – passing through territories not their own – seeking something we call completion, or perhaps the word clarity will do as well, a goal to which only the spirit’s compass points the way.’
I missed her speech at the Democratic convention. This is beautiful and inspiring. May we dare to dream together.
I watched the debate last night and, like Kamala, was nervous at first, though I loved her bold stride across the stage to hold out her hand to Trump in a beginning note of civility. I delighted in watching Harris gain confidence and strength, and Trump implode.
The icing on the cake was Taylor Swift’s brilliant endorsement of Kamala.
Enough lies and false advertising. Swift has more than 283 million followers on Instagram, and she instructed them in how to register to vote.
This morning, memory chimed with this meme: “If three wise women had visited Jesus, they’d have brought more useful gifts like diapers, formula, and some casseroles for the family.”
Kamala stuck with practicalities, kept it real, and spoke of unity, not division and horror. I’m glad we’ll see a woman president in the White House. It’s time.
The garden is complete, well, gardens are in constant motion and change, but it offers a respite to pause and peruse. I sit by the fountain and see and hear birds in the Maple tree above and frolicking in the fountain and among the rocks and plants.
Today I learn of a website where I can check the migration of birds where I live. You can do it too. https://birdcast.info
I’m reading a book called Lotus Girl by Helen Tworkov. It’s a memoir that gives a history of Buddhism coming to the West. Where I am now she is discussing the bardos with Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche. She is adjusting to her aging process and realizes we go through some of the stages of being, adjusting to impermanence and change, the bardos, while alive. She’s in the “Bardo of Old Age”.
When she asks Yongey Minyur Rinpoche about the bardos and tells him about George Saunders book, Lincoln in the Bardos, he asks, “What’s a Lincoln?”
Of course, one might answer a car but it shows how much we rely on what we consider “common knowledge” in our conversations.
Last night when I read Trump’s garbled and incoherent reply to a question on childcare, I felt sorry for a man who is being primed to run for president when he is clearly incapacitated. I’m grateful Biden was persuaded to step down, and now when I read the words of a man who is off the rails, compassion swells. Why is he being protected? So he can be manipulated. Elon Musk would essentially be our president if he were elected, Elon and other fascists.
What is it to keep someone propped up for your own benefit?
Not acknowledging Trump’s deterioration is an inability to honor and see the cycles of life and death, the evolving transformation that connects the two. I walk more slowly now, think more slowly, as I pause and connect the dots to flow and dissolve, and, in this, I give my family time to see, and adjust, appreciate, and gather around impermanence and change. I am a campfire, once ablaze, now softening to a glow for toasting marshmallows, turning softly and tenderly to ash.
I savor my rejuvenated garden. The older plants are vibrant with new soil and mulch. They are teachers for the young ones now brought in. They are elders sharing their wisdom on seasons, impermanence, adaptation, and transformation. Grace!
We’ve been in Carmel for five days to celebrate my son’s fiftieth birthday. Everything was perfect. One daughter-in-law and I enjoyed a behind-the-scenes tour of Monterey Bay Aquarium. What a gift to see the attention and love that goes into caring for every creature there. We designed a toy to entertain an octopus and played a game where we were giant sea bass. Each bass gets its own food so is trained to go for a red circle or blue square.
Naturally we enjoyed the beach, the book store, and The Secret Garden, always a given, and the greyhounds were welcome everywhere.
Another daughter-in-law and my niece had a surfing lesson at 7 in the morning so I explored a beach, solitary except for rocks and sand dollars. I rescued three. I learned that a sand dollar given gently back to the ocean may live another six to ten years.
Aging, I find myself seeking open vistas. I’m nourished by spaciousness. Bridges connect and release like flowers opening to petals transforming fall.
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